#i whip out renders too often when i try to draw

[mrtreesnek]

hello Tumblr

peep my wares...

[f1nd00l3y-haz-n0-lyf3]

someone please teach me how o draw 😭

(rant i wrote up in like 5 mins and put no though into editing so please dont read this i just want somewhere to rant)

i feel like none of the things ive been drawing are good and all my friends have things theyre really good at but i feel like my stuff just isnt up to that standard and im sick of it. i wanna do like shading and light and rendering studies and i wanna learn how to draw anatomy and people with different body types but idk how to study those things. ill look over at my friends paper and theyll have like some random pic on their laptop screen that theyre just copying and in like 10 seconds theyll whip up a masterpiece and ill just sit there like "damn my shit sucks". they tell me they dont like what they draw and then ill look at something they did and then be like "if they think that gallery level top tier most amazing beautiful piece of art is bad then wtf do they think when they see my stuff?". i just wanna make something im proud of but i feel like i just dont have the time or the energy or even when i get to doing smtn like studying smtn it never ends up improving my stuff or helping me figure out how to do smtn. i wish there was a quick and easy way to get to where i wanna be but ik that i gotta at least put in the effort.

i need to draw more often i need to do more studies i need to practice more but with school and everything it feels like i never have time and whenever i do have time like on the holidays im just too lazy to do anything but play games watch yt and go on c.ai.

i just wanna be able to make the things i wanna make the way that i wanna make them but im just not at that level and ik that if i try now ill think its too bad to finish or just hide it away because im too ashamed of it.

anyways i hope that absolutely no one sees or reads this and it just gets buried in the deep depths of the tumblr algorithm ^^

[mythicamagic]

May I have one for "just wait for me here." "It's not like I can go anywhere." please.

Sesshoumaru arched a brow, staring across the sunlit glade towards a peculiar sight. His brother’s miko was acting strangely. She stood, clutching her bow tight- knuckles turning pale from the force of her grip. She tentatively used one end to feel around the grass, before prodding the ground with her shoe and inching forward.

Although they shared the same clearing, Kagome didn’t look up, nor acknowledge his presence.

Sesshoumaru gave in to curiosity, not particularly concerned about an enemy but too intrigued to ignore this display. She jerked when his boot crunched on a twig.

“Stay back!” Kagome snarled, voice shaking as she whipped her bow up defensively.

Sesshoumaru bit back a chuckle. What good would a mere bow do as a weapon without arrows? His humour soon abated however, staring into her murky blue eyes that gazed just over his shoulder.

Ah, I understand.

“W-who’s there?” she stammered, fear clouding her scent.

Inuyasha and her friends were clearly absent, always so foolish. They’d left a blinded miko vulnerable and alone?

Sesshoumaru gave the quivering woman a once over, noticing a few scrapes over her bare knees. Cut rope looped around her freed wrists. That strange white and green clothing she always wore was marred with dirt, torn in various places. She’d likely been kidnapped and escaped her captor on her own. Mildly impressive.

Still, she was nothing to do with him. Sesshoumaru turned on one heel.

“S-sesshoumaru?” Kagome called out tentatively. The words became firmer, more confident. “Sesshoumaru...wait. Please.”

The Daiyoukai paused, looking at her sightless blue eyes. “How is it that you knew who I was?”

She released a short, hard breath, clearly relieved to be speaking with someone. “I’m getting better at sensing stuff, I guess.”

“Hn,” he frowned, “and your eyes?”

Kagome touched her cheek, curling in on herself a little, “a demon blew a powder into my face and it blinded me. He kidnapped me...but I managed to get away. I just hope its temporary, ya know?” she gave a nervous giggle, despair threatening to take her under. Sesshoumaru hummed, attention drawing away to the forest surrounding them. He knew these woods well, and there was nothing around for miles. No villages nor clans. Just wild flatlands that eventually led to the mountains. She’d certainly ran a long way.

“I know we’re not friends- or even allies,” Kagome mumbled. “You’ve got no reason to help me-”

“That is correct,” he silkily agreed.

Her pretty features tightened with barely concealed frustration, amusing him. “But I’d owe you, hugely, if you just drop me off where Inuyasha can find me. I promise I’d return the favour- tenfold!”

Sesshoumaru chuckled, rather liking his position in this situation, studying his immaculate nailbeds in an unnecessary show of disinterest. “There is nothing a human could give to me that would be worth my time- nor do I need a favour.”

Blowing out a frustrated hiss of air through her teeth, Kagome stepped forward, gazing in his general direction. “So you’re going to just leave me here?”

“As previously established, miko,” he purred in a low tone. “We are not friends nor allies. Are we lovers?” he teased.

She instantly turned red, barking; “in your dreams!”

“Well then, if we are not friends, allies nor lovers, I have no need to heed your cries above those of the ants I crush beneath my feet when I walk,” Sesshoumaru turned away again, heading in the opposite direction.

“Wait!”

The desperate crunch of feet thundering through tall grass reached his ears, though the demon lord kept pace. Something knocked into his side- and Kagome stumbled, before latching tight onto mokomoko, wrapping her arms around his furs and hugging them to her chest.

Golden eyes widened at her audacity, pressing a palm against her forehead, trying to extract her from his person. “Off.”

“No way!” she twisted and tried to bite at his hand, narrowing sightless eyes. “Don’t be so heartless. At the very least, leave me at the nearest village- jerk!”

“You are doing a poor job of endearing yourself to me, wench,” Sesshoumaru lifted his hand, resting sharp claws against her damp forehead, slick with sweat. He prodded warningly. “Release this one.”

Kagome shuddered but refused to let go. “I-if I do, I’m as good as dead anyway,” she murmured, tightening her grip. “Please.”

Sesshoumaru flirted with the idea of releasing acid from his nails and reducing the nuisance into a pile of melted flesh and bone. However, even while blind- those blue eyes managed to fill him with a strange sense of intrigue. If this woman died, he ludicrously felt that the fates would turn their wrath upon him, not that he heeded the threat of any higher powers. She was so unusual in appearance, word and deed he could not help but think her a special existence, but even were she ordinary, Sesshoumaru felt his world would become less amusing without her presence in it. Encounters with Inuyasha would prove somewhat blander.

Sneering, his claws lowered. Continuing to walk with no acknowledgement of her trailing form hurrying after him, Sesshoumaru allowed her to hang onto mokomoko like it were a lifeline.

----

Kagome focused on keeping her footing, stumbling after the silent Daiyoukai. His furs pillowed her cheek, comfortable and silky. From what she could tell they’d left the wilder grass behind, her muddy loafers crunching on twigs and dry earth.

They didn’t talk often and she didn’t give voice to her exhaustion, closing her eyes after a while since it did little good to keep them open, her world endlessly black.

She tried not to fall prey to the dark feelings of dread and worry threatening to claim her, lingering on the outskirts of her tired mind. She’d come too far to give up now.

Kagome bumped into something solid and stopped. “What is it?” she mumbled.

“I am going to rest for the night.”

“Oh…”

His voice sounded a little light, which meant he found something entertaining. “I take it you are going to cling to me throughout?”

“Y-yeah, can’t have you running off on me.”

“Hn, if that is the case, measures will need to be taken.”

Kagome wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. Nonetheless, she faithfully followed when he walked on, having little choice in the matter.

Warm, stuffy vapour began caressing her skin, rendering it slightly damp, her hair curling from the humidity. It began closing in around her like a shroud, the air thinning a little. Lapping water reached her keen hearing.

“Hot springs?”

“Indeed.”

Mild alarm raced through her bloodstream. Kagome squeaked- feeling herself being lifted up, a single hand grabbing her by the scruff and yanking so hard mokomoko was successfully pried from her grip, sending her flying through the air. Kagome cried out when water rushed up to meet her, warm and lulling, closing over her head. She quickly found her footing on the bottom of the pool and pushed up, sputtering as she broke the surface.

“You jerk! What the hell?!”

Sesshoumaru answered with a lofty chuckle. “You cannot expect to sleep near me while wearing such dirty clothes.”

“Throwing me into a hot spring isn’t the answer though!” she growled, splashing the water in his general direction, though she had no idea if it made contact or not.

“Hm? Would you have preferred being stripped bare to shudder against me all night long?” he suggested offhandedly.

“Of course not,” Kagome gritted out.

“Then I suggest you start bathing yourself, miko.”

Hesitating, Kagome wrestled with herself. The sound of his boots stepping over rocks and drawing further away loosened her tongue.

"J-just don't abandon me here, okay?"

He halted. "And what will you do if I decline to listen?"

"I'll haunt your ass once I'm dead."

"Hn."

He continued on, his answer not exactly assuaging Kagome's fears. With little else to do but tentatively trust him, she stripped out of her uniform and bathed as best she could. Without the use of soap or a sponge and being unable to see the dirt being washed away, it would likely be an unsuccessful bath. She tried her best to make herself 'clean', scrubbing at her uniform for good measure.

The silence was heavy, only broken by the sound of gently lapping water. She had no idea what time it was. How far away Inuyasha and her friends were. Kagome shivered, hugging her arms to her chest. She began to feel paranoid, suspecting the slightest sound. Dark youkai reached out, brushing her senses.

Kagome exhaled in relief, hanging onto Sesshoumaru’s aura.

“Step out of the water.”

She stiffened at the abrupt sound of his commanding voice. “And let you see me naked? No thank you.”

“There is no point in assuring you that I will not- since you cannot see if I am being truthful. I can merely promise that my curiosity about the human form will never be acted upon.”

Kagome flushed red. So he could look He just disliked humans too much to ever be ‘interested.’

She reluctantly supposed she had little choice in the matter. Standing, Kagome waded through the hot waters towards his voice, reaching out to feel for the side in order to climb out- only for her hand to be ensnared, captured by lithe fingers.

Kagome’s hazy eyes widened, climbing out with the aid of his grip, quickly covering herself with both arms as soon as she were able. “M-my clothes are wet…”

Something wrapped around her body, and she recognised the material to be a short towel. Quickly drying herself, Kagome paused when new, silky material nudged against her cheek. “Dress in this once you are done,” Sesshoumaru’s low voice rumbled.

Since she could sense his strong, dark presence linger close, she wondered if he were watching out for enemies or just plain watching her. Kagome fumbled with the silks, feeling around for the collar. Sesshoumaru’s rumbling chuckle made goosebumps race over her bare skin. She nearly bit out a comment- feeling hot breath fan over her forehead. His single arm nudged at hers, guiding her hand through a sleeve, before holding the parting open, allowing her to slip it on. Kagome blushed wildly, groping for the obi and hurriedly tying it at her waist.

A cool hand stilled hers once she was done, cutting into the rough rope still bound around her freed wrists. Kagome murmured her thanks.

“Where did you get the yukata?” she mumbled.

Mokomoko bumped her chest and Kagome held onto it reflexively as Sesshoumaru strolled away, the furs guiding her forwards. “I have many bases littered around the countryside, should I need to make use of them for trysts or shelter.”

“T-trysts?” she squeaked. “Is this clothing from...?”

“Do not worry, foolish one. That is an unused article of clothing. I keep them in case my lovers are in need of a spare change of clothes. I have been known to be...impatient.”

She arched a brow and used her free hand to measure the length of her sleeves, touching the seams. “This is a man’s yukata.”

“What of it?”

Kagome clicked. “Oh, nothing. I just didn’t know you were interested in guys.”

Sesshoumaru gave a tired, long-suffering sigh while wafting steam pulled away from their bodies, leaving them exposed to the cool air while they walked through what Kagome assumed to be a sparse forest. “Provided an individual captures my interest, gender has no bearing on who I share a bed with. It is inconsequential to me, unlike humans with your...limited choices.”

“Hey! Humans can swing both ways too. A-and look who’s talking! You’re getting all high and mighty about gender but species and blood purity matter a great deal to you. Sounds limiting to me.”

He became silent for a moment, which made Kagome feel slightly victorious. “Admittedly I have never lain with a human before,” he pretended to sound considering. “Are you volunteering yourself, miko?”

“As if,” she snorted, cheeks burning red. “You’ve tried to kill Inuyasha,” she quickly supplied as a valid excuse.

“Hn,” he gave an entertained noise, “so if we were not enemies, you would accept?”

Her mouth grew dry, feeling like she’d held her face over a flickering fire. “You’re way too arrogant to be my type.”

The sound of his quiet chuckle changed as they seemed to step into an enclosed space. Kagome reached out and touched a rocky surface, dragging her palm over it. The remnants of a demonic barrier littered the area. She suddenly stopped, yanking mokomoko and forcing Sesshoumaru to stop with her. “Have you just taken me into one of your trysting spots?"

“Where else are we to rest?”

“Not here!” she burst.

“You complain often, miko. I will leave you to the hungry animals outside if need be," he sneered. "Do not worry. This place has not seen use in a long time and is clean, I assure you,” his tone lulled into a patronising one.

Kagome held her tongue, uncomfortably settling down onto a silky bed of furs when he guided her over to it. She felt extremely weird. Staying in a place where Sesshoumaru had once had sex wasn’t exactly how she’d envisioned her Thursday going.

Something smooth and pronged was placed into her hand- and she gentled a little, quietly thanking him. Beginning to brush her wet hair, Kagome carded her fingers through the strands, making a soft noise of enjoyment.

All the while, she felt the keen sensation of being watched. Arranging herself into a more comfortable position on the bed, she sighed, gazing in his general direction. “I might be blind right now but I can feel your eyes on me. What’s up?”

“Up?”

“I mean- is something bothering you?”

“No,” he sounded briefly considering. “Rather...this one noticed your ears.”

“Hm? The fact that they’re round compared to yours?”

His thumb and forefinger closed around the sterling silver stud pierced through her earlobe. Kagome stiffened, soon relaxing. “Oh, my earrings? They’re not a big deal.”

“They are different from what I have seen before,” he stroked the shell of her ear consideringly, making her shiver. "I wish to test something.”

Since the demon lord had been magnanimous enough to offer shelter, provide new clothing and allow her to tag along with him, Kagome decided to indulge his curiosity. She sensed him move and root through something nearby, a box, she assumed.

I wish I could look around, her lips pursed, exceptionally interested in what one of his hideaways looked like.

“Remove the earrings.”

Nodding, Kagome fiddled with them, taking them out and rubbing her ears slightly. Removing them always felt weird. An inquisitive claw brushed her ear, and Kagome swallowed, holding still with mild confusion as Sesshoumaru donned her with new earrings. When he pulled away, Kagome brushed her fingers over them, finding some sort of stone dangling from her ears. They were cool to the touch and weren’t too heavy, a nice weight.

“What kind of stone are they?”

“Never you mind,” he rumbled, something tickling her brow. She wondered if it were his bangs sliding forward. Soft breath fanned over her nose before it pulled away. “Merely wear those for the duration of your stay. They suit you.”

Kagome tilted her head slightly, “well...okay? They’re not a keepsake from an old flame, are they?”

“No. Those are mine.”

She hummed, touching them again. “You can keep my earrings if you like. They can be my way of saying thanks. They kinda look like diamonds so maybe they’re to your expensive tastes.”

Even though they’re fakes.

Sesshoumaru made a rumbling noise that she assumed was positive, and wondered if they had been his true aim all along. She figured that would be all for the night- before feeling a touch against her hair. Kagome paused, fighting an exasperated smile. Who knew Sesshoumaru could be kind of… cute?

"Anything else?"

"Hn, your hair would suit this kanzashi. Hold still."

Kagome got the feeling their dress-up session was going to take a while.

---

When she awoke, the permanent darkness made it difficult to know exactly what time it was. Only the birds chirping in the trees outside let her know dawn had broken. The heat at her back that had warmed her throughout the night was gone. Kagome sat up, touching her bed hair and refusing to examine what the warmth had belonged to.

"Sesshoumaru?" she rasped.

She heard him shift and stand within the cave, "I sense something nearby. Wait for me here."

"It's not like I can go anywhere," she quipped, smiling slightly.

He made a noise of acknowledgement, walking away. His footsteps became softer until they disappeared completely. Kagome felt unnerved by it.

She reached out with her aura, but this time there was no assurance from his dark youki. Kagome steadied her breathing, trying not to freak out.

Strangely, the darkness was giving way to something. Murky shapes. Browns, whites and buttery yellows. Kagome’s heart burst with gladness.

“Holy shit,” she breathed. “It wasn’t permanent...thank God.”

She could see! Well, kind of. Colours were back though, and shapes were sure to follow.

A commotion was happening outside though. Distant cries could be heard, along with familiar shouting. Kagome stumbled to her feet, following the light source out into the open despite the lack of solid objects yet.

Inuyasha’s loud voice broadcasted his location, making him easy to find- a bold red blur to Kagome’s eyes. Other colours were nearby, purples, blacks, pinks, yellows, oranges and greens.

“Guys!” she breathed.

The murky shapes turned, sharpening slightly into hazy focus. She registered Inuyasha’s horrified features. “K-Kagome...what the hell?”

She blinked and frowned, wondering what his problem was. The Hanyou rounded on a white shape that had sprinkles of red mixed in. “Hey, bastard! Why the fuck is Kagome dressed up like that? W-why does she reek of you!”

Looking down towards a nearby puddle, Kagome crouched and squinted, curious about what Inuyasha was babbling about. Her face came into focus, and her lips parted in surprise.

It wasn’t just one kanzashi, a few were nestled into her fall of curling wild hair. They glittered in the morning light. Some made of ivory, the others were black and adorned with gems. The blue of her eyes linked beautifully with the sapphires hanging from her ears. Everything paired well with the yukata he’d given her, which was white with illustrated ocean waves and smoky clouds patterning its hem and sleeves.

After enduring kidnapping- stumbling about blind for many hours, falling into ditches and streams and not knowing if she would live or die- Kagome couldn’t help but appreciate being swathed in finery. It made it feel a bit...pampered. Happy.

“Kagome, are you alright?”

She raised her head to find Sango and the others drawing closer, Inuyasha was still engaged with a verbal sparring match with Sesshoumaru that would likely head south soon.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, Shippo’s cute face appeared near hers, clear as day.

“We were worried!” he exclaimed. “We couldn’t find you anywhere after Inuyasha caught up with that demon goat and killed him.”

Nice to know my kidnapper is dead, she thought dryly, murmuring an assurance to Shippo but soon standing. She hurried closer to Inuyasha just as he took out Tetsusaiga.

“Hey- stop,” she called firmly, grasping his trailing sleeve. “That’s enough. Sesshoumaru took care of me last night, that’s all.”

“Took care of you?” Inuyasha paled, ears pinning back.

Kagome turned red. “W-what? What’s weird about that? Nothing happened!”

“Then why are you dressed like- like...that!”

Sesshoumaru gave a velvety chuckle from where he stood further away, tilting his chin up and curling his lips with an air of disdain. “I amused myself with your miko, Inuyasha, that is all,” he sneered. “She struggled so sweetly beneath me when I forced the clothes on her.”

“Bastard!” Inuyasha snarled, confused when Kagome stepped in between them. She glared first at the Hanyou, “Quit it- both of you! You’re acting like children!”

Turning her dimmed sights on Sesshoumaru, she struggled to see him clearly since he stood further away. “I don’t know what you seek to gain from lying but...thank you for all that you’ve done up till now,” she murmured. “My offer still stands if you need a favour.”

Inuyasha blustered behind her, shouting up a storm. Kagome muttered a ‘Sit’ to get him to quiet, straining to hear Sesshoumaru’s reply.

To her surprise, with Inuyasha briefly incapacitated, Sesshoumaru drew closer. The sweep of his brows, regal nose and cupid’s bow of his lips caught her dazed attention- her breath halting. Familiar diamond style studded earrings adorned his ears.

“These will do nicely as payment, miko,” he rumbled.

Kagome blinked and slowly smiled, sharing a quiet moment with him. “I-I suppose you’ll want these back,” she murmured, closing her hands around the sapphires on her ears.

“I have plenty more.”

“Right, of course you do,” she giggled, hearing Inuyasha squeak out a ‘did you just giggle at Sesshoumaru?!’ from his crater.

“Hn, as I said, they suit you,” Sesshoumaru turned. “And miko?”

“Yes?”

He began walking away, but she could hear the smile in his voice without seeing his expression. “You have captured my interest.”

Kagome’s eyes widened, heart bursting into overdrive. Her stomach fluttered with butterflies, and she felt a mix of confusion and anticipation.

Ditto, she thought with a faint smile.

[oddthesungod]

Hi Odd! I was wondering how long it typically takes you to finish a piece? I know everyone has their own pace while making art. But with how often you give us new art it seems like your knocking out at least one piece a day if not more. So I'm just very curious about how things work for you. Have a lovely day!

Hiya!!! So, it heavily depends on the drawing I suppose? It can take me anywhere between 30 minutes to over 8 hours to complete a drawing, depending on the complexity.

A very loose sketch with only one color is something I can usually whip out in 30~40 minutes, but something more complex with shading and a fully rendered background is closer to 8+ hours range.

When it comes to fanart, which is what I mainly post here, I try to keep it simpler, which takes me less time to work on than fully rendered pieces, so that's why you see me posting fanart frequently here! Fanart is what I draw to wind down from my professional work, so I often don't put a LOT of effort in it, but sometimes I'll draw something more polished too :>

[ranmanjuu]

titled “shin shin”.txt

came across a post... a long, long while ago about a god of death type reader and got super interested, since of all the cyikemen games, ikesen is the one most surrounded by death on a larger scale (cause, war and stuff), so i wrote this at... 2020? almost one year before, at 21th of july. i had more of it written, but i really didn’t like it cause it felt too “quirky wattpad reader” and plus me just copying from the original prlogue without adding anything, so... yeah. enjoy!

(also, very important that anyone who wants to do whatever with this idea, feel free, no need to ask me)

You didn’t like your existence

To call it “your life” would be simply wrong; you don’t breathe, you don’t eat, you don’t sleep. All you are is a walking, talking existence that has a job to do until you fade away. You didn’t even like your job.

To lead a soul from their death to the Land of the Dead was a grim job. You learnt their regrets, their anger, their sadness, all which you knew was personal. But you had to be there. You had to ensure that their soul is at peace, so when the time comes to cross to the afterlife, they don’t get reincarnated as a ghost, stuck forever with their past emotions.

Shinigami, was your kinds’ name. God of Death.

You were a part of the blanket term ‘yokai’, or as some would call in other names such as ‘ayakashi’. Those who fall under the category were spirits, demons, animal-like creatures, or, similar to you, gods. For as long as you’ve known, supernatural creatures didn’t mesh with humans well most of the time.

Fear of unknown from both parties led to anger, rashness, and cut communication and involvement altogether for perhaps half your life.

You’ve existed for long; you stopped remembering the exact number after 1.000 years. All you did now was remember the year you came to the world, and do the math. But that doesn’t matter much, does it? The only thing you concerned yourself with is when you’ll fade away.

However, for your own sake, you do take a break. Such a job is heavy for the heart, and a walk doesn’t help as much, but it’s a nice thing nonetheless.

Kyoto. You were just done leading a soul that got caught in a traffic accident. You never traveled outside of the country, but would it really matter if you did? You still appreciated everything as it were; there has to be some light in a life to look forward to.

This particular city was rich in human history, you knew that. Maybe it’d be a fun thing to do, even if you didn’t have much an interest in it.

“All your famous warlord knowledge, packed in a mag! Come get one now!” A boy’s shouts filled the nearby streets, attracting attention from the occasional passerby’s. Including you. A Quick Guide To Your Warlords, the magazine read on the cover. Sounds interesting, and you were bored, so you took one and stuffed it in your pocket.

With a blank mind, you were brought forth to a temple by your wandering legs. Honno-ji. A small, quiet, quaint place. The setting sky burned up above as the small cries of the crickets sounded all around.

You’ve heard some stories of the small memorial in front of you. One of the unifiers of Japan died here—betrayed, as you remembered. But you can’t draw an exact name.

While drowning in your thoughts, the approaching presence coming to you was acknowledged but not paid mind to further. Until you shift your eyes to the side as said figure was in your peripheral vision—a man dressed in a lab coat. The two of you said no words, only continuing to gaze at the stone in front of you.

You only started to react when the sky above you turned darker and darker—not by the setting sun, but by the awfully black and almost purple clouds gathering up above you. That’s unusual, you’ve never seen anything like that in your life.

The once bright and bold sky now rained down drops of water on your face. You didn’t even notice you shifted to your human form—and a look at your hands covered in specks of droplets confirmed that.

“What poor timing.” The man next to you said, causing your eyes to glance at him. He looked solemnly to the monument, then to you, “Are you alright? Do you have an umbrella?”

“No, unfortunately. I didn’t expect it to rain. . .” your eyes linger to above his head, where a set of numbers and a small text was visible to you only. The death profile, as the others call. A set of information that shinigamis can see in most creatures, usually entailing their names, time of death, and cause of it.

It’s a cursing bit of information; always reminding you of what you are.

Out of nowhere, a thunder ripped through the clouds and hit directly on the small monument—a loud crackle following along. Your arm flew up to protect the man next to you by reflex, as your body stood there in momentary shock. You’ve seen death by  lightning, but that was unlikely to happen now.

You whipped your head towards the human next to you, who seems the slightest bit appalled, but stood his ground. A strange thing catches your attention. . .

His death date. It’s flickering—changing.

From a century where he was supposed to die. . .to the 15-16th century.

A date of death changing has been a rare thing that happens, however unlikely, but—it’s never jumped that far before! To the past, too?

Utter shock froze you in place as the numbers flicker back and forth, leading your attention away from everything else—him asking you if you were okay, and most importantly—

—the black ball that formed where the stone was.

“Watch ou—“ before you can warn the man, the image of him next to you twisted and distorted, slowly getting sucked in whatever it was.

And so were you.

Wait! He isn’t supposed to die yet—!

The world faded to black.

       Ugh. . .my head. . .

Your vision fades in and out, clear then blurry, until you’re finally wide awake. The scenery around you changed drastically, what was first a small place in the city of Kyoto is now. . .a dark forest. You’ve seen this kind of environment before in your memories—you just don’t know how you got here.

The lab coat guy—!

You immediately stood up from the dirt beneath you, looking around and trying to sense his soul around you. Nothing. Pursing your lips in slight unease, you started making your way through the criminally underlighted woods.

You’ve roamed around in the forest before. Most of your time on this world, you didn’t settle in a house or anything, you preferred to just wander around like a lost ghost. You didn’t have a need for one—you don’t need shelter, not food, not clothes, nor drinks. You were a lost ghost.

The branches and rocks and whatever else you tripped on didn’t bother you. All you were focusing on is now just. . .walking. Without even a set destination. The only guidance you had was the occasional moonlight that peeked through the trees up above.

As minutes pass by, you start feeling a faint presence of human souls.

It’s distant, and not much from how weak it is, but I should go and see.

All other senses were rendered useless for now as you focused on the source of the souls, and slowly marched your way to it. It grew closer and closer, until you saw a faint light coming in the middle of the forest.

Two people, you now concluded. Your footsteps remained silent and your presence unknown as you creep near the light.

A fire was set in a small clearing, and you can now see the two people. A man with dark hair, dressed in monk’s clothes and a scar marking his face, with another feminime-looking boy, purple-haired in armor.

“Are you ready for this, Ranmaru?” The monk spoke in a low voice. “You’re about to kill the demon. Bring him down for good.”

Kill, huh. An assassination was about to commence.

“. . .Yes, Master Kennyo.” The boy—Ranmaru—spoke, wavering in unease but still tried to be certain.

‘Master Kennyo’ smiled; a bitter, unresting one, “Good. They’ve light the fire at Honno-ji, arrive there and kill him. I will follow shortly once the fire has spread,”

“. . .Understood.”

Clutching his sword until it shook in his hand, Ranmaru turned around and walked off from the clearing.

You overheard the conversation and calmly watched his figure fade away. It isn’t your place to intervene—not if this is fate, but even so—you’ll follow him. At least you can rest the soul of the victim.

In silent steps trailing him, you heard a last piece from Kennyo. “Finally, we’ll have our revenge. . .”

      You took your time in following Ranmaru’s path. If whoever’s assassinated dies, it’s soul will still remain until they can go to the afterlife. Time stops for them as long as it takes to get their soul guided away from the living land. Is it immoral in a way? Perhaps.

Unless. . .you can stop them from getting killed. But often when you try to intervene, the death happens either way.

So what’s the point?

Nihilistic thoughts aside, you sensed more human souls coming your way; five, from what you can tell. But you paid no mind to that. Until it got nearer, and nearer, and nearer, and—

“Oof.” In your blank stated mind, you bumped into someone, causing them to huff in surprise. You yourself paused and looked—a brown haired man wearing red armor, “Hey, watch where you’re going—!”

His complaints died on his tongue as soon as he finally saw who he bumped into. His expression, from a slightly irritated frown, turned more into one of confusion, “Huh? Hey, what’s someone like you doing here in the woods? Nighttime, also? Such weird clothing, too. . .”

His spoken words made you raise an eyebrow, “Ignoring all that, I’m sorry for bumping into you. I just had some business is all.”

“In the dead of night? What are you, an. . .enchantress? Those stories of w-witches in the forest?” The man’s voice wavered more with each passing word. The quirk in your eyebrow deepens.

“I assure you, I’m not—“

“Yuki~! We leave you for a few seconds and you’ve already found yourself a partner?” A velvet and rich voice arose from behind the dark bushes and trees, all of them being pushed aside to reveal an auburn haired man, this one more built in his body.

The one you’ve been talking to—Yuki—blushed and shook his head vehemently, “Ugh, no! I’m not like you; we just bumped into each other is all. And I think it’s some kind of witch, too—”

The redhead man tutted at Yuki in a disapproving manner, “Now, now, Yuki. Have I not taught you how to talk properly in front of such a beauty all this time?” His attention turns to you, and in a second, his eyes lit in passion, “Forgive me for his prudeness, my goddess, dear Yuki needs a lot more lessons than I thought. However. . .if you want to be with a real man, I’m always up for service.”

“Will you stop flirting with everything you meet. It’s disgusting.”

Three more people emerge from the shadows, the small bits of moonlight pouring to their features. The one who spoke was a blond one, cladded in blue armor and with eyes that said he wanted to have nothing to do with any of this.

“But Kenshin, you can’t just turn away at such a beauty laid in front of your eyes.” The flirt replied to the cold comment with a smirk.

“Stop. Or I’ll kill you.”

The bickering of the two were left unnoticed as another man with dark blue hair stepped up, far closer than what you were expecting. His hand reaches and caresses lightly on your clothes, “I have never seen such a design or material like this before. How fascinating. Would you like to switch with one of my kimonos?”

“Yoshimoto, I’ve already claimed them! Don’t steal them right under my nose.” Flirt Man threw a light complaint, turning away from Kenshin for a moment.

“Art is to be appreciated by everyone, Shingen.” Yoshimoto simply responds, now tugging lightly at the sleeves of your shirt.

Okay, you’ll admit it. You’re slightly overwhelmed.

So far, you haven’t said anything, mainly because you don’t want to. It feels like anything you say won’t make the situation better anyway. But still. . .even in your long life, this is quite bizzare.

You observed each of them one by one. Then your eyes landed to the last one, the same brown haired man you saw earlier. Now, in. . .some sort of ninja attire. While you tilted your head in slight curiosity, you’re at least satisfied to see he was safe.

And his death date has changed, too. . .

Speaking of death, you’re finally reminded of following. . .who was it, Ranmaru? to an assassination.

Gently freeing yourself from Yoshimoto’s admiring touches to your clothes, you bowed slightly in front of them, “I appreciate meeting all of you, but I have to go.”

You don’t see Sasuke opening his mouth to say something, and neither do the others, as you walked off to the darkness.

       You thought by losing your way from your unofficial guide, you wouldn’t find the destination. But luckily, even going in the same direction as he did led you to it. Honno-ji. This time, it’s in the midst of drowning in fire. You made your way through the front door and entered where the fire wouldn’t reach you—but it wouldn’t make a difference anyway.

And in the middle of the room not yet entirely covered in flames, was who you assume the victim, sleeping. The cause of death, “died in an assassination while the building was set on fire”, said as much. Dressed in black armor, you could tell he was important, somehow. Not everyone can casually wear one, despite the past few people you’ve met been donning it.

The text displayed above the man’s head displayed the same old. Nobunaga Oda.

On the other side, you see a silhouette approaching steadily, sword in hand. Ranmaru, you guessed. You double checked yourself to make sure you weren’t visible to the human’s eye, and you were just fine with watching another death as you have—

Until, for the second time today, the death date for Nobunaga Oda flickered.

You froze as what was 21st of July, 1582, blinked into a later date. Much later.

What. . .?! That was the second time today—what am I supposed to—

Your chest felt heavy, and your hands trembled in uncertainty of what you should do. Do you save him? Watch him die? Would he even die at this moment? Or would it be later? You’ve never been in this position—the answer was always clear. And now you’re terrified.

Your body swayed back and forth violently, as two sides fought in your head of what to do. But time was running out—he’d be assassinated if you didn’t take this chance. And he’d die. That’s the same as you killing him, you thought, and you’ve sworn to never do such a thing.

From your disarrayed thoughts, your legs moved on their own and walked to him. You’re saving him, then.

[hueswrites]

hq kinktober [day1] tendou

main hq kinktober list

hq kinktober [day1] tendou satori/cosplay

includes: a bit of story, some angsty broody stuff on reader's part, cosplay (obviously), fingering and female receiving oral sex

wordcount: 4,827

ok this turned out to be more fluff and actual sort of plot than smut. i just started writing at 12:30am and kept going until 6 in the morning. this is the result. if you were looking forward to straight up smut on this first prompt, i'm sorry but THIS IS NOT IT LMAO.

i absolutely adore tendou and the perspective i gave him on life in this. stay quirky, my friends. (as kenma would say... stay interesting, shouyo)

Being Satori was hard. It was unfortunate, exhausting, and just plain miserable - that's what his junior high school classmates wanted him to believe, at least.

In his early years of school, Satori Tendou was teased for his awkward, gangly appearance and unusual mannerisms. His attempts to interact with his peers were often shunned due to the offbeat semblance he exuded, which left most of the other kids feeling unsettled.

His mother, equally peculiar in her own way, urged Satori to make the most of his eccentricities. "Think about the characters you like from the manga you read. Would you want to keep reading the story if all the characters were the same?"

Satori shook his head, already concluding the point his mother was trying to make. "I get what you're saying, Mom," he grinned from ear to ear, a smile the width of his perfectly straight cherry red bangs, and pushed himself away from the kitchen table. He plopped down onto the wooden floorboard with exuberance. "Life is boring when everyone's the same. Who wants to live a boring life?" He padded over to his room and jumped onto his bed, going back to the first page of this week's issue of Jump. The warm, tingly feeling of adventure took over as he reread the newest chapters of his favorite series for the thirteenth time that week.

A decade later, Satori found himself living in France, where he stood out more than ever before. Not only did he need to learn how to adapt to the country's unfamiliar customs, he also had to learn how to speak its language: the language of love. He found his self-appointed tutor in the bookstore he frequented once he felt comfortable navigating the streets of Paris, which happened to be the same bookstore you browsed when you had a little bit of money to spend.

There you stood alongside him in the graphic novel section, your form hidden under an oversized hoodie, brows scrunched together in what appeared to be deep concentration. You were extremely aware of his presence looming over you, and it created a feeling of unease that sunk into your bones. You braved a glance up at his face, and he quickly turned his head back to stare at the row of the slice-of-life series that lined the very top shelf before him.

Tall, you thought to yourself. That's a very tall man.

You shuffled away from him just a bit, browsing the very bare section of "how-to-draw manga" guides that you knew were second rate to how real manga artists crafted their work.

Moments later, a silvery voice spilled into your consciousness and caught your attention. "Hmm, if only Matsuo-chan realized Hibari's feelings for her in the very beginning..." You can't help but look back up at the lanky man next to you, listening as he changed his speech from French to Japanese. "Then perhaps sweet misery would've never crushed their poor, little hearts." He turned his head to look down at you, heavy lids lowered over brilliantly crimson irises. A cheeky upward curve lifted his thinly shaped lips, and your heart skipped a beat.

Your mind went blank, rendering you speechless.

"I saw the Todai button on your bag," he said, voice now light and cheerful.

You blinked once, twice, then looked down at your messenger bag decorated with various pins from the clubs you took part of in college back in your home country of Japan. Your body relaxed, and a breathy laugh escaped your lips. "Yeah, Tokyo University. Are you from Japan?"

"Yes! Came here from Sendai. How's my French?" He beamed a child-like smile.

You produced your most sarcastic chuckle, turning to lean a shoulder onto the bookshelf so you could face him. "It's kind of terrible."

He mocked a look of despair and dropped his head in feigned embarrassment. You noticed how the pale skin of his cheeks turned a faint shade of red, and you wondered how someone could go from intimidating to adorable in a matter of seconds. Then his eyes snapped back to you, and a toothy grin spread across his face. "Wanna be my tutor?"

Your cheeks flushed pink, and your breath came to a halt again.

"I'm not sure I'm qualified to do something like that," you said, pushing yourself away from the shelf to stand square.

He hummed and straightened his posture, shifting his eyes away from yours, down to your shoes, then back up to your face. "Why not?" The look on his face expressed genuine curiosity.

You decided to pretend you didn't notice his blatant evaluation of your physical form just now.

"I've only been here for a year. I can speak enough French to get by, but I'm not sure I can teach someone else how to speak it."

"So little faith in yourself, little miss."

You furrow your brows at the nickname.

He whipped out a volume of a manga you recently started reading and held it up to you. "You have a pin of this on your bag, too," he said with a wiggle of his sparse eyebrows. "How about you try and get me to start reading this subpar manga by making me read it out loud in French?"

You gave him a look of piqued interest. The possibility of roping someone into reading your favorite series was tempting.

Then he continued, "And we can get yakitori and beer while you teach me?"

The hue of red on your face extends to your forehead.

"You've got pins of beer and yakitori on your bag, too."

A few weeks later, you and Satori were on your sixth date seated across from each other at a cat café in downtown Paris. It took the first three dates (he'd somehow coerced you into) for you to realize that the strange man was just that - strange, but harmless. The one friend you'd managed to make in your year in France introduced you to some very attractive and very gregarious men that you just couldn't see yourself with. Your friend's idea of fun was clubbing and bar hopping through the streets of Paris, and that was unsurprisingly the same kind of fun those men preferred as well.

To you, fun was something much more personal and intimate. Your past experience with relationships lead you to believe that you are meant to be on your own - that there is nobody in this world that will appreciate your oddities and make you as happy as you can make yourself.

Your interests lied in worlds of fiction and fantasy - games, books, movies, and manga, which you learned Satori was just as passionate about as you. Not surprising. He seemed to fit the socially awkward, emotionally inept stereotype you knew most men fit into that also liked anime. He asked too many questions, didn't understand when his questions push personal boundaries, and just wouldn't. Shut. Up.  

He did smell nice. You gave him that.

"So little turtle-in-her-shell, do you ever go to conventions?"

You paused your chewing of the last bit of coffee cake you ordered. "Turtle in her shell?"

That carmine, wide eyed gaze of his remained fixed on your face. "You wear that big hoodie all the time like a turtle in a shell."

"It's comfortable," you state. “And yes, I go to conventions.”

Nearly a minute of silence passed between the two of you, and if it weren't for the chatter of others seated around you and the clinking of cups and plates, you'd have really retracted into your "shell" of a sweater.

So you changed the subject, deciding to ask a question that stepped a hair outside of your comfort zone to a man you weren't quite sure about yet.

"Were you just trying to get my attention with that whole "be my tutor" spiel?" You asked following a sip of your iced cappuccino. A little calico feline had chosen you as its scratching post, kneading its nails into the fabric of your jeans. You ignored the little stings of pain for the sake of the cat's enjoyment.

Satori multitasked between feeding himself scoops of his chocolate parfait and playing with the lashing paws of the black cat that sat on the table between you. "Hey now," he said, lightly squeezing the cat's tail before quickly retreating his hand away to avoid the tiny beast's teeth. "I wouldn't know all the different ways to say "I need to take a dump" in French if it weren't for your tutoring thus far, little miss.”

"That's a weird nickname you have for me." The cat on your lap suddenly hopped to the ground, skirting across the ground to the human it suddenly deemed more worthy of its attention than you. You frowned, the action wounding your cold, bitter heart.

"You wouldn't remember me if I called you by just your name, would you?" He used a straw to slurp up the remaining concoction of sugar at the bottom of his cup.

"Do you even remember my real name, Satori?"

He pushed the now empty cup aside and ruffled the black cat's ears with his fingers. It hissed and gave a quick swat of its paw to his hands, then jumped off the table and scurried away.

"I never forget the names of all the cute girls I get to add to my harem," he said with a smirk, his cheeks rising to meet the crinkled corners of his eyes.

You gave him a lopsided glare. "You're kidding, right?"

Satori laughed - a lilted giggle that sent a shiver straight down to your gut, and then his expression darkened and his eyes captured yours in a binding stare. "Would you like to come over and see for yourself?" The way his voice rumbled an octave lower than you've ever heard had you squeezing your hands into nervous balls of tension above your knees.

You frowned. You genuinely couldn't tell if he was being serious. If you hadn't known how much wit and jest the man exuded in nearly every one of his actions, you wouldn't put it past him to be a basement dwelling, serial stalking NEET that kidnapped girls and made them dress up to suit his twisted fantasies. The thought had you questioning every single thing he's said to you so far. He had your number, he knew where you liked to eat, where you liked to drink, and he even knew where you worked. Was this guy like the others?

Suddenly his laughter burst through the air, the sound so boisterous it made you flinch.

"You look so petrified! Are you that gullible to believe everything I say?"

You grit your teeth and grabbed the paper wrapper from his straw to chuck it at his face. "That was so not cool!" You huffed, getting your wallet out to leave a tip on the table.

His laughter continued to tumble through the café, disrupting conversations from nearby customers only for them to direct their attention towards you. You rose to your feet and hurried towards the exit. You absolutely hate being the center of attention!

Satori followed you and matched your stride easily, one of his steps covering three of yours. He stood unbearably close, and if he didn't smell as sweet as the parfait he just ate, you would've shoved him away,

"___-chan," he sang, and you realized it was the first time he said your name. You allowed yourself to relax just a little and slowed your steps. A brief moment of silence settled between the two of you, and he used that moment to gauge your current state of emotional wellbeing.

"___-chan," he said again, this time demanding your attention.

You remained silent. Satori had picked up on so many of your habits in the past few weeks of talking to you and observing your actions that he understood your silence as your cue for, "Go on, I'm listening."

"I'm sorry for upsetting you," he said, bending at his waist so he could meet your line of sight, continuing to stroll alongside you. He must've noticed the creases under your eyes disappear as your tension eased away because that smug little smirk returned to his face. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, turning your head to look at him just slightly. A shade of pink colored your cheeks when you met his gaze - his wide, inquisitive eyes studying you with childlike innocence.

You looked forward.

He chuckled and stood up straight, sliding his hands into his jean pockets. "Adorable," he said aloud, further deepening your blush.

You steeled yourself and regained your composure. "Which way do we go?"

Satori hummed. "What do you mean?" he said, bending down again to look at your face. Why must he always have to stare like that when he speaks?

"Aren't we going to your place?"

He grinned. "Really?"

You threw a glare his way. "I'll change my mind if we don't start heading there right now."

Satori grimaced. "___-chan does not cool down so easily after bursting into flames," he mumbled, and you ignored the comment. He sighed. "This way, little miss," he took your hand and pulled you along, bounding across the street as the pedestrian crosswalk countdown hit zero. Your hand wrapped around his, holding on tight to keep up.

You couldn't help but laugh at the stupid sound effects he made as he continued to leap from the street onto the sidewalk, giving you no choice but to run and jump over the curb with him.

Your self-conceived belief that you are all you'll ever have and all you'll ever need to be happy now faced a challenger. This strange person - this bizarre character - punched a hole through the wall you've put so much effort to build on your own.

Satori's twenty-seventh birthday came just after your one year anniversary of the strange... relationship... you managed to maintain despite your ongoing struggle against the warped, pessimistic reality you believed about relationships through years of self-doubt. Slowly but steadily the glass case you built around yourself chipped away due to Satori's freakish ability to see beyond your façade and understand your feelings.

You learned about the bullying he faced in his childhood, and how his mother and high school volleyball team helped him accept the fact that life will always have real jerks with nothing nice to say to test your tenacity. He created a routine of reminding you that you can choose whether or not you let those nasty words bring you down or give you motivation to build your self worth.

Life is more fun when things are a little out of the ordinary. Who wants to be the same as everyone else? These are words you considered when you felt down.

For Satori's birthday, you wanted to do something different, something unique that he would remember about you if you ever went your separate ways.

Since the beginning, you noticed Satori had a thing for cute girls in cosplay. When you told him about your own cosplay projects and showed him pictures, his whole demeanor changed. He became shy - something hardly anyone had ever seen in his usually indiscreet personality.

One thing that helped you feel a little more confident in yourself and your relationship was your experience in physical intimacy. From what you gathered in the little bit of discussion you've had with Satori on the topic, he seemed to have far less experience than you. It was cute how his face went bright red when you managed to pry the details of his past encounters out from the tiny little box of insecurities he still held within. Perhaps it was your turn to bring something out of the wicked Guess Monster (you thought it was a cheesy name but he really took pride in the title whenever he reminisced on his youth at Shiratorizawa Academy) that he kept so carefully hidden away.

"Why are you so shy about this?" You asked the first time you had sex.

Suddenly, the creepy, unwavering eye contact he managed to hold with anyone he came face to face with vanished from the list of unsettling and seemingly unashamed habits and mannerisms that made Satori Tendou so uniquely... Satori.

"The one thing I still have trouble with is..." he looked down at where your naked bodies connected on the plush mattress he swore really was worth the $2,000 he spent. (I don't mean to diss your profession, but do you really make enough money as a chocolatier to afford a bed that expensive?) you asked, immediately regretting having asked the question when a gloomy grey cloud appeared over his head).

"Fucking?" You said, giving him a cocky little smirk.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck with a groan.

"I know you get turned on by cute cosplays of your favorite anime girls."

"...and cute actresses," he muttered, now stuffing his face between your breasts.

That's when you decided to shake things up.

Satori's weekends were usually occupied by work at the sweets factory. He was in the process of getting promoted to a position that freed up his weekends, but it wasn't happening anytime soon.

It was just your luck that his birthday fell on a Saturday this year, your only day off on the weekends. You left your cosplays and wigs back in Japan, boxed up in the bedroom you grew up in. While Satori was slaving away at work, you went shopping. You managed to find a decent sewing machine and plenty of fabric at a (pricey) thrift store on the other side of town. The wigs you looked at were ridiculously expensive - definitely for the high end fashion scene of Paris, not for nerdy cosplayers.

Once you returned to his apartment, you spread all of your findings across his bed and bedroom floor.

A maid's skirt that you will definitely chop up to be anything but modest.

A coreset you honestly weren't sure would fit your little love handles and tummy that lost its tone after all the dessert dates Satori insisted were good for "self care."

Cute devil horns with a pointed tail to match.

Knee high stockings and garters he mentioned as being one of the sexiest things a woman could wear.

And a simple leather collar to put around your neck... with the option to hook a leash.

You looked at the spread before you and wondered how such a quiet, reserved person such as yourself could be so... kinky.

You checked the time on your phone. You had three hours to put something together.

9:43pm Satori:

i'm leaving! boss said he'd let me leave 27 minutes early to celebrate the 27 years of my blessed existence on this planet

@( o･ꎴ･)@

9:44pm

that's all he did for your birthday? and wtf is that emoji

9:44pm Satori:

it's supposed to be a monkey but now that i look it really doesn't look like one. be home soooooon!! ＼(^o^)／ he gave me a $1000 bonus too #stacked

9:45pm

omg you are so lame! come straight to your room for your present :)

9:45pm Satori: (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖) ohooOoOOo??

9:46pm stop sending faces and just get your skinny butt over here

9:46pm Satori:

┏( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)┛┏( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)┛┏( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)┛

You heard the front door open, followed by the thump of Satori's shoes hitting the wall. The sound of the lock sliding into place once he closed the door sent a little shiver up your spine.

You sat on his bed, back against the headboard, legs crossed in front of you. You fixed your little devil horns, made sure the tail was pulled out from underneath your butt, and pushed the coreset up to give your cleavage a boost.

Inhale. Exhale.

You'd never dressed up for something like this before, and you had no idea how Satori would react. You imagined he would immediately pass out with a nosebleed.

His footsteps neared his room, and you heard him in his chipper, sing-song voice. "What is my little ___-chan up to, hmm?"  

Once he reached the doorway, his eyes landed on you, and his entire body froze. His jaw went slack, looking like a fool with his mouth wide open in dumbstruck awe at the sight before him.

You gave him your most innocent smile, spreading your legs open just a hair. "Come eat up your dessert, Satori~" you said with a tone so sultry it turned his bones into mush.

Satori's shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his matted hair in exasperation. His rusty red locks had grown longer than when you first met him - curling behind his ears and covering his forehead. "Baby..." he said, walking into the room, towards the bed. "Baby, baby, baby," he repeated in English, his favorite language to express excitement. He crawled onto the bed, stopping just before you to sit and cross his legs while he looked you over.

Your skirt was cut so short he could almost see the sweet spot between your legs. The garter straps hugged the meat of your thighs and hooked onto the thigh high stockings that fit the muscle of your calves.

Those pointy little horns sat just a little bit lopsided on your head. That slim, pointed tail traced back to your rear, and the collar around that gorgeous neck of yours drew his eyes down to your barely contained cleavage.

"Baby," he said again, almost a whisper. He leaned forward onto his knees to hover over your body and cradled your face between his hands. Hungry crimson eyes gazed right through you, a shade darker than you've ever seen before. "I'm the luckiest man in the world," he said, then pressed the softest, most gentle kiss to your lips.

Your heart fluttered, hands coming up to thread your fingers into his hair. "Happy birthday," you murmured, bringing him back down for another kiss.

The kiss quickly went from gentle to fervent, his hands slipping up your calves over the stockings, over the garters and up to your thighs, rounding out over your ass. He gave your fleshy cheeks a squeeze and broke the kiss, going straight to your neck, kissing every bit of your exposed skin.

You spread your legs more, asking him to come closer, and he did. Your hands slipped underneath his shirt, lifting it above his ribcage, up to his shoulders. He barely moved back to remove the shirt completely before pressing his lips back to the skin over your collarbones, giving you gentle nips with his teeth.

This was the Satori you wanted in bed.

He sighed into your chest, going down to kiss the swell of your breasts. "My little devil," he said, sucking on the skin right above the coreset. "You're so sexy," he bit down a little bit harder, eliciting a hiss through your teeth. "So beautiful," a kiss over the bite, moving to your other breast. "So irresistible," both of his hands came up underneath your ass to lift you up off of the bed and into his lap. You yelped, forgetting his lithe frame could muster so much strength. He placed you in his lap, leaning forward to run his tongue across your lips and into your mouth once you opened up for him.

"Take your pants off," you mumbled, pulling at the waistband.

"I don't wanna stop kissing you," he whined, hands running up along your waist and over your back to press you up against his chest. At that moment you wished you could feel the warmth of his skin, if it weren't for the coreset.

"How are you gonna fuck me if you don't take them off?"

"Mmmfgh," he groaned, a funny sound that only Satori could make without killing the mood.

He pulled away, then quickly leaned forward to steal another kiss, and pulled away again. You crawled off his lap and sat back, watching him rise to his knees to shimmy pants down his hips. He sat back on his butt and kicked them off then crawled back to you, caging you between his arms and legs.

You pushed him away and gave him a devious smirk. "If I knew dressing up like this would flip your switch, I would've done it a long time ago."

He returned your grin with a wicked gleam of his own, eyelids drooping down to look at you with his most perverted leer. "Achievement unlocked?"

You slapped your hand over his face, pushing him away with a laugh. Spreading your legs again, you drew his attention down to your skirt and flipped it up over your stomach to show him your bare cunt.

He groaned, a mix of a whine and a curse, before diving down to attach his mouth straight to your dampened folds. He licked and sucked, pressing the flat of his tongue against your clit before sucking on the little bud, repeating the motion over and over until you started to writhe.

"I-" you began, letting out a huff of a breath, "would tell you to slow down," your hand flew up to grip onto his hair tightly once he pushed a finger inside you. "But it's your night," you huffed again, a strangled moan leaving your throat. "Go wild, Satori."

He removed his mouth and went straight from one finger to three, rubbing the pads of his fingers up against the walls of your core stretching you out and looking up at you with glossy, hazy eyes. "Best dessert I've ever had," he groaned, watching you tilt your head back, chest heaving as your body started to tremble. He went back down to lap at your folds, replacing his fingers with the muscle of his tongue, pushing it deep into your little hole.

"Fuck, Satori, I'm already close," you sighed, rocking your hips up against his mouth. He pulled away again. "I want you for breakfast," he pushed his fingers back inside your cunt, now sloppy with the slick of his saliva and your arousal. He gave a bruising kiss to the inside of your thigh, "And I want you for lunch," a kiss to your other thigh, "And dinner," he groaned, feeling you clench around his digits, pumping harder, faster - long, nimble fingers reaching the very depth of your core.

Those little horns started to slide off your head as you tossed your head forward and back, watching him work between your legs and thrashing back against the headboard whenever he hit your sweet spot.

You lifted your hips off the bed, urging your body to the peak of pleasure. Your voice kept going, encouraging him to go faster, harder, sighing, panting, moaning.

And just like that, every muscle in your body tightened, and a gush of liquid splashed out over his fingers and onto his tongue, his nose, and his chin. Your moans turned into brief, choked sobs as your orgasm rocked your body. You gripped your fist into his hair, so tight you ended up bringing his body forward.

"God," you groaned out load, dropping yourself back down to the bed, your body now spent. He kissed the spot under your navel, over your belly button, back up to your chest, your neck, and your chin. You felt the tips of his fingers slip underneath one of the stockings and pull up and away, letting it snap back down against your skin. You giggled, bringing him up for a slick, sloppy kiss.

You both remained as you were, his forehead now resting against yours, eyes closed, soft pants easing back to controlled breaths. Your left arm slung over the back of his neck, and your right remained tangled into his messy locks, the pads of your fingers giving a gentle massage to his scalp.

"How do you feel?" you asked, too tired to open your eyes.

"Hmmm," he hummed, not quite coherent enough to give a substantial response.

Suddenly, both of his arms wrapped around your waist, and he flipped himself over so that you were on top, straddling his waist. His back rested flat against the bed, that mischievous look once again casting a wicked shadow over his face. He glanced over to where the little devil horns fell onto the bed and placed them back where they belong atop your head.

"I feel like I'm just a peasant, sentenced to be one of hell's slaves for all eternity."

You grin, catching onto his narrative. "Such an unfortunate fate. You were once a hero, but were corrupted by the temptation of  lust."

Satori grinned, a toothy, mischievous grin, and his eyes narrowed maliciously. "Now I'm cursed with the inability to ever be satisfied..." He breathed a laugh. "We're so fucking weird," he murmured, "Sounding like Team Rocket..."

You leaned down to give him a kiss. "Weird, normal. Whatever. As long as we're having fun, right?"

[johaerys-writes]

Playground Love, Chapter 10: Wilted Wildflowers

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Aran Trevelyan/Tristan Trevelyan

Summary:

Aran and Tristan are childhood friends. Best friends. Brothers, almost. They’ve been inseparable since the moment they met, one rainy autumn day underneath the maple tree in the school playground.

Best friends don’t fall in love with each other. Surely not.

The new chapter of mine and @oftachancer​’s collaborative fic, featuring her OC Aran and my OC Tristan is up! Where being in love with your best friend turns out to be more complicated than initially thought, and Tristan would very much like to make sense of it all now, please.

Read more on AO3!

****

The wind whipped through Tristan’s hair as his bike rushed down the steep slope. The warmth of summer was waning, but a sweet, mellow breeze still lingered. It smelt of salt and sea.

The polo coach had let them go an hour earlier than expected- Tristan hadn’t even stopped to change out of his riding clothes before setting off for Aran’s house. He hadn’t seen Aran since the day before and he already missed him. Which was to be expected, he supposed. With every day that passed, he missed him more and more, wanted to see more of him, hear more. Touch more. Ever since that time Aran had stayed at his for the night…

Tristan felt his cheeks warming. They hadn’t talked much, since that day. It was more so because they’d both been busy, he told himself; Tristan’s first polo match of the season was coming up, and Aran had more than enough assignments to occupy him. Yet, the fact that Tristan’s last few texts had gone unanswered, and that the only response he’d received from Aran to the poem he'd sent him the previous night was a meme of a dog rolling on its back did not help very much. Tristan had spent the better part of an hour combing through his books to find that poem, and he’d picked it just for him. Aran could have at least chosen a better meme to send him. At least.

He frowned, squinting against the bright sunlight when the wooden fence that circled the ranch came into view. The outer gate was ajar, Max’s truck stopped right before it. Aran’s eldest brother was tall and broad of shoulder, the skin of his forehead bronzed from the sun, his golden hair cropped short. He smiled brightly at him when he saw him getting off his bike.

“Tristan!” he greeted him cheerfully as he loaded a square bale of hay on the back of the truck. “Give me a hand with this, will you?”

Tristan returned his wide smile with a more reserved one of his own before inclining his head politely. He disliked touching the hay. It made his skin itch. Still, he set his bike against the fence and helped him haul the last of the bales, stacking them neatly against each other. He gingerly drew his kerchief from his back pocket to wipe his hands when he was done, watching as Max lifted and secured the truck’s tailgate.

“How’s Almond? Is she treating you well?”

“She’s doing great. Yes, she’s wonderful. A delight, really. She and I placed first in the show jumping trials two months ago, did Aran tell you?”

“That he did. I had no doubts. She’s a fine mare, one of the finest we’ve bred. We wouldn’t give you just anything, eh?” He laughed heartily and patted Tristan on the shoulder. “I’m off now. Your pal’s up at the house. Don’t keep him waiting.”

“Okay. Thanks, Max.” Tristan got on his bike, waving as the truck drove off. He pedalled leisurely down the long gravel drive, then brought the bike to a stop when he reached the flower garden before the house. It was Aran’s mom’s work, and the rose bushes were neatly trimmed and fragrant this time of year. Patrick was lounging on one of the floral padded armchairs on the front porch, his long legs sprawled on the low table. Tristan’s stomach tightened when Patrick lifted his gaze from his phone to look at him. His eyes were the same hue as Aran’s, summer sky blue, but they had none of the warmth, or the kindness.

“Trevelyan,” he said flatly, his expression wooden and thoroughly unimpressed.

“Patrick.” Tristan straightened his back, returning his look levelly. “Is Aran home?”

The older boy regarded him in silence for a few moments - moments that Tristan stood there awkwardly, trying his best to look as bored and mildly bothered as he- before standing up with a long suffering sigh and walking to the door. “Wait here,” he commanded, then disappeared inside the house.

Tristan itched his earlobe as he waited, released and re-gathered his hair, studied the red clapboard and the sloped black roof of the house. It wasn’t a large building, but it was homely. The warm scent of the roast they had for lunch reached him with the passing breeze. Tristan never spent too much time there, and neither did Aran, if he could help it. Still, he liked it when Aran’s mum came out and offered him a biscuit or something else she’d made whenever he came to pick Aran up. She wasn’t much of a baker or a cook, but she was always nice to him. He hadn’t seen her in a while.

Muffled talk from inside drew his attention. It sounded rough and agitated, but Tristan couldn’t discern who was talking, or what they were saying. A man’s low rumble, then a woman’s voice- was that Aran’s mum? The voices grew louder and sharper, but the steady buzz from the TV rendered it impossible to make out any words. Patrick’s voice knifed cleanly through it as he said something that sounded much like his usual insults, though Tristan couldn’t tell who it was directed at.

He thought he heard the shuffling of feet coming closer to the front door, then what definitely sounded like pushing and shoving. Tristan’s ears pricked up when he heard Aran’s telltale high pitched infuriated snarl, followed by Patrick’s mocking laugh. His temper flared by instinct; he set his bike down and took a decisive step forward, when the door was flung open and a red-faced Aran stormed out.

“Aran-”

“Let’s just go,” Aran snapped, grabbing his bike that was leaning against the steps of the porch and promptly taking off. Tristan followed him silently as he took off at dead speed. They didn’t exchange a word until they were well away, past the farm and the apple orchard beyond it, until the lake’s still waters were visible, glittering in the distance. It was more of a large pond than a lake, really, and he and Aran often went there when the weather was good. It was usually quiet and peaceful, and that day was no different. Only a paddling of brown backed mallards glided on the water, the iridescent green feathers on their long necks catching the light as they moved.

Aran tossed his bike aside as soon as he dismounted, letting it fall to the soft grass. Tristan set his own down beside it, then came to stand next to him at the pond’s bank. He was tense and wired, a string ready to snap. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his nostrils flaring with every panting breath he let out.

“Hi.”

Aran dropped to his knees and buried his head in the water, loosing a scream that echoed through the still surface and sent the ducks skittering into flight. He sat up, shoving his wet hair from his face and stared at the ripples as they receded. “Hi,” he panted in answer, scrubbing at the water dripping from his nose, leaving a smudge of mud in its place. “How was practice?”

Tristan shrugged, "Good. I stole the ball from Johnston and he chased me down the field while the others cheered. Coach didn't like that very much." He slid his hands in his pockets and rocked a little back and forth on his heels. "How's the water?"

“Warm. You want to swim?” The fresh mud in his hair made a handful of it stand out to the side. “I could swim.” He rubbed his nose on the back of his arm. “Something wrong? You usually don’t finish until later, right?”

"Coach said he had to pick up his daughter from the dentist's. Dunno. I think he was just sick of Jonhston and me taking the piss so he let us go early." There were fat drops of muddy water running down Aran's forehead and into his eyes, and he rubbed at them, sniffing and wrinkling his nose. Tristan smiled despite himself as he reached for his handkerchief. "Come over here," he said, drawing him close to wipe the mud from his cheeks, the side of his nose. Then he cupped his neck and leaned down to steal a kiss. "Missed you," he murmured against his lips.

“I missed you, too!” Aran wrapped his arms around him tight, “I hope your match is worth it. Endless bloody practices. Can’t you just win and be done with it?” He tugged him towards the tree. “Best two out of three for all the marbles. Kiss me again.”

The pond water had left a slightly bitter aftertaste on Aran's tongue, but Tristan kissed him eagerly as he let himself be drawn to him. "We will win. But then we'll just have to practice more to keep up, and then win more matches, and even more practice..." He closed his teeth over Aran's bottom lip, pressing him back against the tree trunk. "As if it would make a difference to you," he said sulkily. "You hardly ever respond to my texts anyway. If I hadn't come today, you would have forgotten all about me."

“You’ve caught me,” he snorted. “I’m always forgetting you. Thank the Maker I see you all the time or I’d be lost.” His fingers were slick with mud and chilled from pond water when they slipped up beneath Tristan’s jersey. “Remind me, eh?”

"Yes, but-" Tristan shivered as the cool, pesky fingers travelled up his stomach, caressing his sides. He sighed, kissing Aran deeply, forgetting everything he'd been about to say. So what if Aran hadn't responded to a text or two, or if he replied to his poems with dog memes? He still wanted him. He'd still missed him. Every smile, every touch, every smooth glide of his tongue over his own pushed Tristan's thoughts and worries further and further back in his mind. It was good, what they had. No doubt about it. "Wait," he said, drawing back. He laughed at Aran's confused stare as he unslung his backpack. "I brought something." The small bouquet of wildflowers he had gathered on his way to Aran's house was slightly wilted, despite his best attempts to keep the blossoms from getting bruised during his bike ride. Even so, he held it proudly before Aran's face, beaming. "For you."

Aran leaned back against the trunk, blinking down at the flowers. “Okay.” He itched his nose with his knuckle. “...what am I supposed to do with this?”

Tristan's smile melted away. He stared at Aran, the warm fuzzy feeling he'd had only moments before turning sour in his stomach with every second that passed and Aran made no move to take the flowers. "You… you don't like it?"

“I mean-” He squinted, taking the flowers with a skeptical look. “Now what? What’s the game?”

"There is no game." Tristan frowned, "You're supposed to keep them. Or- I don't know, set them aside and take them with you before we leave, or-"

“Are they medicinal?” he asked, peering down at them with sudden curiosity. “Something you read about?” He plucked at a leaf and nibbled at it.

"No, they're not- I just passed them by and thought they were pretty, and-" He stopped abruptly when he felt his cheeks growing uncomfortably hot. "You don't have to keep them if you don't want them, of course," he said indignantly. "I simply thought- it doesn't matter what I thought." He crossed his arms before his chest, looking away.

“Sure it does.” Aran stuck his tongue out, spitting the nibbles of leaves out. “Thanks for showing me. They’re pretty. Could have just shown me where you found them.” He tilted the flowers to the side, peering at them. “You didn’t have to kill them.” He wiggled the flowers at Tristan, chuckling, “Too pretty to live!”

"I didn't kill them- Maker-" Tristan swatted the flowers away, scowling at him. "Just forget about it, alright? It was a stupid idea anyway." He turned around, pacing towards the pond. It had been a stupid, stupid idea. Whatever had he been thinking. It had seemed like a nice thing to do at the time, when he'd stopped to pick up the flowers and arrange the bouquet. A romantic gesture, something- something boyfriends did. Cardew gave Martina flowers all the time, and she always laughed and threw her arms around his neck, but Aran wasn't Martina. And Tristan wasn't Cardew, and what they had wasn't- He took a deep breath, chewing on the inside of his lip. "Just forget it."

“This one tastes pretty good.” A sprig of the white tufted flowers wiggled in front of his face. “Like almonds. You like almonds.”

"I don't like almonds," he mumbled petulantly. He glanced at Aran over his shoulder, "And you don't like these flowers."

“I do. I do like them.” He took a mouthful of the white flowers, crunching them, grinning like a goat. “See. Delicious. Now Tristan chaser.”

Tristan laughed, shaking his head. He hated that Aran could always make him laugh, even when he was mad. "I'm not kissing you with those things in your mouth." He took the flowers from Aran's hand, or whatever was left of them, anyway. "And you're not supposed to eat them, you know."

“I didn’t know that. I asked what I was supposed to do with them.” Bits of greenery and fluffy petals fell from his lips as he spoke. “Kisses. I like the flowers. Have some.”

Tristan scrunched his nose, brushing leaves and petals from Aran's mouth. "You're gross," he said before leaning in with a grin. "That tastes like shite, by the way," he mumbled against his lips, "not at all like almonds."

“You’re getting too many leaves. More flowers.” He wound his arms around Tristan’s neck, leaning against him. “You need more flowers. I like you.”

Tristan sighed, pressing his forehead against Aran's. "You do?" he asked quietly. "You mean it?"

“Why would I say it if I didn’t mean it?” Cornflower blue eyes like the reflection of the sky in a still pond peered up at him. “You after wanting to show me where you found them? We can go roll around there.”

"They were just… by the side of the road. Past the chemist's. A mile or so from here maybe. There's a few of them on the way to the pier, I think. But it doesn't really matter." He reached up to brush a spot of mud from Aran's temple. His coppery blonde curls were just starting to get dry, wisps that kissed his forehead. "Can I ask you something?"

“Hm?”

What are we? What are we doing? He stared at Aran for a long while, unable to ask the questions. Perhaps they didn't need any answers. Perhaps Aran didn't know them either, even if Tristan asked. They'd been friends since they were children, and now they were something else, and that something was new and bright and exciting in so many different ways- and Tristan felt completely out of his depth. He let out a soft sigh. "Nevermind." He opened his fingers to let the wilted stems fall to the ground. "Race you back to my place?"

The grin split Aran’s face, brightening his eyes, and a moment later, he was scrambling to his bike, wheels spinning in the mud as he took off.

[thespiralgrimoire]

Would you consider posting your thoughts on the Twilight series? Because the bits and pieces I catch on your main are HILARIOUS though maybe it’s just because I find salt hysterical LOL

Oh good grief

Under a read more for my sake if not anyone else’s

The year was 2007. I was 11 year old, in 6th grade, nursing a substantial superiority complex over my classmates, and idolizing the 7th grade girls. This is where my story begins.

Now I won’t get into all the semantics as to why I was such an insufferable little garbage person in middle school, but I will tell you that I was convinced that I was not like other girls. While this proved true, my reasons as to why were completely off the mark in my tweens. Back then, I thought it was because I was smarter, wiser, and more mature than any of the other 6th grade girls in my class.

But not the 7th grade girls. The 7th grade girls were it, man. Nobody was cooler or smarter or more creative than the handful of ladies who were blessed with the patience to put up with my nonsense in middle school. So naturally, when they read Twilight, I read Twilight.

Twilight, if you have the good fortune to not be intimately aware of it by now, is about the Bella Swan, blandest girl in the entire world, moving to a small town to live with her emotionally awkward father, where she meets the Cullens, a clan of vampires who don’t drink human blood, because they’re trying to be morally upright. Her scent is irresistible to one of the vampires, (the only single one among them because the rest are dating each other) named Edward. Edward has the ability to read minds, and Bella is the only person he’s ever met who is immune to this power. I must stress again that she smells so good that he has to physically restrain himself from eating her, and murdering all witnesses. For reasons I can’t really remember now except “because that’s what the books are about”, they fall in love.

Here’s the thing about these books: Even as I was reading them, they gave me the creeps. Something in my little baby mind was vaguely aware that Edward was a messed up motherfucker, and Bella was a one-dimensional stand-in for the reader, and everything interesting in this story was happening on the fringes, facilitated by the far more interesting side characters. There were parts of these books that were uncomfortable to read. There were parts that made me seriously question why these books were so popular. There were parts that made it physically difficult to keep reading. About 3 things happen in the entirety of this series that feels good and satisfying, and none of them are things that the author, who I will derogatorily refer to as Smeyer, meant to be satisfying.

Two things kept me reading these books. The first was, obviously, the 7th grade girls, and my other friends in other grades who quickly caught the hype wave.

The second. Was the fact. That the writing style of these books, despite being the modem for a story that is absurd at best and a giant, flaming, stinking dumpster fire of bad takes, racism, and sexism at worst, is HYPNOTIC. A lot of my opinions about this series have changed drastically over the years, but this is one that I was acutely aware of even as I was reading these books. No matter how stupid or frustrating or repulsive the things that Smeyer is writing are, her writing style will not let you put the story down once you’re invested. And since I was reading these for social clout, I was invested on page 1. I want to believe that this was a trick played on my young mind, but after reading the first chapter of Midnight Sun (the newly released book that is literally just Twilight from Edward’s POV instead of Bella’s), I can confirm that this woman’s style is genuinely Like That. I enjoyed maybe 6 sentences of the 15-page chapter and I am still frothing at the mouth to read more.

So now that I’ve justified why I subjected myself to this shit in the first place, let’s get to some feelings about it.

Edward is a CREEP. He knows this. His family knows this. His love rival knows this. The only person who does not know this, rendering the fact completely inconsequential to the events of the story, is Bella. I’m not really willing to talk about how Edward is such a disgusting model for what young girls should expect out of a partner that there was discourse for MONTHS over Fifty Shades of Grey, but.... Edward is such a disgusting model for what young girls should expect out of a partner that Fifty Shades of Grey exists. It’s literally Twilight fanfiction. Fact check me. I wish I was making this up.

Bella is, as I said before, a cardboard cutout of a human being. The book is from her point of view, and includes copious amounts of her thoughts, and yet it’s still clear that she has absolutely no personality. She is supposed to be your Jane Everywoman, and yet there is not a single relatable thing about her. Her three personality traits are Brown Eyes, Clumsy (but not in a way that matters often), and Likes Edward. That’s it. This girl has nothing going on, which only draws more attenton to the fact that literally everyone else in the story has a rich and interesting backstory. But they’re side characters and this is about Stale White Bread Bella over here, so go fuck yourself if you want more information on Rosalie using her vampire abilities to get revenge on her fiance and his buddies, who assaulted her to the point of near death, or Alice, who sees the future and spent a good chunk of her life in an asylum, or Jasper, who was a Union soldier fighting the Civil War which was ALSO the vampire war???? Fuck off with that shit, this is about Bella.

But you know who the best characters are? The werewolves. But not REAL werewolves. These are Native Americans whose initial transformation is triggered by the proximity of the vampires, because vampires once terrorized their people and now this ability to turn to wolves is hereditary to protect themselves. The fact that these fellas are not REAL werewolves, and that there are real lycanthropes of lore, is mentioned in passing in the last book and never mentioned by anyone ever again.

One of these wolves is Jacob, Bella’s childhood friend and, for the first two books, an absolute sweetheart. Just a big goofball who’s a couple years younger than Bella, and all he wants is the best for her. Real wholesome shit. When Edward leaves her because he thinks that she’s too attached (SHE IS),  Jacob literally talks Bella back from the brink. The wolf pack, and the Native American tribe, welcome her as one of them. They’re adorable. I can’t stress enough that they would have also been an excellent candidate for the focal point of this shitshow.

But it doesn’t last. Edward does some real dumb shit in Italy and Bella has to go rescue him, which tips off the Vampire Illuminati that Edward was trying to get killed by (i.e. the real dumb shit). They don’t like that Bella, a human, knows about them, and demands that she be turned. Edward’s family is divided on this. Eventually they decide that they got time because the Vampire Illuminati are ancient and don’t have a good enough sense of time to hold them accountable immediately.

So Bella is fine and Edward is fine and everybody is back in the same town and they’re dating again and literally everyone in the town is like Bella what the FUCK. Nobody likes Edward because they think he’s no good for Bella. They are written like the bad buys. Jacob especially, becomes a huge asshole. Because he decides that he’s in love with Bella now. Because werewolves can imprint on people, which is just a sloppy soul mate mechanic used for absolute evil in this story. He wants to fight Edward over her. Edward is chomping at the bit to throw down, but pretends to be the bigger person even though he’s just as big an asshole about all this as Jacob is. This is as misogynist as it sounds. From this point on Jacob is now also a creep.

Oh, but it gets worse!

I gotta talk about the last book in the series now, Breaking Dawn. Because this shit was so awful that it made me regret, instantaneously, ever second I spent enjoying Twilight.

Bella and Edward get married after they graduate high school because Edward is a religious virgin and Bella is HORNY. They go on their honeymoon. Bella gets pregnant. This is Not Something That Is Supposed To Happen.

Smeyer tells us WHY this happened post-canon. Edward, the virgin, has never nutted. Because of this, he still has living sperm in his balls. So when he boffed Bella, his 80-year-old sperm made it count. I wish I was making this up, y’all. I’m tearing up thinking about it.

Bella is now pregnant with a half-vampire baby that is destroying her body from the inside out. It is growing at an exponential rate. She’s eight months along after three weeks. Edward can hear its thoughts. It loves Bella. Bella has to drink blood or die. Jacob is like What the Fuck. I am also, pretty thoroughly like What the Fuck. A couple members of the Cullen family are, very quietly, like What the Fuck.

Queue the most forced and ineffectual pro-life discourse you’ve ever read in your life.

All is well and good until it’s not. Baby suddenly wants to get out of Bella RIGHT NOW IMMEDIATELY and thrashes so violently that it shatters every bone in her body between her ribs and her femurs. Edward has to rip her uterus open with his teeth. Baby is out. It has a full mouth of teeth. It bites Bella. Edward whips out several syringes full of his own saliva and injects them into Bella all over to make her change into a vampire. This is all written in disgusting graphic detail that still makes my skin crawl to think about. I cannot fathom why Smeyer was not made to tone this scene down.

So it takes a few days for Bella to change into a vampire, during which time the Cullens (and Jacob) have to look after her hellspawn of a daughter. Jacob decides that he must kill her, because she basically killed Bella. But--- surprise! He wasn’t in love with Bella! He was in love with the eggs in her womb-- particularly this one egg that is now a baby! No more crush on Bella! No more beef with Edward! He’s just in love with a newborn infant. I am, at this point, wondering in my little 12 year old mind, how this was allowed to be published.

Bella wakes up a vampire, and in her first display of rational thought through the entire series, does not like this. Don’t worry though, that’s quickly cancelled out by her naming her baby daughter Renesmee.

Renesmee is clearly supposed to be a sweet and gifted little angel that you’re meant to love, but frankly, all I can picture is the Chucky doll but quieter. She does not talk much, because she has the ability to share thoughts by touching people’s faces. She also grows super fast. In a few days she’s toddler age. Nobody knows what the fuck is going on and nobody has time to worry about it because the vampire Illuminati found out about this (a vampire friend of the family snitched) and they’re coming to fuck up the whole family.

There is a reason why they want to do this but it’s stupid and frankly I’m not going to explain it.

So the vampires mobilize. They call all their vampire friends because their plan is just to fight the thousands-years-old vampire Illuminati over this horrible child. For some reason dozens of vampires agree to this. They’re all smitten by Resume I guess.

So the illuminati comes, the family tells them that Ramune isn’t the problem that they think she is, and they leave.

That’s it. That’s the climax.

And then everyone gets their off-putting happily ever after: Bella and Edward can now fuck as much as they want because neither of them can die. Bella abandons her human life without so much as a second glance. Resonate will physically be an adult by the time she’s 7, which means that Jacob can start fucking her then. Bella’s dad sort of knows what’s going on, but doesn’t. For some ungodly reason I don’t make a bonfire out of these books.

You may notice, if you have any knowledge of Twilight, that there are whole plots that I didn’t talk about. That’s because I’ve surely forgotten things. While I read these books with what I can only describe as a manic fervor in my youth, I could never bring myself to reread them. On God, I tried. Multiple times in the last decade I have pulled my box set, hard covered Twilight books off my shelf, and opened them up. But I never even make it through the first chapter before I am so put off that I have to put them back. The plots are flimsy. The main characters are made of sand. The secondary characters are treated like garbage. The lore is disturbing.

And yet as soon as I heard that Midnight Sun was coming out, I knew that I must read it. I’ve made it through the first chapter. I do not know when and how I will make it through the next, but I know, for little middle schooler Theo’s sake, that I must.

Twilight? Horrible. Twilight Fandom? Geniuses.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[aion-rsa]

The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 12 Review: Diary Queen

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This The Simpsons review contains spoilers.

The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 12

The Simpsons Season 32, episode 12, “Diary Queen,” may be the sweetest offering of the series. It’s not only sentimental and self-esteem-positive, it’s downright edumacational. At least for Bart, who certainly learns a lesson. Thankfully, as the episode explains by example, he probably won’t retain it.

“What’s the matter, Bart? I figure you’d be used to failing by now,” Edna Krabappel once consoled the spiky haired kid who seemed so determined to get through school without schooling. Marcia Wallace, who played the Springfield Elementary teacher, died unexpectedly in October 2013. Edna’s death was first acknowledged in “Four Regrettings and a Funeral,” from season 25, when Bart wrote “We’ll really miss you Mrs. K” on the chalkboard. He only wrote it once. Her death was punishment enough. Both the character and the voice actor were instrumental in the chemistry of The Simpsons, and chemistry happens to be one of the few things Bart’s ever excelled at in school, even pranking a talent show in the “Haw-Haw Land” episode. But he gets his beakers crossed in the latest installment.

“Diary Queen” opens with an inspired West Side Story song parody, “Too Nice” replacing “Tonight.”  It’s time for Ned Flanders’s annual yard sale, and he’s on a holy mission to undersell eBay. Comic Book Guy is looking for a broom to play Quidditch on, Waylen Smithers is going to score some kitsch, and Ned will finally toss those fuzzy dice Maude bought him to the bottom of an impulse item box of jokes he did not get. The Flanders family are parting with their humble possession in a public bid for humility, in case no one notices. Ned gives up Rod’s teeth. Todd consigns his toys to the auction block on the grass. “Playing is a sin that we regret,” one of the Flanders kids explains.

Ned’s bizarre outdoor bazaar is the only segment which has any meanness in it. The Springfieldians want to take advantage of Ned, and openly mock him. Carl and Lenny turn the yard sale into a yarn brawl, and Jimbo’s gang buys commemorative plates just to smash them. It’s enough to send Ned looking for the fans he always carries around in case of stress-induced hot flashes. As Patty and Selma are flicking ashes into Rod and Tod’s baby shoes, it seems Nelson, Bart, and Millhouse are the only ones worthy to buy Ned’s treasured mementos. And, of those, only Nelson’s purchase is authentic. He buys all the bad words, like “adultery” and “fornication,” which Ned cut out of his old religious texts. Nelson has a genuine use for them, you can just tell.

Bart and Millhouse buy the books. Even without the offending admonishments, they swear they’ll still find useful ways to better themselves. Their haul winds up being the fiery centerpiece for a supercool skateboarding feat which no one will ever see. It’s an old joke, but we do get to notice how big Millhouse’s nose looks when he’s picking it. One book, which gives the title to the episode, is spared the conflagration of Bart’s daredevil jump: Edna Krabappel’s diary. Bart recognizes the Ds and Fs, and Millhouse recognizes the smell of Parliament Lights 100s. It’s very telling how these are the most recognizable clues. They are each ready-made character punchlines.

The diary is a font of information. Bart and Millhouse learn all the teachers work night jobs during school hours, and the many lonely secrets of Groundskeeper Willie. But their first use of it is inspired gaggery. Bart learns Superintendent Chalmers keeps his car keys behind the visor. The two kids not only steal the car but take advantage of a free yogurt offer at a car wash. The idea that taking the yogurt and ditching the car is a “perfect crime” is great kids’ logic. It is a little odd, however, that Springfield’s Chief Wiggum sees fourth grade car thieves as inspiration for a little personal time with Officer Lou, but it works within Simpsons logic.

The central point of the episode is Bart’s relationship with his dead teacher, and his relationship with himself. He actually believes someone he thought only saw him as troublesome also considered him “smart as a whip.” It leads him to believe he actually has potential, which he translates to: all the time he was showing his butt he was showing promise. This spurs him into thinking about getting seriously educated. Not only does he try but he succeeds on his first dry run, resisting the urge to draw a skeleton head on a multiple-choice test grid, and getting an A. Not only does he finally understand how his sister Lisa doesn’t suck, but he puts himself on the same level.

Lisa goes through all the stages of jealousy, and even realizes she’s on the verge of obsession when even her imaginary comfort pony begins to look like Bart. This makes it worse, because realizing he is the only thing she can think about only makes her dwell on it. Lisa is usually the family genius, and how she reacts to Bart doing well really depends on the circumstance and need for story conflict. For instance, when Bart had to apply geometry to miniature golf in an early episode, Lisa brought a Zenlike understanding of all things which putt. Lisa does Bart a disservice tonight in the guise of doing the right thing. It’s her MO.

Of course, Marge and Lisa don’t trust Bart’s recent good grades, but while he comes up clean to Marge, Lisa digs up the dirt. Bart correlates “cruel” with “lying” because “they’re both great.” He thinks he’s going to win a Spelling Bee just because he has the potential to do it. Would it have been less cruel for Lisa to let him see how far his belief would get him? She’s set him up for worse humiliations just for an edge at science fairs.

Millhouse gets a few good gags tonight. When Lisa starts developing a rash because of the stress of not crushing her brother’s potential, he pulls cream out of his fanny pack labeled “rash stash.” Groundskeeper Willie is a highlight of the episode. His character has one of the most interesting takes on passive aggressive behavior in comedy. It’s not that he gets it backwards, so much as he pays it forward: Terrorizing Bart with the idea of simmering a new pet into rabbit stew when all he’s thinking of is how much bunnies love stewed carrots.

Read more

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The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 11 Review: The Dad Feelings-Limited

By Tony Sokol

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The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 10 Review: A Springfield Summer Christmas for Christmas

By Tony Sokol

Subtle social commentary makes its way into the episode. As this is the first episode since the Trump presidency, it opens with a Bald Eagle flying a sign asking “Is it safe yet?” We learn Ned doesn’t find Bill Maher funny. A priest tells Bart and Millhouse reading someone else’s diary in church is not the worst thing you can do within the hallowed walls. Moments later we see the priest handcuffed and escorted past the pews by the police. We can only wonder what offenses are happening at Reverend Lovejoy’s competition.

Fat Tony (Tony Montagna) tells his henchmen his crime family doesn’t kill children, “We wait till they’re 18.” Lisa is kept up at night by the cold dead eyes of Mike Pence. Subtle subversive commentary can be found when Principal Skinner declares the drug-free portion of the school assembly a success because Lisa, the only one in the auditorium, tells him she doesn’t do drugs. But the scene comes shortly after we learn Dr. Hibbert is pushing kiddie-Xanax “sleepies” and “dopies” on her. The best bad side effects are “Portuguese insolence” and the “tendency to see yourself as others see you.”

The episode has quite a few sight gags which work well. The sign outside the Spelling Bee contest reads H-E-A-R, and we see one of the losing contestants ripping up a dictionary on the way to the exit. When Ned starts to preachify in the treehouse, he only stops because Bart is drawing back a trigger finger on his slingshot. Mrs. Krabappel’s beloved cat not only was not harmed during the making of the episode, but was a willing participant, according to the closing disclaimer. One of the stills in the photo montage is of Krabappel watching The Bob Newhart Show, which Marcia Wallace was a regular on.

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For the majority of The Simpsons’ run, Mrs. Krabappel was a sexually independent woman who was often “looking for a substitute to teach me a lesson I sorely need.” She began dating widower Ned in “The Ned-Liest Catch” from season 22. They married in secret and stayed together until her death in “The Man Who Grew Too Much.” The cause of Edna’s death has never been revealed, except in a non-canon, future-set episode. For this installment, Wallace’s two lines are taken from earlier episodes. “Diary Queen” will be her last appearance.

This is a different kind of arc for The Simpsons. “Diary Queen” is on an uplifting trajectory until Lisa knocks it off course, and ends in a sudden life-affirming crash. Bart’s final warning to Marge, “I’ll go over the edge if you try to make me feel better,” is wonderfully skewered, but the final twist is a dose of treacle. The episode was originally slated to premiere on Valentine’s Day, and is a sweet sendoff.

The post The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 12 Review: Diary Queen appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[junghelioseok]

catharsis.

↳ no matter what kind of release you need, he’s there.

◇ jungkook x reader | ft. pjm ◇ smut | college!au | fwb!au  ◇ 23.5k [1/1]

notes: i don’t have a good explanation for this. i’m comprised of exactly 0% chill and i really wanted to write a jikook threesome, so here it is ft. too much plot and a whole lotta whipped kook, lmao. quick shoutout to @puellaigmotum, who has been supporting me and calling me out on my shit in equal measure during this process. thanks for listening to me ramble and making me suffer with pictures/gifs of the rude fucker aka jeon jungkook - i do appreciate it ♡

also, please read this on a computer if you’re able! the keep reading cut doesn’t always show up, and this fic can and will freeze the mobile app, believe me, lmao.

warnings: switch!jjk, kinda sleazy jimin, oral, slight overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, masturbation, sexting, threesome (mfm), mild cumplay? who really knows!

Of two things, you are certain.

The first—and undoubtedly the most pressing—is that finals week is going to be the death of you. Tearing your gaze from the chemistry book on your desk, you flop down ungracefully onto your bed for a well-deserved break, extending one hand to rummage around the crumpled blankets for your phone.

The second—and really, you’re counting on this—is that Jeon Jungkook’s dick is going to keep you sane until graduation. Over the past year, you’ve called on each other so often that you don’t even have to scroll down in your text messages to find his name. A few clicks and a simple come over later, you throw your phone down and release a long, heavy breath before letting your eyes slide shut.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep, because you jolt awake to the sound of someone knocking. With a groan, you drag yourself to your feet and pad over to the front door, throwing it open to reveal one exceptionally rumpled Jeon Jungkook, his chest heaving.

You raise an appraising brow. “What, did you fucking run over here?”

Jungkook rakes a hand through his tousled hair—still damp with sweat—and adjusts the bag hanging over his shoulder. “Just got out of dance practice, actually,” he explains. “And your elevator’s out, so I had to take the stairs. Six flights is no joke, you know.”

Stepping aside, you let him in, watching as he drops his bag to the ground carelessly as soon as he’s over the threshold. “You better not be too tired to fuck me.”

His gaze darkens. You barely have time to register the change in his expression before he has you pressed against the wall, strong arms caging you in an ironclad embrace. “Trust me, baby, I’m wide awake,” he murmurs before leaning down to crush his lips to yours. His tongue finds its way into your mouth as he reaches up to cup your cheek, the other hand sliding down to rest at the small of your back and tugging you flush against his firm chest.

“Jungkook,” you breathe, pulling away from his addictive mouth only for his attentions to refocus on the crook of your neck instead. A soft moan escapes you as he nips at the sensitive skin, and Jungkook groans lowly in response, his grip tightening around you.

“I’m going to end up fucking you right here against this wall if you keep moaning like that, babe.” His hands dip down to the fleshy curve of your ass, squeezing as if to emphasize his point.

Your head falls back at the jolt of not-quite pain. “Wh-while that wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened,” you stammer, watching through lidded eyes as Jungkook grasps the hem of your shirt and tugs it up to expose your bare breasts, “why waste the perfectly good bed I have in my bedroom?”

Jungkook dips down to press a kiss to your cleavage, and you thank whatever god may be out there that you decided to forego a bra this morning. “Why indeed?” In an instant, he’s pulled your shirt entirely off, tossing it to the ground haphazardly before scooping you up into his arms. “Wrap your legs around my waist,” he commands, and you are quick to obey, winding your arms around his neck for additional support. His mouth finds yours again as he carries you into your room and places you gingerly on the bed, the mattress dipping under your combined weight, and as soon as you’re settled you break the kiss to reach for his white t-shirt, tugging it up and over his head. Throwing it aside, you greedily take in the sight of his bare skin, golden like honey in the soft light of your desk lamp.

“Pants,” you demand, grasping at his belt buckle, but Jungkook stops you with a laugh, much to your displeasure.

“No way,” he murmurs, hot breath washing across your cheeks. “It’s your turn.”

“We’re taking turns? What is this, elementary school?” you ask in disbelief, only for the complaint to trail off into a moan when Jungkook starts kissing a path down your bare stomach. Sly fingers find their way into the waistband of your sweatpants, and in a single, practiced motion, he peels them off along with your panties. You gasp loudly at the sudden rush of cool air, hands flying up to tangle in his silky hair as your body jolts in surprise. “Fuck, Jungkook!”

“So sensitive.” Jungkook chuckles, brazenly blowing a puff of warm air against your clit. “And already wet,” he marvels, drawing closer to your core. “You’re so needy, baby.”

A low groan escapes you, your hands tightening their grip on his hair. “Don’t tease,” you plead, canting your hips up toward his smirking mouth.

Obligingly, Jungkook leans down and licks a long, slow stripe across your entrance, ending with a teasing flick of his tongue against your clit. “So needy,” he repeats, his voice deceptively soft and bordering on a husky growl that sends shivers down your spine. 

And then his face disappears between your thighs entirely, his questing tongue dipping inside you with every slick motion. There is nothing soft or sweet in the way he eats you out, but that doesn’t stop your tummy from tensing or your thighs from clenching just a little tighter around his head.

A throaty chuckle escapes Jungkook when he feels you tighten around him—the sound rumbling straight to your core and drawing another gasp from your lips. Strong arms wind around your legs, hands settling on your knees to hold you open, and when you try to tilt your hips upward again you find that he’s rendered you entirely immobile, only able to take what he sees fit to give. “Jungkook, oh god—“

“How are you already this close?” the dark-haired young man murmurs in fascination, releasing your clit from his mouth with a wet, obscene sound. “I’ve barely touched you.”

You wriggle uselessly against his unrelenting grip, frowning when he doesn’t loosen up in the slightest. “And now you’re not touching me at all,” you grumble, petulant. “You getting tired on me, Jeon?”

Jungkook growls lowly at your provocation, dark eyes glinting. “Actually, I wanted you to cum on my cock instead of my tongue, but now I’m rethinking letting you cum at all,” he says, his tone surprisingly even despite the danger lurking in his gaze. “You wanna take that back, babe?”

“I don’t think you have any right to be threatening me when you’re that hard,” you retort, glancing pointedly down at the bulge straining against his faded jeans. Then your gaze wanders down further—past the thick muscle of his thighs and tight definition of his calves all the way to his feet, just hanging off the edge of the bed. “Hang on. Are… are you wearing Iron Man socks?”

The dark-haired young man flashes you a crooked little smirk and wiggles his toes in affirmation. “That a problem?” he asks.

You groan. “You’re such a fucking nerd.”

“Yeah, well you’re the one who texted this nerd at midnight to come and fuck your brains out, so I wouldn’t be mouthing off if I were you.” A thoughtful look crosses his face. “Better yet, why don’t you put that pretty little mouth to good use and wrap it around my cock?”

“Lose the socks first and I’ll consider it,” you reply, finally managing to free yourself from his firm hold.

Jungkook chortles, watching as you sit up. Slowly, he slides off the bed and straightens up to his full height, eyes never once leaving yours as he deliberately reaches down to pull off one red sock, then the other. Tossing them aside, he settles onto the bed again, lying back against the pillows scattered along the headboard and beckoning for you to join him with an outstretched finger. Obediently, you crawl over, pausing thoughtfully before throwing one leg over him and perching atop his strong, thick thighs. You find his belt buckle with deft fingers and practiced ease, a quiver of anticipation jolting through you when you finally free his erection from its denim prison.

“Fuck,” you breathe softly, not even realizing that you’re speaking aloud. It’s only when Jungkook chortles again that you realize your mistake, flushing as he tilts your chin up with his index finger.

“Trust me, I will be,” he assures as he reaches into his back pocket, amused gaze raking across your face before settling on your mouth. After a moment’s digging, confusion etches its way across his face, slowly morphing into despair when he rummages through his other pocket. “Shit. Do you have a condom?”

“Ran out last week,” you reply, taking perverse pleasure in the look of panicked anguish that creases his expression.

“Goddamnit. I thought I had one... Do you think the convenience store downstairs has any? I can run down and check—“

You lean forward, capturing his lips in a languid kiss before he can ramble his way off a cliff. Your thumb brushes across the head of his weeping cock, relishing the way he immediately twitches in your grasp. “I’m on birth control, you know,” you murmur, pulling back just enough to whisper the words against his lips. “And last I checked, we were both clean.”

His eyes widen to comic proportions, jaw slackening when he pieces together the meaning behind your words. “Do you mean—I mean, I can…?”

Smirking, you circle the tip of his dick with your thumb once more, spreading his slick precum over the head. “Fuck me raw, Jungkook.”

“Oh, fuck,” Jungkook breathes, awestruck. “Fuck, yes.” His hips stutter forward, seeking more friction, and you giggle as you obligingly wrap your hand more firmly around his length and give him a few good strokes. A hoarse groan escapes him at the added stimulation, and you break out into a satisfied grin when you notice just how prominent the vein in his neck is from the strained way he’s clenching his jaw. “Still want my mouth now, baby?” you murmur into his ear.

Jungkook lets out another groan when you flick the pad of your thumb over the head of his erection again. “T-tease,” he accuses, but there is no real bite in his tone. His hands curl around your hips, and your question is answered when he greedily pulls you closer, guiding your body until you can feel the velvety head of his cock slipping between your slick folds.

Still, you can’t help but torment him a little. “I’m going to take that as a ‘no’,” you murmur, trailing your hands down his chest and along the muscular ridges of his taut abdomen. The insubstantial touch draws a shiver from the man underneath you, his muscles twitching underneath your fingertips, and a pleased smirk stretches across your face when his hands tighten their hold on your hips.

And then, before he can even think to open his mouth to retort, you sink down onto his cock—all the way to the hilt in one smooth motion. The surge of fullness draws a moan from you, an answering groan leaving Jungkook’s parted lips when you immediately begin to move, raising yourself up only to sink back down again. “God, you’re so warm,” he sighs. “So warm and—nngh—so fucking wet. Christ. I’m never fucking you with a condom again.”

“Good,” you gasp, bouncing a little faster on top of him. Your ass meets the well-worn denim of his jean-clad thighs with every movement, and Jungkook lets loose another low groan when you reach up and rake your fingers down his chest, grazing across his nipples.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he encourages breathlessly, gazing up at you with darkened eyes. “Ride me, baby.” His fingers twitch against the supple skin of your waist, urging you to move even faster as he begins to snap his hips up in time with your thrusts.

A devilish whim strikes you then, a mischievous smirk stretching across your face as you immediately slow down your rhythm. “What makes you think you’re in control here, Jungkook?” you purr, grinding against him languidly. A shudder ripples through his body at the motion, sheer desperation seeping from every single pore.

“{Name},” he rasps, letting his hands flop down uselessly at his sides. His throat bobs as he tries to find the words to continue, and you stop moving entirely to watch his silent struggle.

“What is it, Jungkookie?” you tease, tracing the dips of his toned abdomen and grinning when he shivers under the insubstantial touch.

Jungkook swallows harshly, his breath stuttering in his throat before every ounce of desperation comes pouring out like a tidal wave. “Baby, please,” he entreaties, gazing up at you pleadingly with those wide doe eyes that are so incongruous with the rest of his body. “You look so good bouncing on my dick like that and I just… fuck. I wanna cum inside you so bad. I wanna cum inside you and fill you up all nice and pretty and—“

Whatever he was going to say is going to have to go unfinished, because you are surging forward to mold your mouth to his, desire flaring in your belly. Instinct has Jungkook snaking his arms around your waist to tug you flush against him, skin against skin as you deepen the kiss.

“Baby,” Jungkook breathes, pulling away just enough to mumble the words against your mouth. “I need you to move, please.”

Obligingly, you grind down on him, once, an electric thrill running through you when he immediately lets out a hoarse groan. You’ve never been able to resist how vocal he is in bed, and you are quickly realizing that you are in no state to tease anymore—not with the heat in your belly flaring up to unbearable levels. Whimpering, you begin to rock harder against him, your hands finding their way to his broad shoulders. You’re certain that your fingernails are digging vicious crescents into his honeyed skin, but he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, his eyes hooded and darker than anything you’ve ever seen.

“Oh god, Jungkook—“

“Fuck, {Name}.” Jungkook’s head falls back against your pillows, mussing his tousled hair even further. “Fuck, that’s it, right there. Look at you, bouncing on my cock like that. You feel so good clenching around me, baby.” The words escape him in a rush, and the deepness of his voice is enough to make you shiver. He’s rolling his hips in time with yours now, the mattress springs squeaking in protest under your combined weight. Every thrust sends electric warmth coursing through you, and when Jungkook’s hand darts between your thighs to rub at your clit you almost lose your balance, tilting dangerously on his lap.

“Oh god, fuck—“ Your vocabulary is steadily deteriorating, but the heat simmering in your belly is reaching unbearable levels, coiling tighter and tighter with every deliciously heavy drag of his cock along your walls. Sweat gathers at your temples and slicks your neck, and a glance down at the young man below you shows that he’s faring no better.

Jungkook is staring up at you, transfixed. His breathing is growing ragged, his chest glistening with a light sheen of sweat, but he is absolutely relentless in the way he touches you. In the months that you have slept together, he’s learned exactly what you like—and with a flick of his thumb and just the right amount of pressure you are sent spiraling off the edge, lost in a wave of pleasure. Even as you come back down from your high, he doesn’t falter, his thumb still drawing determined circles around your sensitive bud.

“Jungkook—“ His name is a whine on your lips.

“Come on, baby,” he rasps. “I know you can take it. Cum for me again—you’re so pretty when you cum.”

“Jungkook, I can’t—“ you protest, but the words have barely left your mouth before you are tensing again, leaving you to marvel at how well Jungkook knows your body. Any protests you might have had turn into a series of keening whimpers and moans, and he barrels over the edge right alongside you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Distantly, you hear him grit out something that sounds suspiciously like your name as creamy heat floods through you, his body going lax underneath yours.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room is your ragged breathing. You are still straddling Jungkook’s denim-clad thighs with his dick softening inside you, and from the way his arms remain wound around you, he has no intention of letting you go anytime soon. He hasn’t even raised his head yet, drawing a shudder from you as his hot breath washes across your sweat-slicked skin.

“Cold?” he asks, and you can hear the amusement lacing his tone, feel the way his mouth curls into a smile against your clavicle.

“Sticky,” you say honestly.

Jungkook snorts out a laugh and finally lifts his head, brown eyes crinkled with amusement. “Good thing you have a bathroom and a working shower, then.”

“Both of which I will happily put to use once you let go of me, you big baby.” You tap his cheek playfully, coaxing him to loosen his hold on you before wriggling off his lap, wincing slightly when his cock slips out. Almost immediately, your combined juices begin dripping down your thighs, and the way Jungkook’s gaze immediately zeroes in on the glistening trails doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Interesting. “Jungkook?”

He blinks twice, rapidly, and looks up at you with wide eyes. “What?”

“You were staring,” you explain, casually reaching down and scooping up a bit of the sticky substance. Jungkook follows your every movement, never once wavering from the droplet of white sitting on your fingertip.

“I—“ He clears his throat and tries again. “I was thinking about something.”

“Oh?” You cock a brow before raising your finger to your lips, delighting in the way his eyes grow even bigger. Without breaking eye contact, you open your mouth and touch the pad of your finger to your tongue, relishing the salty tang and the positively ravenous expression that overtakes Jungkook’s face. “What were you thinking about, baby?”

His gaze turns positively lurid, pure desire flashing in his dark irises. “I was thinking about making you gather up all that cum on those fingers of yours,” he growls, a thrill running down your spine as his voice drops an octave. “And watching as you push it all back inside that pretty little pussy.”

Arousal flares up in your core once more, but you tamp it down in favor of smirking coyly at him and scooting forward until you’re kneeling between his spread legs. “I’m sure we can make that happen,” you purr, leaning in and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the sharp curve of his jaw. Then you pull back and stand up from the bed, taking perverse delight in the confused frown that crosses Jungkook’s face as you make to walk toward the bathroom. “But right now, all I want is a hot shower.”

A hand on your arm stops you in your tracks. Turning around, you find yourself staring down at Jungkook once more, heat flaring in your tummy when you notice the residual hunger still lingering in his gaze. But when he speaks, his voice is back at its usual pitch, soft and pleasantly melodious. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not if you’re just planning on fucking me against the shower wall,” you say dryly. “That thing’s freezing, you know.”

A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth as he stands up, tucking his spent cock back into his jeans for the sake of propriety. “I won’t, I promise. At least, not this time.” Then he breaks into a grin, his prominent teeth on full display. “Not sure I can even get it up again right now, to be honest. Hobi’s working us into the ground for this showcase. I’m fucking beat.”

The snarky retort in your head dies on your lips when you take a good, hard look at him—noting the bags under his eyes and the crease between his brows. You know that his dance crew—Neuron—is putting on their end-of-the-year showcase in just a few days. It’s a highly-anticipated event every year, and a welcome break from the stress of finals, but up until now you’d never really thought about how taxing it must be for the dancers. “Kook,” you begin, trailing off uncertainly when you realize you have absolutely no idea what to say.

“I’m fine,” he says, brushing you off with another smile. “Come on, let’s go shower.”

Dazedly, you allow him to guide you into the adjoining bathroom with a hand at the small of your back. He shucks off his jeans as you climb into the shower and turn on the water, joining you underneath the spray once it’s reached a comfortable temperature. Silently, you reach for the soap, watching as Jungkook grabs the travel-sized bottle of shampoo that he’s taken to keeping at your place. A few months into your arrangement and after many a late night rendezvous, you’d both agreed that it’d be far more convenient if he had some basic necessities here. And so, small bottles of Jungkook’s shampoo and body wash joined yours on the shelf, an extra towel hanging on the rod and ready for his use. Sometimes, he even joked that he should bring his razor, just in case he wound up staying the night.

But he never did, and you never asked. Somehow, it felt like crossing a line—and jeopardizing your friendly arrangement with the dark-haired young man is the last thing you want. Besides, you like having your bed to yourself, and Jungkook definitely seems like the type to sprawl out like a starfish in his sleep.

“Pass me the—?”

The last half of his request is lost to you in the sound of running water. “Huh?”

“The soap,” Jungkook repeats patiently, gently prying the slippery bar from between your fingers. “You were done, right?”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” Gesturing for him to take your place under the spray, you begin lathering your hair with shampoo. Quietly, the two of you finish washing up, Jungkook turning off the water while you step out, grabbing your towel and tossing him his. Drying off your hair quickly, you wrap the soft cloth around your body and meander back into your bedroom in search for your pajamas.

By the time you manage to locate clean underwear and a large shirt to sleep in, Jungkook is stepping out of the bathroom, buttoning his jeans and buckling his belt. “Have you seen my shirt?” he asks.

Glancing around, you spot it lying near your desk. As you pick it up, your open chemistry book from earlier catches your attention, reminding you that you still have a few chapters’ worth of material to cram on tomorrow. “Here,” you say distractedly, tossing the white tee in his direction. He catches it deftly, smoothing out the wrinkled cotton before pulling it over his head.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” you reply, still staring at your chemistry book and your scattered notes. “Don’t forget your bag on the way out.”

A beat of silence. Then Jungkook huffs, drawing your attention back to him. “What, not even gonna walk me to the door?”

You raise a brow. “What, did you forget where it is?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says solemnly. “Your tiny, one-bedroom apartment is a fucking labyrinth.”

Rolling your eyes, you gesture for him to follow you out and into the hallway. “You’re a dumbass,” you tell him, picking up his bag from the floor and shoving it into his waiting arms. “There. Happy?”

Jungkook slings the duffel over his shoulder. “Satisfied.”

You can only roll your eyes again, reaching for the doorknob and wrenching it open. “Whatever floats your boat, Kook. Now go away, I need to get some sleep.”

He rakes a hand through his damp hair and shoots you a playful wink. “Why sleep? Let me stay, and I’ll prove that there are way better things to do in a bed.”

A disbelieving laugh bubbles up from your chest, and Jungkook grins, looking very pleased with himself. “True as that may be,” you concede, “I have a final tomorrow and I still have studying to do.”

“Who’s the nerd now?” Jungkook quips, earning himself a sharp elbow in the ribs and a very unladylike snort from you.

“Still you, Iron Man wannabe.”

He snickers. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, babe. See you later?”

“Later,” you agree. Jungkook offers you one last grin before turning to leave, and you watch as he jabs the elevator button a few times before remembering that it’s out of order and walking over to the stairs instead. “Oh, and Jungkook?”

The dark-haired young man turns to regard you curiously, his hand on the doorknob of the stairwell entrance. “Yeah?”

You take in the creases of exhaustion lining his face, suddenly wishing that you could smooth them away with your fingertips. “Don’t work yourself too hard, okay?”

A grin splits across his face, breathtaking and brilliant. “Okay.”

///

You are in the middle of haphazardly shoving every notebook you own into your bag when your phone goes off, the vibration unnaturally loud in the silence of your bedroom. Grabbing the device off your nightstand, you glance at the screen, a laugh escaping when you read the message displayed there.

[11:37am] Jungkook: if I die in the next few days just know that Jung Hoseok is the murderer

Another message pops up below it just moments later:

[11:37am] Jungkook: I’m serious. He may look all innocent and happy but the guy’s a stone cold killer. Might kill jimin too while I’m at it, he’s just as bad sometimes

[11:38am] You: So dance practice is going well then

[11:38am] Jungkook: clearly lmao

[11:38am] Jungkook: anyway what are you up to?

You giggle. Obviously, he only wants to know whether or not you’re available for a romp in the sheets—maybe put his newly-discovered cum kink into action. At the thought, the ravenous expression he’d eyed you with last night springs to the forefront of your mind and you have to blink a few times to dispel the image.

[11:39am] You: Sorry babe, got my chem final in half an hour

His response is immediate.

[11:39am] Jungkook: fuck, that’s the one you’re really worried about isn’t it?

Surprised, you read his message twice before typing out an answer.

[11:40am] You: Yeah. You remembered that?

[11:40am] Jungkook: hey I may not be as smart as you but I do know some things

And then:

[11:41am] Jungkook: good luck, you’ll do great

Warmth bubbles up in your belly, winding through your ribcage and settling around your heart. Tucking your phone into your pocket, you sling your bag over your shoulder before heading out, his words echoing in your head. You’ll do great.

You hope he’s right.

///

“So, how was it?”

You shrug out of your jacket, letting it crumple carelessly onto the chair before taking a seat and fixing your best friend with a mock glare. “Jesus, can’t I at least sit down before you start the interrogation?”

Jisoo laughs and raises her mug of coffee to her mouth, batting her lashes innocently at you from behind it. “Who said this was an interrogation? If it were, I’d be harassing you about finally getting off your sorry ass and dating Jeon Jungkook already.”

“We are not going over this again,” you sigh, exasperated. “We’re just having fun and blowing off some steam, that’s all.”

“Right,” Jisoo says, setting down her coffee and fixing you with a knowing stare. “And you totally don’t have the hots for him, and he definitely doesn’t have the hots for you. Are you fucking blind, {Name}?”

You huff. “My vision is fine, thank you very much. And I don’t have the hots for Jungkook.”

Jisoo just laughs again, delicately selecting another sugar packet and tearing it open. “You’re a terrible liar, sweetie. But, fine, all right. Back to my original question, then: how was your final?”

Relief floods through you at the return of a subject you’re comfortable with. “It was okay, I think. What about yours? You had bio this morning, right?”

“Yeah.” Jisoo stirs her drink thoughtfully, lips pursed. “I think it went all right. I’m ready for the weekend to get here, though.”

“We’re almost there. Tomorrow’s Friday,” you say kindly before snatching her cup away and helping yourself to a sip. She squeals in protest and you laugh, returning the mug to its proper place by her elbow after another generous swallow of coffee. “You going to Neuron’s showcase on Saturday?”

“I don’t know anyone who isn’t going,” she replies with a pointed look, daintily picking up her mug and moving it out of your reach. “And you have to go. Support your boyfriend, and all that.”

“Not my boyfriend,” you say automatically.

“Not yet,” Jisoo corrects with a wry laugh. “Mark my words, {Name}, it’s going to happen sooner or later. You two already act like a couple anyway, so would it really be a big deal if you actually started dating him? Jungkook’s a great guy.”

“I know he is,” you sigh. “Which is exactly why I’m not going to risk our friendship by trying to make it into something more. Besides, he doesn’t want a relationship either.”

Jisoo rolls her eyes. “Maybe not when you first met,” she concedes. “But a lot of things can change in a year, {Name}.”

“Not this,” you say stubbornly. “Not us.”

///

Three hours later, you are curled up on your couch with textbooks strewn around you, soft classical music floating from the speakers of the laptop balanced precariously on the armrest. A fresh notebook lays open on your lap, your pen scratching away as you slowly transcribe your electronic notes onto paper. The longer you work, however, the more the words on the screen begin to blur. After a fruitless minute of watching the black text swim unsteadily in front of your eyes, you heave a sigh and let your pen drop to the ground with a clatter.

Standing up, you are about to wander into the kitchen for a snack when there’s a knock on your door. Curiously, you approach and peer out the peephole, a smile breaking across your face when you see who is standing on the threshold. “Jungkook, what are you doing here?” you ask, swinging the door open to receive him.

Said man grins, raising a cardboard box in one hand and a tray with two paper cups in the other. “I come bearing gifts: pizza, coffee, and my dick if you want it,” he announces grandly, sweeping his arms out in a dramatic arc and sending the delicious smell of greasy cheese wafting your way.

You can only laugh at his dramatic declaration, gesturing for him to come in. “My three favorite things in one place? You’re a lifesaver, Kook.”

“Sure am,” he agrees cheerfully, following you into the kitchen and setting the food down on the counter. Immediately, you dive into the pizza box, ripping it open and tearing away a slice of cheesy goodness. Sinking your teeth in, you practically moan with delight, and Jungkook can only look on with amusement as he selects a piece for himself. “I’m guessing you haven’t eaten, then,” he remarks dryly, watching as you inhale the remainder of the slice.

You reach for one of the cups, washing down the grease with several gulps of hot coffee. “Considering how empty my refrigerator is right now, your guess is absolutely correct.”

Curiously, Jungkook opens the door of your fridge and pokes his head inside. “Have you considered maybe going grocery shopping to fix that problem?” he asks, voice echoing inside the cool space.

“I don’t have time,” you reply, ripping off another slice of pizza and taking an enormous bite.

“I don’t have time,” the dark-haired man mimics in a high-pitched warble, shutting the refrigerator door and joining you at the counter once more. “What’s with the pencil?”

You blink up at him, utterly bemused by the random question. “What?”

Jungkook reaches up, warm fingers brushing against your cheek as he tugs a yellow number two pencil from behind your ear. “This. Who the fuck still uses these? Everyone knows that mechanical pencils are way better.”

“Hey!” you protest. “They’re perfectly good pencils, and I like them!” Jumping up, you try to snatch the pencil away, but Jungkook only holds it up and out of your reach, his chest rumbling with laughter when you flounder against his taller frame uselessly. Pouting, you give him your most pitiful look, complete with fluttering eyelashes and clasped hands. “Jungkook, please give it back? I’ve been searching for it all afternoon!”

He cocks his head, lowering it slowly into your grasp. “All afternoon? Aren’t you done with your chem final?” Then something seems to click, his eyes narrowing. “You’re still studying?”

You drop your petulant expression and raise a brow, tucking the pencil back behind your ear for safekeeping. “I do have more than one final exam, you know.”

That earns you an eye-roll. “You work too hard.”

Before you can think of an adequate retort, Jungkook wolfs down the remainder of his pizza and grabs the open box. Walking out of your tiny kitchen, he starts in the direction of your living room before backtracking and poking his head back around the doorway.

“Grab the coffee, will you?” he asks between chews, his cheeks puffy.

“Ew, swallow before you speak, you heathen,” you reply, wrinkling your nose in distaste. Nevertheless, you pick up the two cups and follow your companion to the couch, watching as he carefully gathers your strewn notes into neat piles. You move your laptop—still playing soft strains of Stravinsky—to the coffee table, snatching up another slice of pizza before plopping down onto the couch. “So, what brings you to my humble abode?” you inquire curiously, glancing at the dark-haired  man who is making himself comfortable on the other end of the couch. “Besides trying to force your dick on me, that is.”

“Hey, I’ve never forced it on anyone,” Jungkook defends immediately. “Besides, you just told me that my dick is one of your three favorite things. No take-backsies.”

“No take-backsies?” you ask in disbelief. “Jesus, I can’t believe you just said that. Remind me why the fuck I’m sleeping with you again?”

“Because you need regular orgasms, and I’m willing and able to deliver,” Jungkook says smugly, munching on his pizza crust.

You snort, thwacking him on the arm. “Oh, please. This is a mutually beneficial relationship and you know it.”

He simply cackles in response, plucking up another cheesy slice before relaxing back against the cushions and slinging an arm over the backrest. The two of you eat in amicable silence for a few minutes with Tchaikovsky playing from your laptop speakers, the music broken only by the sound of soft chewing and the occasional sip of coffee.

It’s comfortable—spending time with Jungkook like this. In the last year, he’s rooted himself firmly in your life and your heart, and there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s become one of your closest friends. He’s kind, dependable, and ridiculously handsome—even with his cheeks bulging and pizza grease staining his chin. His sense of humor meshes perfectly with yours, and he knows your body almost better than you do. Just the thought of losing him is devastating—which is why you repress the tiny voice in the back of your head telling you that you’re already in too deep, and will your heart back into a regular rhythm whenever he looks at you with too much warmth sparkling in the brown of his eyes.

You’re friends. Just friends. Neither of you have the time—or the desire—for anything more.

“Hey, I never asked—how was your test?”

The soft question pulls you out of your reverie. “What?”

“Earth to {Name},” Jungkook says with a laugh, waving a hand in front of your eyes. “Your chem final, dummy. How’d it go?”

“Oh.” You think back to the two-hour exam, a frown pulling at your lips. “It was… all right, I think.”

“All right?” Jungkook echoes skeptically, raising a brow. “You really should give yourself more credit—you worked your ass off studying for that final.”

“I know,” you sigh, letting your head fall back against the cushions and staring up at the hairline crack running along the ceiling. “I just don’t feel like I did enough.”

Jungkook takes another bite of pizza, chewing thoughtfully. “Were there any questions you didn’t know how to answer?”

“No,” you admit.

He chuckles and pokes your cheek gently, making you look at him. “Then you’re fine! Stop being so hard on yourself.”

“Look who’s talking,” you say, retaliating by flicking his nose. “I’ve seen you during dance practice. You’re just as bad as I am.”

Jungkook wags a knowing finger. “But unlike you, I know when to take a break. Like right now, for example.” Grabbing the pizza box from the coffee table, he extends it to you like a peace offering. “Here. Eat the last slice and relax a little.”

You stare down at the remaining wedge, surprise etching its way across your face. “You… you don’t want it?”

He shrugs. “Nah, I’ve already had four. Besides, I’m not that hungry.”

“Jungkook, I’ve seen you put away an entire family-size bag of chips and six cups of ramen as an afternoon snack,” you point out. “On multiple occasions. There’s no way you’re not hungry.”

A huff of laughter escapes him, lips curling up into a grin that shows his prominent teeth. “Fine, you got me. Split it?”

“I’ll get a knife,” you agree, moving to stand up, but Jungkook wraps a strong hand around your wrist and stops you in your tracks.

“Why bother?” he asks, chomping off the slice’s pointed tip before handing it to you. “We can just take turns. It’s not like we haven’t exchanged bodily fluids before.”

You splutter out an incredulous laugh, but accept the pizza nonetheless. “Why are you so disgusting?”

“Hey, sex is a beautiful and natural thing!” Jungkook protests, a satisfied grin crinkling his face when you laugh again. “And we’re pretty damn good at it.”

You shake your head when he brushes a stray strand of hair away from your face, still chuckling. “You’re not gonna talk me into getting dicked down tonight, Jeon. I still have studying to do.” Taking one final bite of pizza, you extend it back toward your companion. “Here, finish this.”

Jungkook accepts the half-eaten slice and takes a bite. “Didn’t I just spend the last half hour telling you to stop studying?”

“Yes,” you say, standing up to collect the empty box and cups. Your companion trails you into the kitchen with crust still dangling from his mouth, watching as you break down the cardboard and shove it in the trash bin. “And I didn’t study for that whole half hour, so technically I did as you said and took a break.”

“Thazznawdalonnh,” Jungkook says around a mouthful of dough. You raise your eyebrows at him, and a smile twitches at the corner of his lips as he swallows and tries again. “That’s not that long. Of a break, I mean. Aren’t the rest of your exams next week anyway?”

“Yeah, but I have a lab report due tomorrow,” you reply, brushing past him to return to the living room. “Which I’ve barely started, thanks to today’s exam.” Collapsing back onto the couch, you gather up your notes and plop your laptop down onto your lap, waking up the screen. Your music resumes playing as you open up a fresh document, and Jungkook joins you a few seconds later with his black duffel in hand, dropping it on the ground as he takes a seat. You glance at him curiously as he begins pulling books from within, setting them on the coffee table before taking out his own laptop and booting it up. “Kook? What are you doing?”

He opens up one of the notebooks, his forehead creasing in concentration as he skims the contents within. “Studying, what else? I have finals too, you know.”

“But you never study,” you protest, confused.

He glances up, one dark eyebrow disappearing into his hair. “It’s cute that you think I’m some kind of academic whiz, babe, but unfortunately I’m not. Now hush, I’m trying to read.”

With that, he immerses himself back in his book, but you don’t miss the tiny smile that lingers on his lips. Shaking your head, you turn back to your own laptop and begin typing, the clatter of your keyboard and the rustling of Jungkook’s notes melding perfectly with the dulcet sounds of Vivaldi.

///

Friday afternoon finds you at the library, hunched over your laptop at a tiny, secluded table shoved halfway behind a shelf full of geography books. You’ve been sitting in the same place for nearly five hours now, and the hushed, monotonous atmosphere is beginning to drive you insane. Exhaling heavily, you let your head drop, hitting the table with a quiet thunk.

Unbidden, Jungkook’s face materializes in your mind’s eye. Tousled black hair falls into a face crinkled with mirth, his laughter clear and melodious as he lounges on the couch beside you, cracking inane jokes. You imagine the shape of his grinning mouth and scrunched nose, picture the way his eyes crease into crescents.

And then the image shifts. Jungkook’s eyes darken, his body shifting closer. You can feel the warmth of his lips on yours, imagine the exact way he would slip his hand into the waistband of your panties. There’s a damp spot growing in your actual panties by this point, and as your thoughts turn increasingly sordid, you find yourself scrambling for your phone and pulling up your messages.

[6:46pm] You: I wish I’d taken you up on your offer last night

Putting down the device, you try to refocus your attention on your notes as you wait for him to respond. After a few minutes of unsuccessful reading and no new messages, however, you grow impatient.

[6:49pm] You: all I can think about right now is how good you feel inside me

[6:49pm] You: And how I should’ve crawled onto your lap and sat on your cock yesterday

This time, your phone buzzes with an incoming text before you can even set it down.

[6:49pm] Jungkook: wow babe

[6:49pm] Jungkook: you’re really missing me huh? Fuck I wish I were there right now

His words stoke the fire inside you, pure want simmering in your belly and trickling down to your core.

[6:50pm] You: then come find me. I’m on the 4th floor of the library, what’s stopping you?

[6:50pm] Jungkook: Ugh, I have practice. I’m gonna kill Hoseok and Jimin I swear

Three dots appear at the bottom of your screen, indicating that he’s still typing. And then his new message pops up, the words sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

[6:50pm] Jungkook: god I wanna be inside you so bad

You can no longer contain your smirk, devious fingers already typing out an incendiary answer. Want you inside me too, baby. I’m so wet right now, you have no idea. I’m thinking about going into the bathroom and touching myself.

Almost immediately after pressing ‘send’, you see the telltale ellipses spring up at the bottom of your screen.

[6:51pm] Jungkook: fuck. Fuck fuck fuck

[6:51pm] Jungkook: you absolute goddamn tease

[6:51pm] Jungkook: do it. I dare you.

Your smirk widens, turning downright sinful. Oh, baby, I already am, you reply. Not quite true, perhaps, but you waste no time between pressing send and standing up, winding your way through the maze of bookshelves to the restroom on the other side of the library. It is thankfully empty upon arrival, and you immediately lock yourself in the stall furthest from the entrance, leaning against the door and checking your phone for Jungkook’s response. Right away, you realize that it must be a long message, because the preview on your lockscreen cuts off mid-sentence. And when you finally unlock the device and open up the full text, a delighted peal of laughter bubbles up from your chest and escapes into the open air.

[6:52pm] Jungkook: no you’re not. Are you? Jesus. fuck babe, you’re killing me. You’ve somehow beat jung hoseok to murdering me and now I must be in hell because all I want is to go over there and fuck you until you can’t remember your own name

[6:52pm] Jungkook: are you really in the bathroom right now??

Still giggling, you open up your camera, angling the screen so that it captures the telltale navy walls of the stall you’re standing in. Adopting a mischievous smirk, you tug your bottom lip coyly between your teeth and hike the hem of your shirt up to expose a tantalizing flash of skin. Your free hand snakes into the waistband of your jeans, now unbuttoned just enough to see a glimpse of the lace underneath. Snapping the photo, you send it off with just one sentence: What do you think?

His response is near instantaneous.

[6:54pm] Jungkook: damn it

[6:54pm] Jungkook: you’re really trying to ruin me aren’t you

He really is far too easy to rile up sometimes, you think with a grin. But you certainly aren’t complaining—not when heat is still curling in the pit of your tummy and the spot on your panties is growing increasingly damp. I have no idea what you’re talking about. But I do know that your fingers would feel so much better than mine right now.

[6:54pm] Jungkook: fuck, baby. Tell me what you’re doing

You wriggle your jeans down your hips and let your fingers trail downward, drawing light circles around your lace-covered clit. Why don’t you tell me what you want me to do instead?

[6:55pm] Jungkook: so that’s how you wanna play, huh

[6:55pm] Jungkook: i like your panties, by the way. sexy. why don’t you slip your hand inside them and touch your clit for me?

Your breath catches in your throat when you follow his directions, the pads of your fingers sliding through the gathered slickness between your thighs with ease.

[6:55pm] Jungkook: are you pretending it’s my hand instead?

[6:55pm] You: of course

And it’s true. You can picture the wicked tilt of his lips, can practically feel the warmth of his body caging you against the cool wall, one hand anchoring at your hip while the other rubs hard circles against your sensitive bud.

[6:56pm] Jungkook: good. god, I wish I were there. Slide two fingers into that sweet little pussy of yours and pretend it’s my cock filling you up instead

Clearly, Jungkook is in no mood to tease. Exhaling shakily, you do as he commands, savoring the feeling of your walls molding to the shape of your fingers. You dig in as deep as possible, head falling back against the wall as you raise your phone again.

[6:56pm] You: now what?

[6:56pm] Jungkook: move them. Slowly. And tell me what you’re thinking about

Your mental picture of the dark-haired man returns, imaginary hands sliding down to cup the sumptuous curve of your bottom as he lifts you effortlessly and pins you in place with his hips.

[6:57pm] You: thinking about you pinning me against the wall of this stall

[6:57pm] You: your pretty cock stretching me open

Letting out a soft whimper, you pick up the pace, thumb flicking over your clit in frenzied strokes. The coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter, ready to snap at any moment.

[6:57pm] Jungkook: fuck, babe. What else?

[6:58pm] You: ypour mouth on my neck

[6:58pm] Jungkook: want me to bruise you up all nice and pretty? Mark you as mine?

You barely manage to type out a coherent answer.

[6:58pm] You: g od yess

[6:59pm] You: nd fill me up with your cum

[6:59pm] Jungkook: christ. You filthy thing. You perfect pretty little tease, I’m gonna have you six ways from sunday when i get my hands on you

[6:59pm] Jungkook: fuck. I gotta go hobi’s starting warmups and I’m still half hard

[7:00pm] Jungkook: talk to you later. Think of me when you cum, okay?

His last few messages arrive in quick succession, a disbelieving huff escaping your lips when you read through them. Your orgasm—so close just moments ago—suddenly seems miles away. But his last message is still lighting up the screen of your phone, and so, with the thought of a half-hard Jungkook in mind, you let your fantasy take over again.

If Jungkook were here, he would be pressing even more urgently against you, hips snapping against yours as his thumb rubs hard circles into your clit. His mouth would be brushing along the column of your neck, teeth nipping at the delicate skin of your collarbone and the sensitive spot just below your ear. His thrusts would become sloppy as he nears the edge, and—

—It’s not the most satisfying orgasm you’ve ever had, pressed up against the metal wall of your university library’s bathroom, but it’s enough for now.

Besides, you still have a lab report to finish.

///

Ten o’clock comes and goes. Your keyboard clatters underneath your fingertips as you put the finishing touches on your report, scanning your conclusion for any errors before leaning back with a relieved sigh. It takes only a few more seconds to save your work and send the document to your professor. By the time you pack up your materials and head for the library doors—shooting an sympathetic look at any stragglers who remain—it’s ten-fifteen, and you are more than ready to head home and crawl underneath the fluffiest blanket you own.

Stepping outside, you suppress a shiver. Even though it’s springtime, the evenings are still rather chilly once the sun sets, and you curse when you realize you’ve forgotten to bring a sweater. Hiking your bag a little higher on your shoulder, you steel yourself for the trek back to your apartment. Every breeze raises gooseflesh on your skin, but you just walk faster, thinking about the hot cocoa packets stuffed away in one of your kitchen cabinets.

As you turn the corner, the performing arts building comes into view, glimmering in the darkness like a beacon. Low music thumps from within, and you wonder briefly at the sound before remembering Jungkook’s recent complaints about his long hours spent at the dance studio. Curiosity overcomes you and draws you closer, the music growing louder as soon as you step inside the building. Following the sound to a set of double doors at the very end of a dimly-lit hall, you debate briefly whether or not to knock before throwing all caution to the wind and pushing open the unlocked door.

The first sight that greets you is yourself, reflected in the long paneled mirror that stretches the length of the entire wall. A few chairs line the perimeter of the room and you immediately spot Jungkook’s duffel bag sitting on top of one of them, the sleeve of one of his many black sweatshirts poking out from the unzipped opening. The man himself is on the other end of the room, flanked on either side by two figures you recognize as Park Jimin and Jung Hoseok. None of them have noticed your presence yet—all three are immersed in the low, seductive beat still pounding from the speakers, perfectly in sync as they dance. Every movement is mesmerizing, flowing easily into the next as Jimin takes a running start and leaps over Jungkook to take center stage for his solo.

“Okay—cut!” Hoseok calls, raising a hand. “That was a lot better, nice job. Jungkook, just be sure to watch your hand movements during that last eight; you’re faltering a little when Jimin jumps. And Jimin, you’re still hesitating half a beat before the jump, so just speed that up and we should be good.”

Jimin nods wearily, raking his blond hair out of his face. “Got it.” Behind him, Jungkook stares at his hands for a full five seconds before repeating the section of the dance that Hoseok had specified, his shoes squeaking in protest against the hardwood.

Hoseok eyes him critically. “Yeah, that looks good. Cool. Should we run through the last song again?”

“Honestly, Hobi, I think we’re all pretty beat,” Jimin says, his head lolling against his shoulder. “We’ve been at this for over three hours now.”

Jungkook nods in agreement, swinging his arms overhead and shaking out his muscles. “Yeah, I think it might be time to call it quits for the day.” Then his gaze flickers up, catching sight of your reflection in the mirrors. “{Name}?”

Your face flushes at being caught. “H-hey.”

His mouth lifts into a smile, tired but bright. “Hey yourself. Waiting for me?”

You glance at Hoseok and Jimin before returning your attention to the dark-haired man. “Just poking my head in. I don’t want to interrupt or rush you, or anything.”

Hoseok grins, shaking his head. “Nah, you’re fine. I think we’re pretty much done here, anyway. We’ll just grab some water and cool down, and then you’re free to take him for the night.” He claps Jungkook on the back, and the two of them head for the water cooler in the corner of the room, conversing quietly.

Jimin chooses that moment to step forward, flashing you a crooked smirk. “Take him for the night, huh? Lucky guy, getting to go home with such a pretty girl.” He eyes you up and down, making no move to hide it, and you raise a brow at his boldness. The blond-haired man is a notorious playboy—well-known around campus for his various escapades and his reputation as a heartbreaker—but you’re still rather surprised that he’d hit on you so blatantly with Hoseok and Jungkook still in the room.

“Settle down, Park. Don’t you have some stretches to be doing?” You nod at Hoseok, who is now seated on the floor and reaching for his toes.

The blond man grins. “The only kind of stretch I want to be doing is stretching you open with my co—“

“You sure you want to finish that sentence?” A heavy weight settles across your shoulders, and you turn to see that Jungkook has draped his arm over you, his dark eyes glittering.

Jimin has the audacity to laugh aloud, honey brown eyes crinkling into gleeful crescents. “What? Can’t handle a little competition, Jungkookie?”

The dark-haired man rolls his eyes. “Fuck off, Jimin.”

“Fuck off?” Jimin steps closer, tilting his head in a perfect picture of mock innocence as his fingers find your chin, forcing your gazes to meet. “From what I recall, {Name} definitely wanted to be fucked earlier. What were her exact words—oh, something about a pretty cock stretching her open?” A grin splits across his face, wide and mischievous. “And believe me, princess, I’ve been told I have a very pretty cock.”

Jungkook’s eyes grow wide, abject horror painted across every feature. “What the fuck, Jimin? How—how the fuck did you…?!” His spluttering trails off into dismayed silence, his breathing quick and sharp.

You, however, do not hesitate to wrench away from Jimin’s grasp, your open palm colliding with the soft flesh of his cheek. The slap echoes in the empty silence of the dance studio, and Jimin touches the angry red handprint on his face gingerly before smirking up at you.

“Feisty, huh? That’s okay, I don’t mind it a little rough.”

It’s probably a good thing that Hoseok is already gone, because the litany of curses that leaves Jungkook’s mouth is surely something that would get him in trouble with the red-haired dance captain. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jimin, what the hell is wrong with you? And why the fuck were you reading my goddamn texts?!”

Jimin finally takes a step back, the salacious smirk dropping off his face as he puts his hands up in surrender. “To be fair, I didn’t mean to,” he says. “But you were being weird, sitting by yourself in the corner before practice started, so I got curious. And then I saw your phone’s screen in the mirror, and—“

“Shit, the mirrors,” Jungkook interrupts, sounding utterly defeated. “Goddamnit. Fuck, {Name}, I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Kook,” you reassure, patting his shoulder gently. “Park, here, on the other hand…”

The blond-haired man at least has the decency to look somewhat abashed. “I am sorry, just for the record. I really didn’t mean to read your messages, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad I did.” Jimin grins, boldly shooting you a flagrant wink and a smirk. “My offer still stands, you know, if Jeon isn’t up to the task tonight.”

Jungkook’s arm tightens around you. “Haven’t you done enough damage for one day, Park?”

Jimin throws his head back and laughs, far too hard for your liking. “What’s the matter, Jungkook? Afraid I’ll get her off faster than you?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Jungkook’s eyes narrow to slits, and you watch as his mouth twists into a dangerous scowl. “In your dreams, asshat.”

“In my dreams?” Jimin chuckles, stepping forward and throwing a jovial arm around Jungkook’s shoulders. “Doesn’t have to be.” Then he turns to you, shooting you another wink. “What do you say, princess? Care to find out who can make you feel better?”

It should be easy to say no—should be simple to tell Jimin to go fuck himself and go home with Jungkook as you have so many times before. But there’s a tingle in the pit of your belly, something dark and insatiable that croons obscene suggestions that refuse to be drowned out by logic or reason. Beside you, Jungkook’s jaw is clenched, and you recognize the competitive glint burning in his gaze immediately. The dark-haired young man isn’t one to back away from a challenge, and you know from experience just how easy it can be to rile him up. And it seems Jimin knows it, too, if the triumphant smirk on his face is anything to go by.

“{Name},” Jungkook says, releasing you from his hold only to spin you toward him and cup your cheeks instead. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I can just take you home—“

You cut him off with a finger, pressing insistently against his soft lips. “Take me home,” you murmur. “But we’re bringing this fucker along, too. I bet he’s all talk.” You nod in Jimin’s direction.

Jungkook’s face dissolves into mirth, a hearty cackle escaping his lips. “You know what? So do I.” He turns to the other man, quirking a brow. “Well? You still coming?”

Jimin grins. “I think we’ll all be coming tonight.”

“No thanks to you,” Jungkook quips, grinning when you giggle. Then he’s strolling off to grab his bag, with Jimin following suit and gathering up his belongings as well. As he bends down to pick his water bottle up from the ground, you can’t help but check him out—something he notices right away and remarks upon with a sly grin once he straightens up again.

“Enjoying the view, princess?”

Warmth blossoms across your cheeks. “I’m just trying to see what all the girls see in you.”

Jimin steps forward, stopping only when he’s mere inches away. “And?” he breathes.

This close to him, you can see the flecks of amber dancing in his honey brown irises. “Not impressed,” you lie.

The amused tilt of his head makes it clear that he doesn’t believe you, and you flush when his hand comes up to pat your cheek. “You’re cute,” he chuckles, brushing the pad of his thumb along the skin below your right eye. Then he turns away and begins shoving the rest of his things in his bag, whistling cheerily under his breath.

“Thanks, I think,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

“You’re welcome, I guess?”

Jungkook’s voice comes from behind you, two strong arms winding their way around your waist and tugging you into a warm, familiar chest. “Talking to yourself is a sign of insanity, you know,” he murmurs into your ear, hot breath caressing your neck as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Good thing I was talking to Jimin, then,” you whisper back, craning your head so that you can look him in the eye.

He hums. “So you’re getting along.”

“As much as a girl can actually get along with Park Jimin,” you reply with a laugh. “Hey, you ready to go?”

He nods, dark hair bobbing. “Yeah.” Releasing you from his embrace, he keeps one arm slung around your waist as he turns toward the door, Jimin sauntering up to join you on your other side. Together the three of you head for the building’s exit, and when Jungkook pushes open the front door with his free hand, you shiver at the sudden burst of chilly air.

Wordlessly, Jungkook reaches into his bag and pulls out the black sweatshirt you’d spotted earlier, releasing his grip on your waist to drape it over your shoulders. You thank him with a smile, slipping your arms into the sleeves and giggling at how it dwarfs your smaller frame. Jungkook seizes the opportunity to playfully pull the hood over your head, tugging it down until it covers your eyes and breaking out into laughter when you whack him with your overly long sleeves in retaliation. With him distracted and you temporarily blind, neither of you see the knowing smile that curls Jimin’s lips.

The remainder of the walk to your apartment passes in mostly companionable silence. Jungkook and Jimin occasionally fall to bickering, but despite the high tensions earlier, it’s clear that the two are good friends. And you’re more than happy to walk between them quietly, bundled in Jungkook’s warm sweatshirt and listening to them talk about their upcoming performance.

“I don’t know, man, I always feel off during that second song,” Jungkook says, raking a hand through his hair and ruffling it even further. “I just can’t seem to get into the right rhythm.”

Jimin snickers and shoots you a sideways glance. “I hope you have better rhythm with {Name}, otherwise this night is going to be very disappointing.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Jungkook snorts, rolling his eyes. “I’m being serious, here.”

“Okay, you want me to be serious?” Jimin asks, reaching over and giving the younger man a reproving nudge. “You’re not off; you’re just getting in your own head.”

“That sounds like Kook,” you pipe up, pulling out your keys as your apartment complex comes into view. “Instead of getting in your own head, why don’t you relax and let me give you head?”

Jimin lets out a delighted laugh and raises his hand for a high-five, which you happily give him as the three of you step into the lobby of your building. “That was fucking amazing,” he declares, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “Absolutely incredible. I think I just fell in love.”

On your other side, Jungkook is shaking his head in exasperation, mumbling something about god there’s two of them under his breath while jabbing the elevator button. The three of you pile inside as soon as it arrives, with Jimin still chortling quietly at your joke.

Jungkook takes the lead when the elevator doors slide open again, gently prying your keys from your hand. Striding down the hall, he comes to a stop in front of your door and shifts his gaze to you. His brown eyes regard you carefully, and you know that this is his way of giving you one last chance to say no.

But you don’t want to say no. Heat has been simmering in your belly ever since you left the dance studio, and now that your front door is the only obstacle between you and whatever the night may bring, it flares up, growing hotter and more insistent. You meet Jungkook’s gaze and nod.

He inclines his head and inserts the key into the lock, turning until it clicks. The door swings open.

The atmosphere shifts as soon as you cross the threshold, all jokes and jabs dissipating to leave only a thick, palpable tension. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment when Jungkook’s gaze darkened into obsidian or when Jimin’s hand found its way to the curve of your ass. All you know is that the air is positively crackling with hidden energy, sizzling and electric, and that the two men on either side of you are undoubtedly the source.

Jungkook kisses you first. His mouth brushes against yours briefly before descending down the column of your throat, tongue and teeth laving against your skin. Strong hands settle on your hips, guiding you backwards down the hall and into the living room until you find yourself being pressed down onto a firm surface, a second pair of hands joining Jungkook’s curled around your waist.

Turning around, you meet Jimin’s amused gaze, belatedly realizing that you are seated firmly in his lap. A soft laugh escapes him as he takes in your surprised expression, his fingers crawling down the expanse of your stomach to linger near the hem of your shirt, toying with the thin fabric. “I can kiss you, right?” he murmurs, leaning in close.

If you even so much as nod, your lips would meet his. “Yes,” you breathe, not daring to look away.

Jimin smiles crookedly. “Good.” And then he closes the gap.

Kissing Jimin is different. His lips are fuller than Jungkook’s, his movements more languid. One of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair, gentle but firm. The other slips underneath your shirt, rubbing tantalizing circles into your hip, and when it ventures farther up and trails along the seam of your bra, you break the kiss with a gasp.

“Still okay, princess?” Jimin murmurs softly.

“Still okay,” you confirm, sucking in a deep breath and shifting around until you are facing him, your legs straddling his thighs. Leaning forward, you kiss him again, and this time his tongue finds its way past your lips and flicks gently against yours. He explores your mouth thoroughly—hungrily—and by the time you break apart, both of you are gasping for air.

Jungkook’s hands return then, grasping at the thin material of your shirt before pulling it up and off entirely. Your arms settle back around Jimin’s shoulders, his brown eyes raking appreciatively across your figure as Jungkook lays a trail of soft kisses along your spine before coming to a stop at your bra.

“Wait a sec,” he mutters, pinching the elastic stretched across your back between two fingers. “How the fuck do you get this thing off?”

It takes you a good second to process his confused question, but once you do, you can’t stop the peal of laughter that escapes you. Jimin echoes your hilarity, snickering wildly as he fights to answer Jungkook. “Jesus, Jeon,” he manages after a few seconds, sucking in a lungful of air. “You’re adorable. Haven’t you ever seen a bra with a front clasp before?” As if to emphasize his point, he reaches for the clasp nestled between your breasts, popping it open smoothly.

Jungkook watches as the cups fall to either side of your body, your nipples hardening at the sudden exposure to the open air. “Oh, fuck off,” he grumbles, tugging the garment down and off your arms.

Jimin finally curbs his chuckles and returns his attention to you, squeezing at the twin swells of your breasts before tweaking the sensitive peaks. “Shit, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes, leaning down to mouth at the soft spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “How has Jeon kept you to himself for this long?”

You aren’t given the opportunity to respond, for Jungkook chooses that moment to mold his mouth to yours. His tongue slips past your lips, slick and familiar, and you moan into the kiss as his hands slide down your sides and anchor at your hips.

Jimin hums from where he’s sucking a purple bruise into the thin skin above your clavicle, laving across the tender skin before leaning back to survey his work. “Jungkook. Let’s get her jeans off, shall we?”

You gasp for air when the dark-haired man finally pulls back, his fingers sliding around to pop open the button and slide down the zipper. “Thought you’d never ask,” he teases, gently urging you off Jimin’s lap so he can wriggle the jeans down your thighs, your panties disappearing right alongside the denim.

“How is this fair?” you protest, suddenly very aware of how naked you are before the two men. “Neither of you have taken anything off yet.”

“So impatient,” Jimin chortles, straightening up and grabbing the hem of his t-shirt. In one smooth motion, he’s pulled it off, baring the smooth expanse of his toned torso. “Is that better, princess?”

You drink in each dip and ridge of muscle, following the defined lines of his pelvic bones to where they disappear into the waistband of his ripped jeans. “Better,” you confirm, flashing him a wink and a grin before turning your sights to the other man in the room. “Your turn, Jeon.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jungkook gives you a playful salute before shedding his shirt as well, grabbing it by the back of the collar and tugging it over his head. Flinging it onto the growing pile of clothes on the ground, he closes the distance between you and crushes his mouth to yours in another searing kiss. His warm hands find purchase on your shoulders, smoothing along the bony ridges of your clavicle before dipping down to grasp the curve of your waist, and you can’t help but melt into his embrace. Your fingers fly up to tangle in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer until you are molded against his bare chest, soft curves meshing perfectly with the hard planes of his torso.

The dark-haired man is in the middle of determinedly mapping out every inch of your mouth with his tongue when Jimin rises to his feet and presses himself against your back, his hands sliding down to the curve of your ass and giving the flesh a playful squeeze. “Being a little selfish, aren’t we, Jeon?” he murmurs, mouth at your ear.

Gasping, you break away from Jungkook. “Jimin!”

Said man presses a little closer, and your eyes widen when you feel his hardening length twitch against your thigh. “Screaming my name already?” he asks with a chuckle, his fingers now traversing the length of your spine.

You shiver at the gentle touch. “D-don’t get too used to it.”

Jimin’s entire face crinkles in glee, honey brown eyes disappearing into twin crescents. “Fuck, you’re really something else,” he chortles, nipping at your earlobe. “What are you going to do when I make you eat your words?”

Jungkook snickers and plants an affectionate kiss to the corner of your mouth before pulling away. “You sure you’re up to the task, Park?” he challenges. Nudging Jimin aside, he gently presses you backward until he can safely lower you down onto the plushy couch cushions.

The blond man simply grins and steps forward, jostling Jungkook away before he can make himself comfortable between your legs. “Why don’t you save the trash talk and let me take it from here?” he asks playfully, dropping to his knees. Warm hands settle on your thighs, urging your legs apart, and you watch as his tongue darts out to moisten his lips once you’re fully spread before him. “Fuck,” Jimin rasps, his voice dropping several pitches. “I bet you taste so sweet.”

“She does.” Jungkook’s voice comes from above you, and when your head lolls back onto the backrest, you see that the dark-haired man has stepped around to the other side of the couch, standing behind you with his fingers trailing random patterns across your bare shoulders. Every movement leaves gooseflesh and pinpricks dancing in its wake, and you shiver when he suddenly descends farther to mold his hands around your breasts.

“Fuck, Jungkoo—oh!”

A sudden flare of heat against your clit has you gasping and tearing your gaze away from the young man hovering above you. A glance down the length of your body reveals that Jimin has chosen that moment to bury his face between your legs, only his honey brown eyes visible above your mound. “Eyes on me, princess,” he commands huskily, raising his head just enough to give you a perfect view of his tongue tracing a sensuous trail across his plushy bottom lip. Then he’s dipping down to blow another cheeky puff of hot air against your core, and this time you can’t help the way your hips automatically cant up toward his mouth for something more substantial.

Jimin is more than happy to comply with your desires. His hands slide up your thighs slowly, heavy gaze never once leaving yours as he presses a kiss to the soft skin just above your mound. Then he’s sliding down, pink tongue flicking against your clit before plunging inside your weeping entrance for a taste.

“You’re right, she is sweet,” he purrs, pulling away briefly to wink at Jungkook. “So fucking sweet.”

You don’t have a chance to glance back for the dark-haired man’s reaction before Jimin returns his attention to you and delivers a playful nip to your inner thigh. The sudden sharpness of his teeth against the delicate skin sends a jolt of arousal straight to your core, and instinct sends your fingers flying up to wind through his silky golden hair. A crooked smirk etches across the blond man’s handsome face, and you can practically see the gears turning wickedly in his head when you stammer out a breathy, “O-oh god.”

“You liked that, huh?” Jimin slides two fingers through the slickness gathering between your legs, waggling them playfully in Jungkook’s direction before licking them clean. “I think Jeon liked it too. You doing okay back there, bud?”

With a start, you realize you hadn’t noticed when Jungkook’s hands left your body, but when you tilt your head back, you see the exact reason for their disappearance. The dark-haired young man is standing just behind your sprawled figure, his belt undone and jeans pushed down just enough to free his cock. One hand is wrapped firmly around his length, thumb flicking across the head, and a low groan escapes him when he notices you watching.

“Jungkook,” you breathe, tongue darting out to moisten your lips at the sight. “Why don’t you let me help you out a little?”

The words have barely left your mouth when Jimin suddenly tightens his grip on your thighs, taking your clit into his mouth and giving it a punishingly hard suck.

“Jimin!” you gasp, jolting in his grasp at the sudden burst of aching pleasure.

The blond man’s resulting smile could put Wonderland’s infamous feline to shame. “That’s more like it,” he croons, trailing his index finger along your drenched folds and chuckling when you squirm beneath him. “You sound so good moaning my name, princess.”

Your fingers tighten in his golden hair when he leans forward to bury his face between your legs once more, his name floating from your lips a second time when his wet tongue darts out to lave insistently at your core. Your tummy tenses under the sudden onslaught of pleasure, your thighs tightening around Jimin’s head as his questing tongue delves inside you experimentally. Seconds later, his fingers join in, two digits stretching you open as his mouth latches onto your clit with earnest.

“Who’s being selfish now?” Jungkook’s voice comes from somewhere above you, and a moment later his face appears in your peripheral vision, hovering above your prone body as he leans over the backrest to press an upside-down kiss to your mouth. Both hands wander down past your clavicle to squeeze your breasts, drawing a shudder from you when he begins rubbing slow, deliberate circles around the sensitive peaks.

“L-let me suck you off,” you offer, your voice coming out in little more than a breathy stammer. “I did—ah—tell you to relax and let me give you head, didn’t I?”

The dark-haired man shifts his attention to your neck—soft lips ghosting along the column of your throat—and you immediately tilt your head to give him better access. “You did,” he murmurs between open-mouthed kisses, warm breath sending gooseflesh and pinpricks dancing along your skin. “And you know how much I love your mouth, babe.”

You gasp when his teeth suddenly sink into the junction where your neck meets your shoulder, turning into a moan when he begins to suckle at the bruised flesh. At the same time, Jimin begins to lap at you again, licking deliberate stripes along your entrance that end with teasing flicks on your clit. “O-oh fuck,” you say shakily, fighting to maintain your train of thought as heat simmers in your belly. “Fuck. Let me make you feel good too, baby.”

Jungkook lets out a hoarse groan at your incendiary words, nipping at your neck one last time before soothing the bite with his tongue and straightening up to his full height. One hand descends to wrap around his hard cock, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he takes in the way you’re sprawled across the couch, your vision turned upside-down with the way your neck is arched over the edge of the backrest. After a few moments of deliberation, he carefully reaches out, brushing his thumb along the seam of your lips and urging them apart.

You are more than happy to comply, letting your jaw fall slack as he positions the head and begins to press forward into your mouth. Every move is slow and gentle, your heart swelling at his mindfulness as he gives you ample time to adjust to his girth and stops just short of the back of your throat.

“Doing okay, baby?” he murmurs softly, cupping your cheek.

You hum in affirmation, eyes fluttering shut under the gentle touch. Jungkook groans at the resulting vibration, his hips stuttering forward—and you immediately suck in a quick breath before relaxing your throat for the familiar intrusion.

The sound that Jungkook makes when he bottoms out is positively cavernous, rumbling through his chest. “Fuck, baby,” he hisses, the strain evident in his voice. “God, you feel fucking incredible.”

Heat curls at the base of your spine, crawling up and flaring outward. Reaching around, you curl your fingers around the backs of his thighs, smoothing along the tensed muscles to reassure him that he can begin moving. At the same time, you swallow around the head of his cock, eliciting a sharp gasp and a startled rock of his hips. The sudden surge forward has you spluttering to fight your gag reflex into submission, and you feel Jungkook begin to pull out before you squeeze his thigh again to keep him in place.

It takes a reassuring hum and several languid licks along the vein traversing the underside of his cock to reassure Jungkook that you’re okay to continue, but when you swallow around him again, something in him seems to snap. He surges forward until his hips are flush against your chin, and each subsequent thrust has you stretching out, desperate to open up more of your body for him to possess. “Christ,” he grits out, his fingers wrapping loosely around your throat and increasing the pressure on his cock lodged within. “God, {Name}.”

Jimin chooses that moment to renew his ministrations, diving back inside you with a vigor that puts any of his previous actions to shame. His tongue flicks furiously against your clit as his fingers delve further inside you in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars, and you moan brokenly around Jungkook’s dick when he finds it without a hitch. “Look at how greedy your little pussy is,” he croons, pulling away from your folds just enough to murmur the words. “Sucking my fingers back inside each time I pull them out. But I bet my cock will feel even better, huh?”

You’re in no position to give him a verbal response—not with your throat swollen with the entirety of Jungkook’s dick—but Jimin doesn’t seem to need one. The warmth of his body suddenly disappears from between your legs, and you wonder vaguely where he’s gone even as Jungkook increases his pace. Saliva pools in your mouth to ease the dark-haired man’s thrusts, and somewhere between the slick slide of his cock against your lips and his strangled cursing, you vaguely hear the metallic clack of a belt buckle and the sound of a condom wrapper being ripped open.

Jimin’s warmth returns moments later, the heat rolling off his torso almost unbearable as he leans over your supine figure. “Jesus, princess,” the blond man murmurs, laying a trail of kisses from your stomach to the valley between your breasts. “You’re fucking soaked.” As if to prove his point, he runs the tip of his cock between your folds, chuckling when you tense up beneath him in anticipation. “Greedy,” he remarks to no one in particular.

And then he’s lining himself up and sliding inside you, inch by torturous inch. The sudden surge of fullness renders you completely breathless, and Jungkook seems to sense your lungs’ desperation for oxygen just before you can choke on his cock. Pulling out of your mouth with a wet pop, he immediately drops to his knees and cups the back of your head, urging you to straighten up and allow your neck to bend in the right direction once more. “Breathe, baby,” he encourages lowly, tangling his fingers in your hair and massaging through the roots.

Obediently, you suck in a deep breath, only to release it shakily mere seconds later, when Jimin suddenly rolls his hips. A pleased grin stretches across his face at your reaction, brown eyes dancing with barely-contained glee. “Is that good, princess? You like being full of my cock?”

“God, yes,” you breathe, relishing the stretch as he pulls back until only the tip remains inside before snapping forward again. “Fuck, Jimin.”

His grin widens at the sound of his name. One hand flits down to the apex of your thighs, rubbing circles into your clit as he settles into a comfortable rhythm. The other curls around your waist, anchoring you in place firmly on the plushy couch, your body sinking further into the cushion as his thrusts become bolder and more urgent.

The air fills with the sound of skin against skin, your airy moans intermingling with Jimin’s grunts of exertion. Behind you, Jungkook refocuses his attentions on your neck, determinedly suckling another bruise just below your jaw as his fingers find the swells of your breasts once more. Your head lolls against the backrest at the mixed sensations, the heat in your belly coalescing into something sharper and more tangible with every passing second.

You aren’t sure how much longer you can last. Pressure is beginning to build in your core, your tummy tensing like a coiled spring ready to snap at any moment. Every thrust, every stroke of Jimin’s thumb on your clit, every nip and lick that Jungkook bestows upon your neck and shoulders—all of it drives you closer to the brink of what promises to be an absolutely explosive orgasm, and your companions seem to realize how close you are as well, doubly renewing their efforts to send you off the edge. Jungkook’s teeth dig into your skin a little harder, intermingling pain with pleasure, and Jimin tightens his grip on your waist and slams into you so hard you swear the couch scoots back a few centimeters. Your breath hitches in your throat.

And then you’re falling, your body collapsing into a searing wave of pleasure that starts in your core and flares outward like a supernova. A series of garbled moans and keening whimpers is all you can manage as your hands reach out desperately to ground yourself to earth—one flying up to wrap around Jungkook’s neck while the other finds purchase on Jimin’s arm. The blond man has not relinquished his grasp on you—if anything, his grip only tightens around your waist as he chases his own high. His hips stutter as you clench around him in the throes of your orgasm, and it proves to be too much when he follows you off the edge just a few seconds later, burying his face between your breasts and letting out a low, satisfied groan.

It takes you a few long moments to recover, your breathing labored. Jimin grins as you raise your head to meet his gaze, raising a dark brow and pressing a fond kiss to your sternum. “You’re cute,” he remarks, straightening up and rolling off his condom. Tying it off, he wanders away to toss it in the trash before returning to sprawl out beside you on the couch. “I see why Jungkook likes you so much.”

He says it so offhandedly that you barely even notice the way Jungkook stiffens on your other side, inhaling sharply. You are still feeling utterly boneless from your orgasm, your thoughts muddled and hazy as the pleasure recedes back into your veins. But when Jungkook suddenly stands up and walks around the couch to take up residence between your still-spread thighs, you finally snap to attention, your heartbeat quickening at the smolder in his eyes.

“My turn,” Jungkook breathes softly, reaching out to run a finger along your swollen folds and smiling when you shiver at the fleeting touch. “Christ, you’re already so sensitive, baby.”

“You’re welcome,” Jimin teases. “I did you a favor by going first, you know.”

Jungkook hums, grabbing one of your hands and absently playing with your fingers. “Did you?” he asks, a playful smile settling on his face when you immediately lace your hands together. “You don’t know {Name}’s body like I do.” And as if to prove his point, he leans forward and lays a trail of kisses along your jaw, paying special attention to the sensitive spot just below your ear that always makes your breathing stutter.

“F-fuck, Jungkook—“

The dark-haired man’s grin grows, prominent teeth on full display as he gives your hand one last squeeze before straightening back up to his full height. “On your knees, baby,” he commands, tonguing his cheek thoughtfully.

Anticipation coils in the pit of your belly, sizzling and electric. Jungkook slides a finger along the bony ridges of your vertebrae as you begin shifting into position, but before you can settle comfortably Jimin reaches out and stops you in your tracks.

“Why don’t you come sit on my lap instead, princess?” he suggests silkily, his fingers wrapping around your wrist and tugging until you are straddling his thighs. Your knees sink into the plushy cushions on either side of his legs, and Jimin smirks crookedly as he curls his fingers around your nape and tugs you down for a kiss. Behind you, Jungkook splays a hand flat against your spine, urging you to arch your back and leave your ass on full display for him.

“Christ,” he grunts, squeezing the presented globes of flesh in his large hands. “I love your ass so fucking much.” The tip of his index finger circles your puckered rim briefly—drawing a gasp from you and sending gooseflesh prickling across every inch of your skin—before he moves down into more familiar territory. “But I love this pretty little pussy of yours even more,” he croons, using his fingers to spread your lips apart before licking a long stripe along your dripping entrance.

“J-Jungkook,” you warble weakly, burying your face into the crook of Jimin’s neck as your thighs tense. The blond man chuckles softly at your predicament and lays his hands on your shoulders reassuringly, even as Jungkook’s hot tongue dips inside you for another taste. “God, please. Please don’t tease me.”

The dark-haired man laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest and sending vibrations dancing up your spine. “Want my cock, baby?”

“You know I do,” you keen into Jimin’s clavicle.

Another laugh. “Good.”

The air shifts behind you, and you deduce that Jungkook is straightening up to his full height and shucking his jeans off his legs from the sound of rustling fabric. Seconds later, his hands caress your waist, smoothing down along the soft skin to anchor firmly at your hips. You suck in an anticipatory breath, waiting.

And then Jungkook is sliding home in one smooth motion, and even though you can’t see him, you can perfectly imagine the tight clench of his jaw and the prominent vein in his neck as his throat bobs with restraint. “Jesus,” he hisses, his hips nestled snugly against the soft curve of your ass. “Fuck. How are you always this tight?”

You cannot find the words to answer, rendered breathless by the slow throbbing of his cock along your walls. Unlike Jimin, he’s forgone a condom—and you can clearly feel every ridge and vein as your body molds to his exact shape and girth. The anticipation in your tummy coalesces into something darker—something potent and heavy—and you finally find your voice again when Jungkook groans in a voice so cavernous that it sends heat spiking straight to your aching core. “Jungkook,” you groan, barely coherent enough to string together words. “Jungkook, please, I need you to move, please.”

“Fuck,” Jungkook snarls, gritting his teeth. “Fuck, baby, you know I’ll give you anything you want. God, you feel fucking incredible.” His hands tighten around your hips as he begins to move, rolling up into you with fluid, practiced strokes.

Pure heat coils in the pit of your belly, dark and heady and thrumming with the need for release. Jungkook picks up his pace, pushing in so deep that you can practically feel him in the back of your throat, a choked gasp escaping your parted lips as he pounds into you relentlessly. Every snap of his hips shoves you up against Jimin, his body taut and his face creased in a lascivious grin as he watches you descend further into delirium. Both of his hands find their way to your breasts, squeezing the supple flesh before he shifts downward to wrap his mouth around a hardened nipple, lapping at the delicate nub and grinning lazily when you reward him with a shaky whimper.

“Damn, princess,” he says, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Keep rubbing up against me like that, and I’m going to end up needing a second round.”

Jungkook growls when he realizes how firmly you are crushed against the blond man, your chest and stomach sliding against Jimin’s bare torso with every thrust. One of his hands slides from your hipbone up to the base of your throat, splaying just below your jugular and forcing you upright until you are no longer pressed against the blond. The new angle draws a gasp from you, your hands flying up to brace yourself on Jimin’s shoulders, but Jungkook growls again and gives your neck a punishingly hard nip.

“Arms around my neck, baby,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. Immediately, you snake your arms around him, drawing him close until his chest is flush against your back, and Jungkook rewards your compliance with a tender kiss to the soft spot below your ear.

“G-god, Jungkook,” you moan, quivering in his grasp as he picks up his pace. Every snap of his hips sends stars skittering across your vision, the delicious friction between your bodies driving you ever closer to the edge.

“That’s it, baby,” Jungkook rasps, the hand on your hip descending to your clit and drawing tight circles around the aching bud. “Cum for me.”

You keen at the additional stimulation, heat welling up in your core, and Jungkook’s hips stutter when your walls clamp down around him—your fingers simultaneously tightening their grip on the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“Fuck, come on,” he grunts, recovering his rhythm quickly. “I’ve got you—just let go for me and cum, baby.”

With one last push, Jungkook sends you spiraling over the edge. The coil in your tummy snaps, releasing a wave of pleasure that surges through your veins like wildfire. A broken keen that vaguely resembles Jungkook’s name fills the room, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that it’s coming from you, your eyes fluttering shut as you shake apart in his ironclad grip.

Jungkook only manages half a dozen more strokes before his hips stutter again, this time faltering entirely as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. “Fuck, {Name},” he grits out, thumb still drawing circles around your clit even as he gives in to the tight, wet draw of your body squeezing around his cock. You can feel him painting your walls in spurts of creamy white, and even in your euphoric haze you still make sure to milk him for every last drop.

“Jungkook,” you whine, slapping his hand away when overstimulation sets in. “Fuck, I can’t.”

Obediently, he withdraws. His softening cock slips out from your entrance, and you groan at the feeling of your combined juices dribbling out and down your thighs. Jungkook zeroes in on the sight immediately and presses two fingers to your entrance to act as a stopper, his lips brushing tenderly along your shoulder. “Keep me inside you, babe.”

Your face flushes when Jimin catches your eye, his plump lips curving up into a shrewd little smirk. But you’re left with no time to wonder about the knowing look on his face because Jungkook is gently gathering you up in his arms to lift you off of Jimin’s lap, plopping you down next to the blond-haired man. He disappears for a few seconds before returning with a warm towel, and you smile when he gently begins cleaning you up, wiping at the mess smeared along your inner thighs. 

“Doing okay, baby?” he asks, and your heart swells with warmth at the concern lacing his voice.

“More than okay,” you admit, turning to press your lips to the sharp angle of his jaw. 

Jungkook’s bare chest rumbles with laughter, his mouth finding yours in a brief kiss as he finishes his work and collapses beside you. “Good.”

On your other side, Jimin is grinning. “Well, this was fun,” he remarks casually, running a hand through his mussed blond hair. Leaning over, he grabs your chin and tilts your face toward his so that he can plant a lazy kiss on your mouth before pulling back and winking. “If you ever wanna do this again, you know where to find me.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you say, a laugh creasing your face when he swoops down and kisses you again. “Jesus, Park, I’m starting to think you really did fall in love with me.”

Jimin’s grin widens. “You could make an honest man of me yet, princess. But for now, I’ve still got a reputation to uphold.” Standing up, he begins gathering his discarded clothes, pulling on his jeans and buckling his belt. You admire the smooth flex of his abdominal muscles as he pulls his t-shirt back over his head, and when he catches you looking, a delighted peal of laughter escapes him. “I’m just a call away, princess,” he reminds with a salacious waggle of his eyebrows. “If Jeon ever stops satisfying your needs, I’ll be more than happy to step up.”

“Oh, fuck off.” This time, it’s Jungkook who speaks, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth as he runs a hand through his dark hair. “Go find some other girl to harass, Park.”

“Testy,” Jimin says with a snicker. Slipping into his denim jacket, he checks his pockets one last time for his wallet and keys. “But I know when I’m not wanted anymore. You coming to the showcase tomorrow, {Name}?”

Suddenly cold, you grab the afghan hanging over the armrest and throw it over your naked body. “I’m going to try.”

Jungkook turns to you, eyes wide. “Try? Christ, {Name}, were you planning to study instead?”

Guiltily, you meet his dumbfounded gaze. “Maybe?”

“Damn,” the dark-haired young man mutters. “You really would be a complete hermit without me.”

“Would not!” you defend immediately. “I have Jisoo!”

Jimin perks up at the mention of your best friend. “Speaking of Jisoo—she’s pretty cute. What’s her story?”

“Oh, fuck off!” you and Jungkook exclaim simultaneously, turning to the blond man still standing in the middle of your living room.

He chuckles and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. See you at practice tomorrow, Jungkook. And {Name}, I hope you do come to the show. Seriously. We’ve worked hard, and it’s going to be a great performance. Take a study break and live a little, princess.” Shooting you one last playful wink, he saunters out of the room. A few seconds later, you hear the front door click shut behind him.

“Jesus, he’s something else,” you remark with a giggle, turning back toward the dark-haired man lounging beside you.

Jungkook snorts and stretches lazily, one arm coming to rest on the back of the couch, just behind your shoulders. “Yeah, no kidding. You should see him after performances—he gets swarmed by girls and loves every fucking second of it.”

“He does seem like an attention whore,” you admit, grinning when your companion snorts again.

“You’ve got no idea.” Jungkook’s head lolls back, lips parting to release a yawn. Wordlessly, you offer him a corner of your afghan, which he accepts gratefully and throws over his lap.

For a while, the two of you just sit there in comfortable silence. At some point your head falls against his shoulder, and Jungkook quietly shifts to make more room for you against his side. Finally, after several minutes, you exhale heavily, straightening up and looking longingly at your dark bedroom doorway. “God, I’m exhausted.”

Jungkook follows your gaze. “I guess I should let you go to bed,” he murmurs, but there’s something soft and halting in his voice that makes you glance back at him.

“Do…” you start, trailing off awkwardly when his doe eyes lock onto yours. Fidgeting uncomfortably, you clear your throat and continue. “Um. Do you, maybe… want to stay? I mean, it’s pretty late and you live kind of far away…“

Jungkook’s face breaks into a grin. “Sure,” he says softly, reaching up to brush your cheek with his thumb—the motion so tender and intimate that your heart stutters in your chest. “That’d be nice. Thanks.”

“Yeah,” you mumble. “No problem.” Gesturing vaguely toward the bathroom, you add, “You know where the shower is, and all that.”

“I sure do,” he says with a chuckle. “Join me in there?”

You aren’t sure that you can handle being in such close quarters with him just now. “No, you go ahead,” you say, waving him off. “I’ll go after you’re done.”

Concern flickers briefly across his expression before he wipes it away. “All right. I’ll be quick, promise.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s something you want to hear from the guy you’re sleeping with.”

That earns you a hearty cackle. “You know no one else can fuck you as good as I do,” he boasts, standing up and allowing the afghan to fall away from his body. Jungkook stoops down to tap your cheek playfully before strolling off in the direction of the bathroom, whistling under his breath and seemingly completely at ease with his nudity. Shamelessly, you stare until his chiseled ass disappears around the corner and you hear the shower turn on. And only then do you flop backward with a groan, draping an arm over your eyes and allowing the couch cushions to engulf your body.

Already, you are beginning to regret inviting him to spend the night. Even though the two of you have never established any definitive rules against sleepovers, you still feel odd, as if sleeping—just sleeping—in the same bed will irreparably change something about your arrangement with the dark-haired young man. We’re friends, you remind yourself. Friends who also happen to fuck every now and then. That’s what we agreed on.

You still remember the night you came to that agreement—the night you first met Jeon Jungkook. You remember Jisoo squeezing you into one of her too-tight dresses and dragging you to the frat house, excitedly chatting about Neuron’s amazing first performance and their hot new member. You remember how you barely heard a word she said over the thumping bass. Jisoo eventually disappeared somewhere amidst a swirling haze of red cups and bitter alcohol, and you, in an attempt to escape the wandering hands on the dance floor, found your way up to the roof of the house.

The stars were exceptionally bright that evening. Autumn was settling in, and the damp chill in the air almost had you retreating back inside when you spotted a figure silhouetted against the night sky, his face upturned toward the twinkling, diamond-studded heavens. Curiosity piqued, you stepped a little closer. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be out here,” you say by way of greeting.

The young man startles slightly, wide eyes meeting yours. In the dim light shining out of the open window you’d just climbed out of, he looks exactly like what you imagine a deer in headlights would. “Oh! Yeah, uh, I was just looking to get some fresh air,” he explains, gesturing around vaguely. “It was starting to get stuffy downstairs.”

“No kidding.” You nod at the open space beside him. “This seat taken?”

“Nope.” Obligingly, he scoots over to make more room, and you shoot him a grateful smile as you settle down on the rooftop.

“I’m {Name}, by the way,” you introduce, carefully arranging your limbs until you’re sufficiently certain that you’re not flashing your new companion in Jisoo’s absurdly short dress.

The way his gaze lingers on your bare thighs doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Still, his voice remains even when he responds, extending a hand for you to shake. “Jungkook.”

“Jungkook,” you repeat suspiciously, releasing his hand and peering at him a bit more closely. “Why does that sound familiar?”

He chuckles. “I take it you didn’t go to the showcase this afternoon.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, shit. You’re the new Neuron guy everyone’s been talking about?”

“Guilty as charged,” Jungkook admits, scratching the back of his neck.

You huff out a disbelieving laugh, tugging idly at your short skirt as you crane your head back to admire the night sky. “God. You’re famous, dude. Why aren’t you down there basking in the attention? This party’s for Neuron, after all. You should be down there with Hoseok and Jimin.”

“And drown in the sea of girls?” Jungkook snorts. “No thanks. I’ve had enough stress for the day.”

“Are you saying that girls stress you out?” you tease, giggling. “Because if that’s the case, you really aren’t ready for a co-ed college, bud. Or maybe you’re just not into girls?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, and you’re momentarily mesmerized by the starry reflections glinting in their depths. “Very funny,” he says dryly. “And not that it’s any of your business, but I’d still like to state for the record that I do, in fact, like girls. The swarm down there’s just a lot to take, okay?”

“Okay,” you say agreeably, leaning back and resting your weight on your outstretched palms. The rooftop is rough underneath your fingertips, but you barely notice as you take the time to observe Jungkook’s profile, admiring the straight cut of his jawline and his dark mop of mussed hair. “Huh. I guess I can see why you’re so popular. Objectively, you are pretty hot.”

This draws another chuckle from your companion. “Oh yeah? In that case, you’re pretty cute too. Objectively.”

You grin at him, and he grins back. He looks rather like a rabbit with those adorably prominent teeth, you notice. But a glance down at his lithe body and strong thighs tells you that he is far from being a floppy-eared woodland critter, and you can’t stop yourself from wondering just what he might look like underneath the loose black t-shirt and ripped jeans. “Jungkook.”

He hums. “Yeah?”

It isn’t like you to be quite so bold, but you suspect the vodka swimming in your system plays a factor in the question that leaves your mouth next. “Do you want to have sex?”

The dark-haired man blinks twice in rapid succession, and you can practically see the gears whirring in his head as he processes your suggestion. “S-sorry, what?” he finally manages after a few long seconds, his large eyes meeting yours.

“Sex,” you repeat patiently, giggling when his eyes widen even more. “You’re hot, I’m cute, and we’re at a dumb frat party. May as well, right?”

Jungkook snorts out a laugh, lips twisting into an impish little smile. “So, what, do you just proposition every passably hot guy at the parties you go to?”

“Of course not,” you say with a grin. “Only the really hot ones.”

He throws back his head, eyes crinkling into mirth-filled crescents as he lets loose a delighted cackle. “You’re really something else,” he remarks, recovering from his bout of hilarity. “And honestly? I’ve been wanting to rip that dress off you ever since I saw you in it.”

His gaze shifts into something dark and ravenous, and you no longer know if the heat simmering in your belly is from arousal or alcohol. “Well,” you start, watching as he stands up and offers you a hand. “That can be arranged. Your place or mine?”

Jungkook grins crookedly. “How about neither? I don’t know where you live, babe, but my place is pretty far. And I’m pretty sure I passed an empty bedroom on the way up here.”

You take his outstretched hand, relishing the way his long fingers curl protectively around yours as he pulls you to your feet. “Lead the way.”

Mere minutes later, you find yourself laying on a stranger’s bed, Jungkook kneeling between your spread thighs and eagerly tearing Jisoo’s tiny dress off your frame. Clothes disappear in a flurry, and you are pleased to discover just how fit he is underneath his shirt, the muscles in his arms straining as he anchors your hips and pushes inside you.

Needless to say, he’s the best you’ve had in a long time—quite possibly the best you’ve ever had. Jungkook is outrageously open-handed when it comes to your pleasure, and between his generosity and ridiculous stamina you’re surprised you haven’t passed out in a haze of euphoric exhaustion.

“Jesus,” you groan when he finally pulls out.

“No, I’m Jungkook,” he corrects, flopping down beside you with a smug little smirk. The mattress bounces slightly under his weight.

Your answering laugh is equal parts incredulity and amusement. “Oh my god, shut up.”

His smirk only widens. “You’re not as mouthy after three orgasms,” he points out wickedly. You respond by whacking him over the head with the nearest pillow, and Jungkook feigns an exaggerated gasp of pain as he collapses flat onto the mattress in a tangle of naked limbs. “But you’re more violent,” he muses quietly, rubbing his chin in thought. “I don’t know if that’s better.”

“Depends on whether you’re a masochist or not,” you reply breezily, replacing the pillow and dragging yourself into a sitting position, glancing around for your discarded dress.

“I might be for you, babe,” Jungkook says with a chuckle, watching as you fish your panties out of the haphazard pile of clothing on the ground and slip them back on. “Fuck. I’d let you do anything you wanted to me as long as I got to be inside that sweet little pussy of yours at the end of it all.”

“That’s weird. You almost sound like you want this to happen again,” you remark, raising a brow. “Shouldn’t you be a fuckboy like those dance buddies of yours? One-and-done, or whatever the fuck you want to call it?”

He shrugs, the corner of his mouth lifting into another smirk. “That’d probably be easier,” he admits, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “But I tend to prefer a little more consistency in my sexual encounters.”

You finally manage to locate your dress, sliding the silky material over your hips and tugging until it lays properly across your breasts. “So what are you suggesting?”

“A mutually beneficial arrangement,” Jungkook replies, watching you struggle with the dress’ zipper for a few seconds before standing up to lend his assistance. Carefully, he brushes your hair away from your bare back as the zipper’s teeth glide into place. “Just sex, no strings attached.”

“Friends with benefits,” you breathe, all too aware of the way his warm fingers are lingering on your exposed shoulders. “That makes sense.”

“Not that I’m trying to force you into anything!” Jungkook’s hand slides to the crook of your neck, gently urging you to turn around and face him. “I mean, this is only if you want to,” he says hastily, and you have to suppress a giggle at his slightly flustered, wide-eyed gaze.

“I know that, you dumbass,” you tell him patiently, reaching up to pat his cheek. “And luckily for you, I do want to.”

A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth, all traces of hesitance disappearing from his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm with a grin. “Now give me your number so I can have you at my beck and call.”

Jungkook obligingly grabs his crumpled jeans off the floor and retrieves his phone. “Yes, ma’am.”

Still lost in your memories, you don’t hear the shower switch off in the bathroom or the quiet footsteps of your approaching houseguest. Only when a hand settles on your shoulder are you pulled out of your reverie, your startled gaze skittering up to meet Jungkook’s brown one. He’s standing before you with dripping hair, a towel wrapped loosely around his hips and another one folded neatly over his shoulder. “{Name}? You okay?” he asks, his forehead etched with concern.

You nod hurriedly, making to stand up from the couch. Jungkook looks skeptical, but doesn’t press the issue further. Instead he simply hands you the other towel so that you can wrap it around yourself on the way to the bathroom. A hot shower is just what you need to clear your head.

By the time you leave the bathroom, Jungkook is already sprawled out in your bed, the blanket thrown haphazardly across his bare chest. He grins lazily as you approach him, taking in the loose tee and lacy panties you’re wearing. “C’mere,” he murmurs, lifting a corner of the blanket so you can crawl underneath.

Quietly, you join him under the covers, careful to leave a few inches of space between your bodies, but that doesn’t seem to satisfy Jungkook in the least. One strong arm finds its way around your waist, tugging you flush against his warm body. The other reaches down to squeeze the curve of your ass playfully, drawing an alarmed shriek from your mouth. “Jungkook!”

He chuckles. “Couldn’t help it, your ass looks fucking incredible in this thing.” As if to emphasize his point, he slides two fingers underneath the elastic waistband of your panties, snapping it teasingly against your skin.

You retaliate with a sharp elbow to his ribcage, fighting to suppress the smile that threatens to curl across your face. “Go to bed, you pervert.”

Jungkook just laughs again, obediently rolling over to switch off the bedside lamp sitting on your nightstand. “Night, babe,” he murmurs as the room goes dark. You vaguely see his shadowy silhouette settle back down next to you, listening as the mattress springs creak underneath his weight.

But he doesn’t try to reach for you again, and you can’t explain away the sudden, aching emptiness that slithers between your ribs and settles in your chest, just below your erratically pounding heart.

///

When you wake up the next morning, it’s to bright sunlight suffusing the room through the open curtains and stifling warmth pressed up against your back. It takes you a full three seconds to realize that there is an arm wrapped tightly around your waist, and another two to identify the arm’s owner as Jeon Jungkook. All at once, your stomach drops to somewhere near your toes, your heart leaping up into your throat and threatening to burst forth from your mouth entirely. “Oh, shit,” you breathe, trying to wriggle free from his embrace. “Shit.”

By some miracle or perhaps just dumb luck, you manage to escape the strong arm banded around you without awakening its owner. All your previous assumptions about Jungkook sprawling out like a starfish in bed are incorrect, you realize. He’s no starfish—he’s a goddamn koala. Your sleep-addled brain conjures up an image of Jungkook’s head pasted onto a koala’s body, and the sheer absurdity of it sends you into a fit of convulsive giggles that you just barely manage to contain with a hand slapped over your mouth. Still chortling, you somehow find the strength to throw your legs over the edge of the mattress and rise to your feet.

It takes several seconds to recover from your outburst, but after a few deep breaths you glance back toward the dark-haired man still fast asleep in your bed. His mouth is parted slightly, his breathing deep and even, and for a fleeting moment you think just how unfair it is that his lips look so deliciously soft first thing in the morning. Personally, you’re in dire need of some chapstick and a toothbrush—not to mention some much-needed distance from your still-sleeping fuck buddy—and it’s with that thought in mind that you head into the adjoining bathroom, shutting the door firmly before slumping against it with a low groan.

You’re in over your head. It’s something you’ve known for a while now but have stubbornly refused to admit, telling yourself that your feelings for the dark-haired man extend no further than simple friendship. But now, with Jungkook sound asleep in your bed after spending the night, you can no longer deny the very real feelings bubbling in your chest.

“Shit,” you mumble again, dropping to the floor and pulling your knees to your chest. Your heart beats frantically against your ribcage like a caged hummingbird, and it takes every ounce of discipline you possess to not break down right then and there.

Instead, you take three long, deep breaths—letting your eyes fall shut and exhaling through your nose. You concentrate on the rise and fall of your chest—feel the way oxygen rushes into your expanding lungs—and when your heartbeat eventually settles into a more even rhythm, you clamber to your feet and reach for the toothpaste.

When you emerge from the bathroom ten minutes later, Jungkook is sitting upright in bed with an expression that’s halfway between a pout and a frown, his eyes still obstinately squeezed shut. At the sound of the door opening, he turns, one eye blinking open blearily to regard your figure silhouetted in the doorway. “Hey.” His voice is still raspy from sleep, a full octave lower than his normal pitch, and you can practically see the gears whirring weakly in his head, adamantly telling him to stay awake.

“Hey yourself,” you respond, carefully picking your way across the room to your dresser and trying to ignore the way his gaze follows your every move.

“I don’t have a toothbrush,” he murmurs sleepily. Turning around, you see that both his eyes have fallen shut again. “Can I borrow yours?”

You throw open the bottom drawer, digging through to locate your favorite pair of jeans and plucking them out from among the other piles of folded denim. “Gross.”

Jungkook chuckles hoarsely, one hand reaching up to rake through his already-tousled hair. “I had my tongue halfway down your throat yesterday, babe.”

“That is not the same thing,” you say pointedly. “You can have some of my mouthwash though.”

He hums in assent, stretching both arms overhead and groaning when something pops. “’S fine,” he mumbles, craning his neck and wincing at the resulting crack. “Hey, what would it take to convince you to come over here and give me a massage?”

“Baked goods. Probably at least an entire cake,” you reply, selecting a balled up t-shirt from your dresser and chucking it at his head. It unravels in midair and flops sadly over his face instead, and you giggle as he claws halfheartedly at the red material before shaking it off and tossing it onto the bed.

“A cake it is,” he says. “Can you come over here and get rid of this knot in my neck? Please?”

Not for the first time, you wish Jeon Jungkook wasn’t so goddamn irresistible. “Lay down,” you sigh, approaching the bed and watching as he sends you the most radiant, grateful grin you’ve ever seen before flopping down onto the mattress. Tentatively, you settle next to him, leaning over and placing your hands on his bare shoulders. “How’s that?” you murmur, rubbing circles into his warm skin.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he groans, melting under your touch. “Just for this, I’m making you two cakes. And a batch of cookies. Any kind you want.”

“You can’t even bake,” you retort. “I’m pretty sure you would just end up setting yourself on fire.”

He snickers quietly, his shoulders quaking underneath your fingertips. “How would I set myself on fire with an oven?”

“You’d find a way.”

Jungkook hums out a content sigh when you begin working on a particularly tense spot in his back. “Fine, so I might need your supervision.”

You snort, shaking your head. “I have a better idea—why don’t you just buy me all the desserts I want? Less babysitting, more instant gratification.” Teasingly, you poke him in the ribs, giggling when he wriggles away and nearly tangles himself up in the mess of blankets on your bed. However, the grin is wiped promptly off your face when he suddenly rolls over, two strong hands gripping your hips and dragging you down onto the mattress. In an instant, you are on your back with Jungkook hovering over you triumphantly, a smug smirk painted across his handsome face.

“Instant gratification, huh?” He leans down until his nose brushes against yours, his dark gaze penetrating. “I can help with that, you know.”

He’s being too intimate. Everything about this—the sleepover, the impromptu massage—is far too intimate. Too domestic. Too romantic—as if he’s your boyfriend and you’re in love. This close to him, you feel as if all the air has been sucked straight from your lungs, your eyes widening when you see him descending even further to press a kiss to your mouth. “Damn it, Kook,” you grumble, mustering up your strength and shoving him away before your lips have the chance to touch. “Why are you so horny all the damn time?”

Jungkook rolls off of you, stretching like a cat before settling on his side and propping his cheek in his open palm. “What can I say?” he murmurs, wide gaze raking across your sprawled figure. “I can’t resist you.”

There’s something unspeakably tender in his tone, something that sinks between your ribcage and takes up residence in your chest, winding around your heart and squeezing until you can barely breathe. “D-don’t say such ridiculous bullshit,” you stutter, unable to look him in the eye. “Don’t you have places to be, or something? Jimin said something about practice yesterday, didn’t he?”

You don’t see the way Jungkook’s eyes flash with equal parts hurt and anger. You don’t see the way his fists clench in the rumpled sheets, wrinkling the soft cotton. Your gaze is fixated firmly on the sliver of blue sky visible from your window, and you don’t dare look away until you hear him mumble a quiet yeah and feel the mattress shift underneath you as he gets up and walks into the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind him, and only then do you release the breath that you’re holding.

Minutes pass—minutes that you spend simply focusing on your breathing and trying to quell your tumultuous thoughts. You listen to the water running through the pipes in the ceiling while valiantly ignoring the sound of the shower in the adjacent bathroom—the sound that signals Jungkook’s lingering presence in your apartment. Groaning, you roll over onto your stomach and smother your face into the nearest pillow, but one whiff tells you that it’s the one Jungkook slept on last night and the realization sends you recoiling back and off the bed entirely.

You need to do laundry, and you need to do it as soon as possible. Anything to get Jungkook’s pleasantly musky, boyish scent off your sheets and pillows—anything to forget last night’s mistake of a sleepover and return things to normal.

Heart pounding, you back out of your bedroom and into the kitchen. The empty pizza box from the other night is still sitting in your trash bin like a taunt, and you resist the urge to flee again at the memories it brings up. Instead, you wrench open your refrigerator in search for a distraction, your gaze flitting across the empty shelves with growing distress. “Fuck.”

“You still haven’t gone grocery shopping, have you.” Jungkook’s voice suddenly sounds from behind you, and it’s not a question. Whirling around, you glance guiltily at his tall frame silhouetted in the entryway, one dark eyebrow raised at your predicament. “Jesus, {Name}.”

“I’ll go tomorrow,” you promise weakly. “I have some free time then.”

Jungkook shakes his head, closing the distance between you in a few short strides and tilting your chin up with his index finger. “For someone so smart, you’re absolute shit at taking care of yourself,” he says sternly. “What’s stopping you from going today?”

“I have to study,” you say, already knowing exactly how feeble an excuse it is when the first few syllables leave your mouth. “And, um. Your showcase is this afternoon.”

He brightens. “You’re coming?”

You swallow, hating how happy he suddenly looks—as if your presence at his performance means the world to him. “Y-yeah. I’ll do my best.”

Jungkook reaches up to cup your cheek, his thumb smoothing across the skin just below your right eye. “I’m holding you to that,” he murmurs seriously. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

But then he’s pulling away again, his hand dropping back down to his side as he steps back and offers you a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You watch as he grabs his duffel bag, swinging it over his shoulder before patting down his pockets for his wallet and keys. And then he’s walking off, disappearing out your front door and leaving you completely and utterly speechless in his wake.

///

You can’t focus.

Admittedly, it’s hard to focus on the words swimming across the pages of your textbook when your stomach is constantly and loudly protesting its current state of emptiness. Grumbling, you snatch your phone up from the table, unlocking the device and sending off a text to your best friend.

[10:04am] You: I’m starving, wanna get food?

Her response comes in almost immediately:

[10:04am] Jisoo: Don’t move a muscle, I’m coming over!!

Jisoo bursts into your apartment thirty minutes later with two paper bags and a massive thermos, her mouth already open and ready to berate you for your lack of self-care.

“Look, I know it’s finals week and all that, but you have got to take better care of yourself,” she trills, slamming the thermos down in front of you. “That’s coffee, drink up. I’ve got breakfast sandwiches in here—“ she drops one bag into your lap, “—and some basic groceries in here so you don’t die in the next couple days.”

Turning on her heel, she marches into your kitchen and begins emptying the contents of the second bag. You watch as she pulls out a carton of milk and a small crate of eggs, shoving both into your refrigerator before taking out a box of cereal and placing it on the counter. “I didn’t tell you I didn’t have any groceries,” you mumble, awed by her kindness.

“No, but you asked if I wanted to get breakfast,” Jisoo replies, fixing you with a knowing stare. “And you never ask if I want to get food unless your fridge is empty. Besides,” she adds, pulling out a box of crackers and another of cookies, “you always neglect your health when it comes to final exams. I kind of figured you’d already be half-starved to death by now, so it’s honestly a wonder you still look okay.” Her gaze skitters over to the pizza box in your trash, one perfectly arched brow raising. “Did you order pizza?”

You bite your lip. “Jungkook brought it over.”

“Thank god,” she sighs. “At least your boyfriend is taking care of you so I don’t have to worry so damn much.”

“Not my boyfriend.”

Your perfunctory response only earns you an exaggerated eye-roll from the dark-haired girl. “Yeah, yeah. Your fuck buddy then, whatever.” Pulling two mugs out of the cabinet, she joins you at the table, grabbing the thermos and pouring generous helpings of hot coffee into both before sliding one to you. “Did he bring it over yesterday?”

“Day before,” you murmur. “But… he was here yesterday too.”

“Of course he was.” Jisoo settles back comfortably in her chair, taking a long sip of coffee and nodding at the brown paper bag still sitting in your lap. “Hand me a sandwich and tell me everything.”

So you do. You detail all the events of the last two days—from your impromptu pizza dinner and study date to Jungkook’s departure just a couple hours ago. Jisoo listens intently the entire time, her eyes widening when you tell her about Jimin’s involvement, and narrowing in smug satisfaction when you mention the sleepover.

“God, it’s about time. I was wondering when you’d finally let him spend the night.”

“That’s not the point!” you exclaim, slamming your mug down onto the table a bit too vigorously and sloshing hot coffee across the wooden surface. “Fuck. I just… fuck. It shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have let him stay.”

Jisoo flinches back at the sudden spill, her eyes widening. “{Name}, it’s fine. It was late, and you were just looking out for him. No big deal.”

You shake your head. “Jisoo, he’s never spent the night. What if he gets all weird about it? What if this ruins our friendship?”

She raises a brow. “Honestly, sweetie, it looks like you’re the one getting weird. Besides, he wouldn’t have agreed to stay if he didn’t actually want to.”

You are about to open your mouth to protest again, but Jisoo cuts you off with a raised finger and a fistful of clean, slightly crumpled napkins.

“Nope, no more talking about it. I’m going to clean this mess up, you’re going to open that box of cookies I brought over, and we’re going to watch shitty reality TV until you’re not overthinking things anymore. Got it?”

You sigh and turn toward the kitchen, having learned long ago how useless it is to argue with Jisoo once she’s made up her mind. “Fine.”

///

There is already a sizeable crowd forming in the open lot behind the performing arts building by the time you and Jisoo arrive. Music blares through the loudspeakers, the bass boosted high enough to vibrate the ground beneath your feet. A makeshift stage sits at the very edge of the lot, steel gray beams rising up against the cloudless blue backdrop of the sky to hold aloft a simple white banner with Neuron emblazoned across the front in bold black text.

“Let’s get closer to the front,” Jisoo suggests, grabbing your wrist and dragging you forward until you are practically toeing the flimsy metal barricade corralling the audience.

“I’m gonna go deaf,” you lament, distastefully eyeing the speaker system sitting just a few feet away on the grass.

As if on cue, the music dies down, and Jisoo nudges you playfully as Hoseok ascends the steps to the stage, followed by Jimin and Jungkook. All three are decked out in ripped jeans and loose-fitting shirts with the topmost buttons undone, no doubt to expose a teasing flash of collarbone with every movement.

“Hey, everyone!” Hoseok steps up to the front where a microphone is set up, giving it a few taps before flashing his dazzling trademark grin. Cheers ring out, and the red-haired man beams. “Welcome to Neuron’s spring showcase!” he continues once the noise has died down. “I know we’re all busy with exams, but the three of us really appreciate you guys taking the time to come see us. We’ve worked incredibly hard on this routine—I’m sure Jimin and Jungkook can vouch for that—and we’re really excited to show it to you guys today. So thanks for coming out, and we hope you enjoy the show!”

Applause breaks out, and Hoseok’s beam widens as he turns away from the microphone and strides back to join his fellow dancers. His emerald green shirt billows in the breeze as he takes his position on Jungkook’s left and leaves the youngest member in the center—sunshine yellow shirt standing out like a beacon against Hoseok’s green and Jimin’s royal blue. The music starts up again—something low that pulsates with a bass line so heavy you can feel it rumbling in your chest—and you watch in fascination as Jungkook strides forward, each step as calculated and graceful as a prowling cat. One hand rakes through his hair as the other trails down his chest, and when someone in the audience whoops, an absolutely devastating smirk stretches across his lips and settles there.

Hoseok and Jimin join him then, flanking the younger man on either side and joining the choreography seamlessly. One by one, the three dancers fall to the floor, catching on their palms and kicking outward before sliding to their knees. The hip thrusts that follow send the audience into a frenzy, but you barely hear the boisterous cheers over the sound of your pounding heart. Jungkook’s gaze is roving across the crowd intently, and somehow, you know that he is looking for you.

The performance continues. Jimin leaps over Jungkook as the song changes, landing neatly and rolling his hips in time with the new, sultry rhythm. Without missing a beat, Jungkook rises smoothly to his feet and falls back alongside Hoseok. His eyes are still flitting across the audience, and for a brief, insane moment, you consider ducking behind Jisoo and using her as cover.

And then his gaze finds you at last, his brown eyes alight with a fire that you rarely see in the normally mild-mannered young man. You are unable to look away from his piercing stare, the erratic thud of your heartbeat against your ribcage a stark contrast to the smooth, seductive beat still pouring from the speakers. The pounding bass echoes heavy in your ears, the music wrapping around you like a blanket as you watch Jungkook move across the stage, each move flowing effortlessly into the next.

Before you know it, raucous applause fills the air. Startled, you tear your gaze away from Jungkook, taking in the furiously clapping audience surrounding you. To your left, Jisoo cheers heartily, tugging on your arm and grinning so hard you fear her mouth might fall off entirely. “That was their best performance yet!” she shouts. “I can’t believe you get to experience those hips firsthand, you lucky bitch.”

You flush at her insinuation. “Oh my god, Jisoo.”

She simply laughs, flicking her long hair over one shoulder. “Shut up, you love me. Are you gonna go congratulate Jungkook now?”

“Oh.” Glancing back up at the stage, your heartbeat picks up when you realize that it is now devoid of all three dancers. The intensity of Jungkook’s piercing stare is burned into your memory, and you can’t even begin to pinpoint the emotions roiling in your tummy at the thought of talking to him. “I, uh. I guess I should probably find him.”

Jisoo beams and waggles her fingers in farewell. “Well, don’t let me keep you from loverboy,” she singsongs cheerfully. And before you can berate her for the nickname, she’s already skipping off, tinkling laugh echoing behind her.

You heave a sigh, watching her disappear amongst the remaining members of the audience. People are milling about, all smiles and cheery chatter as they enjoy the reprieve from final exams. Hoseok’s distinctive hair catches your attention immediately, shining like a cherry-red beacon in a large group gathered near the stage. Expectantly, you scan the faces surrounding the dance captain, but the one you’re seeking is nowhere to be seen.

“Looking for me?”

Whirling around, you find yourself face-to-face with a thoroughly amused Jimin, one hand tucked casually into the pocket of his tight jeans while the other rakes through his ruffled blond hair. “Because if so, there’s no need to look further. I’m right here, princess.”

You snort out an incredulous laugh and roll your eyes. “Dream on, Park.”

“Believe me, after last night? You’ve been showing up plenty in my dreams,” Jimin replies with a wink. When that only earns him another eye-roll, however, he tucks both hands into the pockets of his jeans and relents with a good-natured chuckle. “Anyway. You enjoy the show?”

“It was incredible,” you say honestly. “Really. I’m… I’m glad I came.”

Jimin’s face stretches into a smug grin. “Glad you came to see Jeon?”

Ignoring the knowing look in his eyes, you shrug. “Needed a study break.”

He chuckles and reaches out to ruffle your hair. “Sure, princess.” Then he’s turning around and hollering for Jungkook, his grin widening when said young man immediately extricates himself from a nearby group of students and jogs over. “{Name}, why don’t you tell Jungkookie here what you were just telling me?” Jimin claps the other man on the back and offers you another saucy wink before strolling off. His golden head of hair quickly disappears amidst a group of squealing girls, leaving you alone with a wide-eyed Jungkook.

“What were you telling him?” the dark-haired young man asks, his brow furrowing.

“Nothing!” you say quickly. “I mean, well… I was talking about how incredible the show was, but then he made it all weird. I don’t know.” Huffing out a sigh, you meet his gaze. “You guys were great, though. Really great.”

A small smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “Thanks.”

“Yeah. You’re welcome.”

For a few seconds, the two of you simply stand there. Jungkook shuffles awkwardly, scuffing his heel against the asphalt, and your gaze finds his sneaker-clad feet before darting over to your own toes. A crumpled beer can rolls by, buoyed by the spring breeze. You tuck a stray strand of hair back behind your ear.

“So, I guess I should go—” you start, making to walk away.

Simultaneously, Jungkook plants his feet and blurts, “D-do you want to go out?”

Both of you stop, blinking owlishly at the other. “What?” you ask dumbly, certain you’d misheard him.

Jungkook’s cheeks flush pink. “I… um. Fuck, I’m really not good at this.” Sheepishly, he scratches the back of his neck, brown eyes flickering up to meet yours as he sucks in a deep breath and slowly releases it again. “Look, I know this is kind of shitty timing. Really shitty timing. And I know you might, uh—well, you probably don’t feel the same way. But I…”He swallows, his throat bobbing anxiously before he exhales the next six words in a rush. “Fuck. I really like you, {Name}.”

Your voice, when you find it, is little more than a confused stammer. “Y-you… wh-what?”

Jungkook shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose and huffing out a self-deprecating little chuckle. “I’ve ruined everything haven’t I? Shit. I’m sorry. I’m just so into you… but I totally understand if you don’t want to see me anymore. It’s just—I just couldn’t hold it in any longer, you know? And seeing you with Jimin drove me fucking crazy—“

“Kook.”

“—I mean, it was hot and all, but it also made me realize that I want you to myself but that’s probably not possible now. Fuck, sorry. I’ve ruined everything and I’m s—“

“Kook!”

The dark-haired man finally pauses in his rambling, eyes wide. “Y-yeah?”

Nervously, you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, worrying at the delicate skin. “You… like me?”

Jungkook sucks in another long breath before giving you a tiny nod. “Yeah.”

“But you said… before, back when we first met…” you mumble weakly, mind still whirring to process his confession. “You said no strings.”

“I know,” he says, running a frazzled hand through his hair. “But… things changed, you know? We got to know each other better and I realized how incredible you are—how smart and funny and nice and—and I just…” He sighs. “I had to tell you how I feel. But I know you don’t want a relationship, so I’m just gonna leave before I embarrass myself any more…”

He trails off, already turning to walk away when you snap back to your senses, reaching out and grabbing ahold of his hand. “Wait!”

Jungkook blinks. “Huh?”

“You didn’t even let me talk, dummy,” you admonish gently, squeezing his hand.

He glances down at your intertwined hands, his expression morphing into one of tentative hope as he waits for you to continue. Your heartbeat thuds rapidly in your chest, threatening to burst out from your ribcage entirely as you search for the right words.

“I… I think you’re incredible too,” you finally manage after a few seconds, wincing at how awkward you sound. Jungkook, however, doesn’t seem to mind the stilted nature of your words. His face melts into a crinkly, full-fledged grin—one that shines brighter than his yellow shirt, brighter than the sun overhead.

“Yeah?” he asks, squeezing your hand. His grin doesn’t falter for a single second.

“Yeah,” you confirm, unable to look him in the eye. “And, um. I... I like you too. In case that wasn’t clear.”

Jungkook bursts into laughter, releasing your hand in favor of wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you close. “You’re so cute,” he says, leaning down to pepper kisses across both of your cheeks before finding your mouth.

“And you’re a dumbass,” you mumble, your face flushing when he just lets loose another delighted cackle and kisses you again.

“But I’m your dumbass,” he retorts playfully once he’s had his fill of your mouth. “All yours. What do you wanna do for our first date?”

You hum thoughtfully, fisting your hands in the soft material of his yellow shirt. “Well, you did promise me baked goods this morning.”

“I did, didn’t I? Then that settles it—let’s go grocery shopping.” Jungkook’s hand finds yours again, and when he laces your fingers together, you cannot help but think that nothing has ever felt more perfect. Still, you’ve never been able to resist an opportunity to tease him, and your new relationship status isn’t about to change that.

“Gave up on the idea of baking me cake already, huh?”

“Hey, I never said that. I just figured going to the store would be quicker.”

Your dark-haired boyfriend—because yes, he’s your boyfriend now—glances down at you, the beginnings of something wicked glimmering in his eyes.

“After all—we’re going to need a lot of sustenance with the way I’m planning on fucking you tonight.”

⇢ a bit more [prequel].

[thdorkmagnet]

Light of the Sun and Star Chapter 7: Tom and Pony Head Part 2

Summary: His whole life Marco Diaz has been raised by monsters, living under the cruel rule of their leader, Toffee. But one day Marco escapes into Mewni where he meets a magical princess and Mewman like himself, who begins teaching him all about her world. Together they will learn about life, love, and the lights within each of them, as they change their world forever.

Chapter Synopsis: Star, Tom and Pony reach the cave in the Forest of Certain Death but what lurks inside may harbor ill intentions for the teens, leaving Marco to have to face his fears in order to save his friend. 

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Disclaimer: Star vs and all its characters are owned by Daron Nefcy and Disney. All rights go to them.

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“Star, Star are you in there?” Jackie called from the other side of the princess' door, knocking softly on the firm wood. Once again, the girl got no reply, just an empty silence. From next to her, Janna sighed with annoyance, leaning up against the wall with crossed arms.

“Why are we doing this again?” Janna muttered, pulling her phone from her pocket and swiping the screen to turn the device on.

Jackie turned to her partner, explaining, “Marco wasn't in his room and I thought Star would want to know.”

“They're probably still on top of the tower, watching the stars or something,” Janna said, her eyes never leaving the bright screen.

“Yeah probably. Wait,” Jackie gave her roommate a glare, raising an eyebrow at her. “How do you know they went on the tower today?”

“I saw them,” Janna replied, with a shrug.

“You were spying on them!” Jackie yelled. “What about our deal?!”

“Hey, I didn't interfere,” Janna defended, raising her hands up in surrender. “I just observed.”

“Well it's still wrong,” Jackie scolded, whipping her head back to Star's door.

“Oh so you don't want to know what those two were doing up there,” Janna said, leaning closer to Jackie with a knowing smirk. “All alone.”

Jackie looked at her friend's face out of the corner of her eye, her obvious interest shining in her bright green irises, the temptation to ask almost too much to bare. Finally, Jackie turned away from the girl with a scoff, keeping her voice sounding as disinterested as possible. “Ha, why would I care? That's there business not mine,” Jackie calmly said, with a roll of her eyes.

Janna shrugged, the smile still on her lips, as she quietly slid her phone back into her pocket. “Well when we get in there you can tell her that yourself,” she said, reaching for the knob.

“Wait!” Jackie quickly grabbed her hand just before it touched the cold metal, drawing the girl's attention to her. “You can't just pick the lock of the Princess of Mewni, Jan. You have to have standards.”

“Uh I wasn't going to pick the lock,” Janna said, pulling her hand away and grabbing the knob once again. Keeping her eyes on the skeptic Jackie, she turned the knob and threw the door open with a flourish, reveling the status of the unlocked door to her friend.

Jackie looked sheepishly at the now opened doorway, simply saying, “Oh,” following after her roommate into the dark room. The two girls looked around for any signs of the blond, calling her name often as they searched the room top to bottom. But after a few minutes it became obvious the room was empty and a disheartened Jackie sighed, leaning up against the opened windowsill in defeat. That was when she noticed the thick rope tied tightly to Star's bedframe, the rest hanging out the window blowing freely in the night breeze.

“Uh, Jan,” Jackie started, lifting the rope up so she could inspect it closer. “I think you might need to see this.”

…

The woods were dark and silent as the trio continued deeper into its heart, Tom and Pony in the lead, walking resolutely forward with no fear of the dangers that could lurk around every corner. Star followed a little slower, her eyes darting around constantly, on edge even with the knowledge that no monsters were in the area. The air felt thick with tension, though she wasn't sure if it was coming from her or the woods themselves.

Finally they seemed to reach their destination, Tom and Pony coming to a stop in front of a large cave. Star caught up with them, examining the cave with interest. It was massive, its rocky walls expanding above the treetops and stretching out into the dark treeline. As Tom had said, the entrance to the cave was blocked by a blood red magical barrier, a giant lock with chains stretching all around the cave covered the entrance, a bit of overkill in Star's opinion.

“Is this it?” Star asked pointlessly, mostly just needing to break the uncomfortable silence that seemed to consume the area.

“Yep, this is the place,” Tom proudly responded, either not noticing the tension or (more likely) not caring. “Pretty cool, huh?” He turned to Star with a grin, waiting for a response.

She gave him a weak smile, unable to quite push away the unease she was still feeling. Pony closed in on her, leaning against the girl's arm, saying, “Cooler than anything that Mango ever did, right girl?”

“Come on guys,” Star said, sounding defensive. “Marco's not that bad.”

“Oh please the wimp couldn't even handle a little danger,” Tom scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You know just because your parents make you keep those orphans in the castle doesn't mean you have to hang out with them.”

“Uh, so you gonna open the cave, we don't really have all night,” Pony interrupted, looking bored.

Star let out an annoyed sigh, resisting putting a hand to her aching head. “Let's just get this over with,” Star muttered to herself, lifting her wand up, aiming it at the enormous lock. “Super Ladybug Lockpick!” she yelled, her voice with just a hint of irritation. A burst of magic shot out of her wand, taking the form of a giant, smiling ladybug, holding an equally sized key inbetween its legs. It flew up to the lock, inserting the key which began to glow with magic inside the locking mechanism. The lock and key disappeared, the magic chains falling to the floor before dispersing from existence, the shield following quickly afterward. Star lowered the wand, Tom and Pony looking into the now opened entrance to the cave, only shadows and darkness seeming to be lurking inside. Star kept her eyes on the floor, her thoughts on Marco, unable to stop herself from wishing he was there with her and still feeling guilty for leaving him behind.

But her thoughts were interrupted as she heard a strange chittering noise coming from within the cave. Star felt a chill run up her spine as it grew louder in volume, the noise echoing around the rocky walls of the cave, before projecting into the clearing where the trio stood. Tom and Pony were frozen in shock, Star feeling shaky and unsure of the strange noise, holding her wand tightly in front of her, waiting for an attack. Finally, the sound ceased, silence filling the clearing again, only Star's heavy breathing providing any noise in the quiet area.

“Well that was weird,” Tom said. Just then thick blue vine-like things shot out of the cave, wrapping themselves around the boy's arm, making him scream. Star turned to her friend in shock, shooting a blast of magic at the ropes, forcing them to remove themselves from Tom. He panted, holding his arm in shock, staring in at the darkness of the cave with uncertainty.

“You okay?” Star breathlessly asked, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder.

“What the heck was that?!” Pony yelled and in response more vines shot out, heading right for the floating head, before getting shot out of the air by another blast from Star's wand.

“Run!” she screamed, as more vines emerged from the cave heading right for the three teens. But her friends responded to her command, running away from the cave as quickly as possible. Star shot off a few incoming vines with her wand, trying to buy them some time, before turning on her heels and following after her friends. She ran as quickly as she could, her heart pounding away in her chest, not daring to look back at the vines that were probably still closing in on her. She just focused on getting her sore legs to move fast enough to escape the vines, her exhaustion from the long day and night now catching up to her at the worst possible time. She could see Tom and Pony in front of her, running into the forest undergrowth, now free from the unwanted vines and she tried to pick up her pace.

That was when she felt something wrap around her leg, instantly pulling back on her, sending her tumbling to the hard ground. She hit the earth with a loud bang, screaming in pain as her shoulder took the impact of the fall. She looked around her with bleary vision, trying to spot her wand seeing it laying just a few feet in front of her. She gathered her strength, reaching out a hand to grab the magical device but she felt the string go taut as it began dragging her back to the cave by her ankle.

“No, no, no,” Star screamed in panic, trying to fight back against the long rope's pull and reach her wand, her hands feebly clawing at the ground. She began gaining ground on the vine, inch by inch coming closer to her wand. Finally, she was able to grab the wand, releasing a shaky sigh as she held it tightly in her hand. She aimed it at the vine wrapped around her leg, trying to come up with a spell in this panic-filled moment.

“Super Laser- Ahhhh!” Star screamed as another thick vine wrapped itself around her hand coating the wand completely, rendering it useless. Star tried to fight back against the remarkably soft vines, pulling and tugging, trying desperately to get her hand free, but she was unsuccessful as it dragged her across the ground, bringing her closer and closer to the darkness of the cave. She heard the chittering noise again echoing around the walls of the cave as she drew closer and she turned hoping to see Tom or Pony running toward her, ready to free her from her predicament. But she was alone and no one was coming to save her. “Tom! Pony!” Star screamed, calling to them, trying desperately to reach them. Star felt tears of defeat in her eyes as the vines dragged her to the very entrance of the cave. “Marco!” she screamed as loudly as she could.

And then she was dragged, still screaming, into the depths of the dark cave, disappearing from sight.

...

Marco sat alone at a table, feeling miserable, looking at the pretty plant set neatly in its small décor vase with solace. What was he even doing there, really? He should stop mopping and go back to the castle like he told Star he would. There was nothing really to do here, not without Star. But something was keeping him there, making him want to stay, though he wasn't sure what. The boy sighed in misery, placing his forehead against the cold tabletop.

Marco saw a shadow darken over his face and he looked up to see the hairy creature from before standing over him, giving him a blank, empty stare. The hooded boy opened his mouth to speak but the creature suddenly flipped its hair up, revealing the teenage girl beneath. She smiled at him giving a tiny wave. “Hey again,” she said cheerfully.

“Oh hi,” Marco softly replied, upon recognizing the girl. “Your the girl from before, right?”

“Yep,” she replied with a small, courteous nod. “Name's Kelly.”

“Marco,” the hooded boy said. Then, suddenly remembering the casual greeting he was supposed to give, he thrust his hand out in the girl's face, making her lean back awkwardly. But she took his hand, shaking it softly.

The two stood shaking hands for a moment, Marco leaning uncomfortably on the table, as an awkward silence stretched out. “You can let go of my hand now,” Kelly finally said.

“Oh sorry,” Marco quickly apologized, pulling his hand away and sitting back down.

“So is this seat taken,” the girl asked, gesturing to the chair next to Marco's.

“Uh no, go ahead,” Marco said, a smile on his face and the girl pulled out the chair taking a seat.

“So are you from around here?” Marco asked, trying to make awkward small talk with the complete stranger sitting at his table.

“Actually I work here,” Kelly explained.

“What? Where?” Marco asked, looking around.

“There.” Marco followed the girl's pointing finger to the restaurant set up beside them, the boy just now realizing that he had sat down at one of the restaurant's outdoor dining areas.

“Oh,” Marco said softly, feeling slightly embarrassed for the mistake.

“When I saw you sitting over here all alone, I wanted to come over and thank you for what you did,” Kelly explained.

“It was no big deal,” Marco shyly responded, shrinking a little into his hoodie.

“No it was a big deal. If it weren't for you, me and Tad would be dead.”

“Tad?” Marco repeated in confusion. “Who's Tad?”

Suddenly, the top of Kelly's hair seemed to come to life, eyes and a mouth appearing out of nowhere, staring down at the boy with a relaxed smile. “Hey dude,” her hair said.

There was a moment of silence as Marco just stared at the hair with wide eyes. But his smile quickly returned, as he gave the talking hair an enthusiastic wave. “Hi Tad!” he shouted, greeting him in a friendly manner.

“I really appreciate what you did for me, brah,” Tad continued. “If it weren't for you, Kells could have been hurt. And I don't know what I would have done without her.”

“Awwww, Tad,” Kelly cooed, putting a hand to her blushing cheeks.

“It's true babe. I mean you are my whole world.”

“Your just saying that because your stuck up there on my head.”

“Well yeah. But what hair would want any different when it's already got the best.”

Marco watched the two's flirting for a minute, smiling. But out of nowhere, his thoughts jumped to Star and he felt a lump wedge itself into the back of his throat. Instinctively, he turned in the direction of the forest, feeling a crushing weight begin to weigh heavily on his body as he thought of the girl. He knew he shouldn't, but he was worried about Star, hating the idea of her being out there in the middle of the woods, even if she was with her old friends. He just couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that all was not right with the princess. He knew he was probably being paranoid, he was clearly afraid of the woods, but still...

“Marco?”

Marco jumped turning to Kelly in a daze. “What?” Marco's voice squeaked, still strained from the lump. “Sorry I was...”

“Thinking about that girl from before,” Kelly guessed and she was rewarded by Marco's blushing cheeks.

“Yeah, maybe a little,” he shyly responded, not looking the girl in the eyes.

“Did she ditch you?” Tad asked.

“Huh, ditch?” Marco asked, giving the talking hair a strange look. “What's that?”

“She abandoned you to go do something else,” Kelly helpfully supplied.

“Oh,” Marco said, nodding in understanding. “Yes... and no, I guess. I told her to go on without me, because I was in the way but now...” Marco's eyes began to glaze over with pain.

“Bad move, dude.”

Marco gave Tad another confused look. “What? Why?”

“Trust me. You don't leave your girl's side, no matter what.”

“But what if me being with her makes things worse?” Marco asked. “And what if what she's doing you don't like?”

“Then you have to decide,” Kelly pitched in. “Which is better for both of you. Tad and I don't get along on everything, but we try to stick together. Sometimes it's important to know when you stay together and when you give each other space. But it has to be the decision that makes both of you happy.”

Marco looked down at the table, deep in thought. Did he make the right call? Letting Star go had seemed like the right choice at the time, but he wasn't feeling good about it at all? So did that mean he made a mistake? Should he have gone too? Should he have told her to stay? Marco sighed, rubbing his sore eyes tiredly. “Your right I should have gone with her to that cave,” he moaned.

“Wait, cave,” Kelly suddenly blurted. “What cave?”

Marco heard the concern in her voice and removed his hands from his face, looking into the girl's obviously unsettled eyes. “The one that's sealed off with magic,” Marco hesitantly said, feeling his heart rate begin to spike.

“The one in the Forest of Certain Death?” Kelly questioned, her voice quivering slightly.

“Yes.”

“Oh, Marco,” Kelly's face scrunched up, filling Marco with unease. “That cave is dangerous!” she continued, not daring to look the boy in the eyes. “They say there's a creature sealed inside, locked by an ancient magic. Though I doubt your friend would be capable of getting in or anything, I mean it would take a heck of a lot of magic to open that cave and only an idiot would be dumb enough to even try it.”

Kelly looked up shooting the boy a comforting smile, only to switch to shock as she looked at the empty table in front of her, the chair the boy had been sitting in pushed out away from the table, it's occupant already running toward the certain doom that awaited him.

...

Tom and Pony ran as far and fast as they could, putting as much distance between themselves and the cave as possible. Until finally they freed themselves from the entrapping woods, arriving in town once again. The two came to a stop, Tom panting heavily from the exhausting run. The two took a moment to catch their breath, before breaking into laughter, relieved that they had escaped unharmed.

“Man that was crazy,” Tom chocked out, inbetween panting and fits of laughter.

“Crazy, that was insane,” Pony corrected. “Bet you wouldn't have seen that in your castle, huh B-Fly?” Pony turned, expecting to see Star behind her. But she wasn't. There was no sign of the girl anywhere around the two. “B-Fly?” Pony repeated, feeling slightly concerned.

“Star?” Tom called out as well.

The two's eyes were drawn to the dark woods once again, as Tom quietly whispered, “Oh no.”

...

Marco ran up to the dark woods, already panting heavily. He brought himself to a stop just before he entered the thick foliage, looking into the dark woods uncertainty. He was scared, there was no doubt about that, but if Star really was going to the cave Kelly said she was then she might be in danger. And if something happened to her Marco didn't know what he'd do. He had to help her, he just had to.

And so despite the overwhelming fear that coursed through his body, he stepped into the woods, brushing the loose branches and bushes out of his way as he entered the dimly lit forest. Marco froze, looking around at the towering trees in terror, feeling like the woods themselves were closing in around him. He began to hyperventilate, the forest growing smaller and smaller around the boy, the edges of his vision going black as he began to lose consciousness. He tried to calm himself, to force his feet to keep moving, but they were planted in place.

“I'm sorry,” Marco whispered to the forest around him. “I'm so sorry. Toffee told me not to leave, he said it'd hurt you, but I did, Buff Frog... Buff Frog made me and now you all probably hate me.” He felt tears brimming at the edges of his eyes. “Now I can't see any of you ever again and I don't... even know why. And now...” Marco sniffed wiping the tears out of his eyes, as his breathing began to calm, the suns of his cheeks glowing faintly as he took a deep, shaky breath, determination anew in his eyes. “Star. She needs me. I can't lose her like I did my family. I have to help her.”

And with that Marco, ignoring the overwhelming fear that still consumed his body, took off at a run, pushing deeper and deeper into the forest, hoping he would come across the cave. He had no idea how long he ran through the dark woods, every second feeling like an eternity as his worry for Star's safety grew, but eventually he came into a clearing were a large cave-like structure towered over him. He paused for a minute taking in the unsettling cave, his stomach doing an uncomfortable flip, before racing in to the cave without a second thought.

Once inside, he gave a quick survey of the room, startled by how warm and inviting the inside felt compared to the cold, dark exterior. The inside of the cave felt more like a proper living area, though on a giant scale. There was a sofa and coffee table, even a fireplace, though Marco did take note that almost everything in the room seemed to be made of a yarn-like substance expertly weaved together to create furniture. On top of that, there were large piles of socks everywhere in the enormous room, scattered all over the floor, making for a make-shift carpet. There were no lamps so it was rather dark in the giant's living room, the only source of light and warmth coming from the lit fireplace, but Marco's eyes adjusted quickly, finding the room still brighter than the woods outside.

He took a few steps forward, trying to spot Star or the others, making sure to stay close to the exit in case something unexpected came running in. He called Star's name gently, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. Finally, he looked up to the fireplace once again, noticing the stockings hanging over it, curious as to why these were being treated differently than the rest of its matching companions. That was when he spotted Star, poking out of one of the socks, her eyes closed. Marco felt panic and relief in a strange mixture as he resisted the urge to scream the girl's name. He ran over to the fireplace, no longer caring about the exit, as he quickly found a path up its side, using the uneven stone as footholes as he scaled the rocky hearth. Once he reached the top he ran over to the unconscious girl. He bent down to the girl's level tapping her lightly on the shoulder.

“Star.” he hissed, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. “Star, wake up.” The girl moaned, shifting in her sleep as she slowly peeked open an eye, looking at the boy with uncertainty.

“Marco?” she whispered, the exhaustion in her voice unmistakable. She blinked, trying to get her eyes to adjust to the partially lit room. “W-Where are we?” She tried to turn so she could take surveillance of the room, but found her arms restricted. She gasped as she noticed everything below her shoulders was trapped within the scratchy sock. She tried to pull herself free, tugging against the relentless sock, but found herself unable to move. “I'm stuck,” she whispered in worry. “I-I can't move.”

She felt hands wrap around her shoulders, pulling against the entrapping weight of the sock and she looked behind her to see Marco, straining as he tried to pull the girl to freedom, his brown eyes filled with a raw determination. Star felt her cheeks blush, for just a moment forgetting to move, before she snapped herself back to reality, moving with hooded boy as one.

Finally, it became obvious to Star that there would be no escaping the sock, letting out a deep sigh. “It's no use,” she whispered, slightly out of breath. “You should go before that thing comes back and gets you too.” She looked to Marco with fearful eyes, but he didn't even budge, the determination never leaving his face as he shook his head.

“No way. I'm not leaving you here. There's got to be another way.” He thought for a moment, putting a finger to his chin, Star just watching him in silence. “Hmmmm. Wait. Where are Tom and Pony Head? Maybe if I free them first, we can all work together to get you out.”

Star eyes filled with sadness as she shook her head. “That won't work. Tom and Pony Head already escaped, I was the only one who got captured.” She gave Marco another pleading look. “So please just go, Marco. There's no reason for both of us to get taken.”

But Marco just ignored her, his brain tumbling as he tried to think of another plan to free Star. Suddenly, an idea popped into his head as he quickly asked the girl, “Where's your wand? Is it in the sock, too?”

Star's face seemed to brighten as she remembered her magical device. “Of course. Marco that's genius.” But her face fell as realization hit her. “Oh no, I don't have it.”

“What? Then where is it?” Marco asked, looking around the fireplace for any sign of it.

“I dropped it,” Star said, shaking slightly.

“Where?”

“Down there.” Star gestured with her head to the pile of socks in the middle of the room, looking like a sea of bright blue below. Marco followed her gaze, squinting as he tried to spot the wand. He took a deep breath, turning to Star. “Stay here,” he said. “I'll be right back.”

“Wait, Marco!” Star called after him in a loud whisper, but the boy was already climbing down the fireplace, his eyes jumping to the pile of socks that waited below.

Once he was on the ground he quickly went over there, digging around through the soft and scratchy socks for any sign of Star's wand. His hands were buried deep inside the pile, blindly grabbing around for anything that wasn't made of cotton or wool. “Come on, come on,” he whispered, feeling pressured to rush it. Finally, his hands bumped up against something hard and Marco smiled in victory.

That was when he heard a chittering sound above him, looking up to see the creature of the cave. It was huge, towering over the room, its massive size suddenly making sense in Marco's mind. The thing was dark blue and made 100% out of thick yarn. It stared at him in shock for a second, Marco still bent over in the pile of socks staring blankly back. Then the creature released a massive roar, which seemed to shake the walls of the furbished cave. Marco screamed, pulling his hands out from the socks, now holding the wand.

“Marco run!” Star screamed from her stocking, still tugging against the scratchy fabric, trying to break free. Marco immediately obeyed, taking off from the creature as it shoot out webs made of yarn at the boy. The boy managed to see them coming out of the corner of his eye and dodged right, the yarn webs wrapping around the legs of the table, becoming stuck. The creature pulled against the table but its arm didn't budge and it released a sigh of annoyance.

While the creature was busy freeing itself Marco ran over to the fireplace, slipping the wand in his hood pocket, before scaling the structure once again. He made his way up quickly, keeping a weary eye on the creature which was still struggling to free itself. Once on top, Marco ran over to the trapped Star, his goal in sight.

But he was stopped as thick yarn webs wrapped around his body, pulling him off the fireplace and sending him falling to the ground. “Marco!” Star screamed, finally managing to pull a hand free from the sock. Marco screamed as he fell to the floor, putting his hands feebly in front of his face in hopes of providing protection. But it was for nothing as he crash landed into the pile of socks from before, breaking his fall and preventing any serious injury. Marco sat up from the sock pile to see the creature a short distance away and quickly closing the distance as it stalked closer.

Marco jumped to his feet running away from the creature once again, trying to make it to some form of safety in the room. More yarn webs shot out at him and he dove to the floor to avoid getting hit, the webs passing over his head uselessly.

He got up once again, running behind the couch, for a moment free from the creature's vision. He panted a few times, trying to catch his breath after the exhausting incident, peeking around the side, looking for any signs of the creature and was surprised to see nothing. Marco pulled back, leaning against the couch deep in thought, when a large shadow passed over his face. He looked up to see the yarn creature, leaning over the back of the couch, glaring at him. “You know that's really bad for your couch,” Marco said.

The creature growled releasing more webs at the boy, who dropped down on all fours and crawled underneath the couch, barely avoiding getting hit. The boy crawled forward, seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, trying to keep his breathing and racing heart calm as he pushed forward, trying not to think of the creature that might be waiting for him at the other end. He crawled out the other side, slowly sneaking away, the creature still looking over the back of the couch for any signs of the boy who seemed to just disappear.

Marco crept slowly forward, trying to make the least amount of sound as possible. But the creature, still confused, turned and saw the boy creeping away. Its eyes narrowed as it shot out more yarn webs, the boy too busy trying not to make noise that he didn't even notice. “Look out!” Marco felt something heavy bump into him sending him tumbling to the floor, the yarn webs passing harmlessly beside him.

Marco blinked, wondering how he had ended up on the floor, feeling a heavy, warm weight pressed up against him. He looked down to see Star laying on top of him and he felt his cheeks turn hot as her bright blue irises focused on his face, looking concerned. Marco opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him as Star moved a little closer to him, their faces becoming close to touching, her long blond hair tickling his face as she leaned over him, her eyes scanning his face for any injuries. “You okay?”

But before Marco could attempt to answer, another roar echoed throughout the cave and Star looked over to the see the creature, quickly losing patience, stalking toward them. Star grabbed the boy's hand, pulling him to his feet and dragging him behind her, as she ran for the exit.

But just as the two made it out the cave's mouth, a yarn web latched onto Marco's back, pulling him back into the depths of the cave. Marco screamed as Star tried to pull the boy out of the fabric's grip, but the two were being slowly dragged in inch by inch. The princess grunted as she dug her heels into the ground, tightening her grip on the boy's arm as much as she could without hurting him. “Don't worry Marco, I'm not letting go!” Star screamed.

But she began losing hope as the darkness slowly closed in around them, more webs wrapping around them beginning to encase their bodies in the scratchy fabric. Marco seemed to be realizing the hopelessness of their situation as well as he looked deep into Star's eyes, the two trying to enjoy what might be their last moment together.

“Hang on B-Fly!” a voice screamed from behind them and the two turned to see Tom and Pony Head racing toward the two.

“Pony!” the two screamed as one.

“Hey what about me!?” Tom yelled, fuming with anger, the flames on his cheeks igniting as he came to an abrupt stop.

“Not now T!” Pony yelled. “We gotta save B-Fly and Mango!”

“It's Marco!” Marco screamed.

“Yeah no one still cares. Charge!” With that Pony stabbed her horn deep into the yarn web, ripping some of it apart. Meanwhile, Tom snapped his fingers the rest of the webs bursting into flames and disintegrating. With the webs suddenly severed, Star and Marco felt gravity take hold of them once again as they were sent tumbling to the floor.

More webs continued to spring out of the cave, Tom and Pony laying waste to them, as they protected the two Mewmans who were still trying to recover from the terrifying ordeal. The two lay on the floor, hand in hand, panting, watching Tom and Pony in shocked silence. The two held their own against the never ending webs that seemed to shoot out of the cave's mouth, but it was obvious they couldn't hold out forever.

Until suddenly Star, logic returning to her frazzled brain, turned to Marco shouting, “Marco, quick my wand!”

“Oh right,” Marco said, pulling the wand out of his hood pocket and handing it to Star. Once the wand was back in her hands, she took a deep breath, letting the magic gather.

“Hyper Rainbow Shield!” she screamed, as magic shot out of her wand encasing the entire entrance of the cave, a purple shield immediately beginning to form. Tom and Pony relaxed as the webs finally stopped coming, bouncing off the shield harmlessly.

The four friends all took a moment to catch their breath, as the dangerous situation was finally resolved. Star helped Marco to his feet. “You okay?” she asked, still panting.

“Yeah,” Marco grunted, rubbing his head softly. “Thanks.”

“I should be thanking you,” Star said. “But how'd you know I was in trouble?”

“Someone in town told me that cave was super dangerous, so I came to make sure you were okay,” Marco explained.

“Well we had your back too, B-Fly,” Pony cut in. “There was no way we were letting our friend get turned into a sock mummy,” Pony said.

“Thanks,” Star said, giving them a grateful smile.

“So what should we do now, girl?” Pony asked. “There's still a massive rave happening in the Bounce Lounge if we hurry we can-”

“Actually,” Star interrupted. “I'm gonna take Marco back.”

“Ah come on, he's fine,” Pony said, with a roll of her eyes. “You don't have to babysit him just because he almost died.”

“Yeah why don't you send him home so you can hang out with your real friends,” Tom blurted out, before his eyes widened, realizing his mistake.

There was an awkward moment of silence as Star stared at her two friends in disbelief, realization finally entering the girl's brain. Her eyes narrowed on them and Tom and Pony both backed up a bit from the girl. But Star took a deep breath, before turning back to Marco, who just stood there awkwardly unsure what to do, shooting him a smile. “Marco why don't you go on ahead? I'll catch up.”

“O-Okay,” Marco said, before walking past the three giving them all concerned looks, heading in the direction of town.

Once he was out of sight, Star turned to her two old friends once again. “I'll right first off, Marco is my friend, one I choose to hang out with, not forced to,” she began, her voice hard. “Secondly, I'm tired. I've been tired all night and you two never even took the time to notice it. And I can see that the only way this night is going to end is if I say something. So I am.”

“But-” Tom began.

“But what Tom,” Star cut him off, shooting him a glare.

“You never would have called it a night before,” Pony said.

“Well I'm not the person I was before, Pony,” Star huffed. “I'm not some crazy party girl who can go out and do whatever I want. I have duties and responsibilities and people who look up to me. And I don't care if that makes me sound like a rubber stamp princess, because it's true.”

“Okay well, we were only trying to help,” Pony muttered.

“No you weren't,” Star exclaimed, her anger boiling. “You used me, all night long, to do all those stupid, dumb pranks. You never cared about spending time with me, you just wanted my wand so you could break the rules and rebel.”

“Hey don't pin this on us,” Tom defended. “You're the one who asked us to help you become the princess you were before.”

“Yes I did,” Star said with a sigh, her eyes for a moment looking to the ground, before jumping back up to them. “But I was wrong. I'm not the princess I was before... but maybe that's a good thing. Maybe the person I am now is better. And maybe I shouldn't be trying to change that.”

“So what you'd rather hang out with that turd than your besties,” Pony said.

“It all comes down to two options Star,” Tom added. “Us or him.”

Star looked down for a moment, thinking. Finally she looked back up at them with a hard look. “Fine.” And with that she turned on her heels and began walking in the direction Marco had gone.

“Star!” Tom called, but she didn't respond, simply walking off, leaving her two oldest friends behind. The two turned to each looking shocked and confused.

“Nice going,” Pony hissed at her friend, who looked at the ground sadly.

“She really chose him over us,” he whispered in depression.

“Why did you even ask her to?” Pony scoffed. “ Let's just give her a few days to cool of. She'll come around eventually.”

…

“Your sure they went in there?” Jackie asked looking at the dark woods, uncertainly.

“Oh yeah,” Kelly confidently replied. “He seemed pretty upset when I told him about the cave.”

“Marco in the Forest of Certain Death,” Janna pitched in. “No way. Gotta be someone else.”

“How many other boys in bright red hoods with sun cheek marks do you know?” Kelly pointed out.

“Touche.”

“I hope they're okay in there,” Jackie said, her voice quivering slightly as she looked into the danger-ridden woods with concern.

“Well if there are about four different caves located just outside of town in the Forest of Certain Death and only three of them have dangerous creatures trapped inside,” Janna stated matter-of-factly. “So we have about a one in four chance of them not getting eaten.”

“I don't even want to ask how you know that,” Jackie said, putting a palm to her forehead.

“What's in the other one?” Kelly asked the creepy girl curiously.

“Diamonds,” she answered with a shrug. “Oh and gold.”

“Oh, cool we should totally go there Tad for date night,” Kelly said, looking up at her hair.

“Sounds good to me, babe,” Tad replied. “I'll go with you, anywhere.”

“I wouldn't if I were you, it's all kinda cursed,” Janna said.

“Awww, why is there always a catch when exploring unknown caves in dark woods?” Kelly huffed in frustration. “Come on Tad, let's go home.” The two girl's watched their informant sulk off, looking upset, until a voice yelled behind them.

“Hey guys!” Jackie and Janna turned as one, looking to the wood's entrance where Marco stood waving over to them.

“Marco!” they both shouted, quickly running over to join him.

“Where have you been?” Jackie asked in concern.

“With Star,” Marco replied innocently.

“Where is Star?” Janna asked, looking around for any signs of the girl.

“She was talking to Tom and Pony Head.”

“Those two?!” Jackie exclaimed, sounding disgusted. “They were behind this.”

“Yeah,” Marco said, a little put-off by Jackie's bizarre behavior. “They've been hanging out with me and Star all night.”

“Well now the devastation makes sense,” Janna muttered under her breath, a small smile on her face. “That had Tom's handwriting all over it.”

“Don't sound so impressed,” Jackie said, shooting Janna a look.

“Actually, that was me,” a hesitant voice called from the woods and they all turned to Star, looking downcast.

“Star!” the two girls screamed, Jackie pulling her into a hug.

“Where are Tom and Pony Head?” Marco asked, looking around for them.

Star's eyes went dark for a moment. “I have no idea,” she spat. Marco felt guilt clench his gut at Star's reaction, suddenly afraid he had upset her.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?” Star asked in confusion.

“For ruining your night,” Marco said, keeping his eyes on the floor.

“Marco,” Star said softly, taking his hands gently into her own. Marco looked up into her eyes with shock. “You didn't ruin my night.”

“But what about Tom and Pony Head? Didn't you want to spend time with them?”

Star giggled a little. “Actually I'd much rather spend time with you” She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “My best friend.”

“Your best... friend,” Marco repeated, his cheeks blushing slightly.

“Yep,” Star replied matter-of-factly. “Bestie for short.”

“Bestie,” Marco tried out the word, letting it sink into his brain. “I like it,” he said, giving Star another cute smile that just made her heart flutter.

“I'm glad,” she said, giving him a warm smile.

Jackie and Janna stared at the two in silence, giving each other knowing looks. Janna cleared her throat, capturing the two's attention once again. “Well you two besties might want to consider cleaning up the mess you and the others made out of town,” she said. “The people are still in revolt over that possum statue getting broken.”

“Oh yeah,” Star said sheepishly, looking at Marco. “Guess I should try to get everything fixed before morning. So much for sleep.”

“Don't worry Star, your bestie will be there beside you all night to help,” Marco said dramatically, putting a hand to his chest.

Star laughed. “Why thank you, bestie,” she said, equally as dramatic, curtsying.

The two shared a laugh for a moment before turning back to town, the two besties flashing each other a smile before heading off to spend the rest of the night together as friends.

[eddycurrents]

The Crooked Man & Others: “The Crooked Man”

Words: Mike Mignola | Art: Richard Corben | Colours: Dave Stewart | Letters: Clem Robins

Originally published by Dark Horse in Hellboy: The Crooked Man #1-3 | July-September 2008

Collected in Hellboy - Volume 10: The Crooked Man & Others | Hellboy Library Edition - Volume 4 | Hellboy: Complete Short Stories - Volume 1

Plot Summary:

In 1958, Hellboy travels to the Appalachian Mountains where he and Tom Farrell try to weather a storm of witches to bury Farrell’s father on consecrated grounds and beat the devil.

Reading Notes:

(Note: Pagination is solely in reference to the story itself and is not indicative of anything found within the issues or collections.)

pg. 1 - I love that during this period of Hellboy stories, where Duncan Fegredo became Mignola’s stand-in for the tales set in the present, the main visuals for the past tales was Richard Corben. Corben is a master of horror and weird tales himself and the collaborations with Mignola, Dave Stewart, and Clem Robins on Hellboy legends were gorgeous. Here in the opening, he and Stewart wonderfully set the rich detail of the nature in this story.

pg. 3 - It’s kind of interesting as to how simple the set up is to get Hellboy into the story. Just checking in on a poor girl who’s been hexed.

pg. 5 - Tom Farrell is mostly a stand-in for Manly Wade Wellman’s character Silver John, a veteran with knowledge of the supernatural, albeit without lugging around a guitar. The little bits and pieces Mignola throws in of Hellboy’s past in passing conversation is nice.

pg. 6 - Chekhov’s church being set up here.

pg. 7 - More witch balls confirms their suspicions. I think these ones are pretty interesting, looking more like sea urchins. 

pg. 9 - The empty skin sure is creepy.

pg. 10 - I love the silence before Hellboy goes into asking Tom a question about his past.

pg. 11 - Never trust the naked girl luring you to the devil. Never. Though, to be fair, it’s interesting the parallels to Eve’s temptation of Adam, if Adam were a lustful fifteen year old boy. Sometimes, I wish, though, that they didn’t necessarily trade off a woman’s sexuality as a taboo.

pg. 13 - Corben’s design for the Crooked Man is amazing. Just creepy and frightening all in one. It’s also neat how Mignola weaves in some backstory for the area, building up the lore of the Appalachians by telling another tall tale within this narrative.

pg. 10-15 - I quite like how these flashbacks are presented. Other than the panels with the Crooked Man’s death, there’s really only a minor softening to the colours, but the indication of a flashback is through a simple rounding of the panel border’s corners.

pg. 16 - This raccoon is adorable. Sure, I know it’s Cora Fisher as an animal crawling back into her vacant skin, but adorable little raccoon.

pg. 17 - The death of her husband and her kids does at least make her sympathetic.

pg. 19 - Effie Kolb, on the other hand, just seems nasty.

pg. 22 - The bridle turning Tom’s father into a horse is a pretty neat trick. Horrifying, yeah, and debilitating for Tom to see him that way, but it’s a kind of evil of these witches and the devil that you didn’t necessarily expect. A way to drive a needle into Tom’s side in an unexpected fashion.

pg. 23 - A good set up for the quest up the mountain, and Hellboy’s inclusion.

pg. 24 - I like Tom’s intent on getting Cora free from her deal with the devil. These pretty much never work out, but it’s at least a nice sentiment.

pg. 25 - Tom’s father as a burden that he must carry himself is representative of one of the themes that often appear in these kinds of Americana tales, in that you have to own your own foibles and face the consequences. Lest things turn worse for you.

pg. 29 - This mixture of American folktale, history, and what I believe is largely Mignola’s own invention to give us another little side story is wonderful. It’s always impressive to see him embellish little details into the broader narrative. Also, Corben’s designs for these witches are terrifying.

pg. 30 - That they’re calling Cora by name just adds to the creep factor.

pg. 31 - That the passage of time seems to be affected by the presence of the devil and the evil that’s seeped into the land is interesting as well. That their presence could essentially fix darkness at noon is kind of neat.

pg. 33 - There’s a bit here that you can’t outrun fate, that you still have to pay for the evil that you’ve done.

pg. 35 - Hellboy versus these frogs and bugs makes my skin crawl, just showing how effective the storytelling is. Corben is a master at drawing these creepy crawlers.

pg. 38 - That’s some nightmare fuel. The vision overall, reinforcing the idea that the devil can’t set foot in a church put forth in the first part of the story, again seems to foreshadow something that might occur.

pg. 39 - Clem Robins’ font for Effie’s laughter has a nice haunting effect.

pg. 40 - Even with what they’ve faced so far, I love the feeling of dread that Corben and Stewart instill through the art, just through a simple moon shot.

pg. 42 - This is at least a little comfort. Despite her death, Cora still escaped the clutches of the devil.

pg. 44 - I think it’s interesting in a lot of horror and fantasy fiction that treats witches almost as though they’re a different class of being. That whatever it is that they become, they’re not quite human. At least, not any more. I suppose it could be a way to essentially other them, to make it all right when the heroes in the stories ultimately kill, burn, and/or destroy them utterly during the course of a story. Rather than thinking that someone can be redeemed of their wicked ways.

pg. 45 - Two neat things here: first, Corben’s designs for the witches are nice. Love the variety and detail among them. Second, I like the question of faith and belief in regards to whether or not magic will or will not work.

pg. 47 - The Crooked Man come to collect his due is an amazing visual.

pg. 48 - Wonderful little cut away on how to make a witch ball. This is both hilarious and frightening when you look at that cat closely.

pg. 49 - Just as there’s the idea common in folklore that the devil always tells the truth, there’s a certain logic and fairness to what the Crooked Man is saying. A deal was made, services were rendered, and now he’s here to collect on his end of the bargain. It is ultimately weighted unfairly in his favour, given that the immortal soul is a real quantity in Hellboy, but there’s the idea that he’s not really wrong planted here.

pg. 50 - The idea of a witch siege of a church is different.

pg. 52 - The witches essentially punking Hellboy is funny.

pg. 53 - The reverend not taking any guff from the Crooked Man is one hell of a mood. Also, trying to bribe him in order to get Tom out of the church and off the consecrated ground is really a tell.

pg. 55 - There’s a nice parallel to Job in the reverend’s temptation and acceptance of his tribulations.

pg. 56 - Taking a different approach of raising the dead within the consecrated ground is something new. The Crooked Man and the witches can’t seem to cross, but their magic does seem to still be able to cause things to manifest and change. Which kind of makes you wonder why they don’t just whip up some kind of spell that whisks Tom off to their clutches. You get the impression that maybe he has to willingly give up.

pg. 57-60 - I like that through this we still get an almost standard Hellboy fight sequence. It’s weird with the raised corpses from the church graveyard, but it looks great.

pg. 61 - Cute little young Hellboy. Also, the Crooked Man trying to get to Hellboy through his destiny is definitely going to wind up in a backlash.

pg. 63 - Consecrating a holy shovel sure does beat all.

pg. 65 - Defeating the devil with a shovel, that sure is something. I love how this panel of the strike basically just goes all white.

pg. 67 - Gorgeous panels from Corben and Stewart. Also, time appears to be working again.

pg. 68 - Interesting that despite fulfilling the quest of burying Tom’s father,  they realize that their job’s not done and they still have to really kill the Crooked Man.

Also, that Cora is still there is somewhat sad. You would hope that she’d have moved on.

pg. 69 - The appearance of a stately mansion in the middle of the Appalachians is weird. It just reinforces the idea that the Crooked Man, in life, lived one of opulence and extravagance.

pg. 70 - And his “true” appearance, hoarding his gold, is both pathetic and creepy.

pg. 72 - A humorous and fitting end to Effie Kolb.

Final Thoughts:

In part it was due to giving a lot of lead time to Duncan Fegredo in order to wrap up the present-day Arthurian trilogy in The Storm and The Fury without too incredibly long breaks in between issues, but I quite liked the somewhat parallel approach to the final three volumes of the original Hellboy series and the Plague of Frogs narrative cycle for BPRD. Both features two volumes that focused on the past before diving into the grand finales.

As per his introductory statements to this story, Mike Mignola wears the influence of Manly Wade Wellman on his sleeve. Not just through the feel of the Silver John stories, but the overall feel of his down home weird Americana within the Appalachians. More so than similar stories from Nathaniel Hawthorne, Ambrose Bierce, and Robert E Howard, Wellman’s stories exhibited a kind of matter-of-factness that’s missing from the others. The supernatural and oddities in the world are almost accepted as a given, something as normal as the sun rising, which carries over well into Hellboy stories since Mignola has developed a similar aesthetic. So witches running around as raccoons and devils who appear as a dead, greedy landowner that used to cause problems for the area.

d. emerson eddy has danced with the devil in the pale of the moonlight.

[jhope-seok]

chiaroscuro | Part 1

chi·a·ro·scu·ro (n.) /kyärəˈsk(y)o͝orō/: an effect of contrasted light and shadow (used in art); Italian, from chiaro light + oscuro dark

Disclaimer: All of the things mentioned in this story are all works of fiction and have been made up by me, the author.  I did not intend to make anything based on real life, and any coincidences to real life are purely coincidences.

AU/Genre: Mafia x Cop AU // Fluff, possible smut in future chapters 

Warnings: mentions of weapons and drugs

Members: Jungkook x Reader

Length: 1,948 words

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The smell of your favorite coffee house always wakes you up in the morning. The scent of coffee grounds emanates throughout the small shop, filling your nose, your throat, your lungs. The aromas occupy your mind until there is nothing left but coffee and it’s enticing grip on your brain. It is a much needed break on your sense of smell after the car ride into the city with your two large bodyguards.

You have told them time and time again how awful their cologne smells, and that if their aim is to protect you and be around you at all times, they really need to throw that disgusting crap away. Yet time and time again, you’re greeted with the overbearing scent of man musk whenever they’re around. You wonder to yourself if they do it on purpose just to bother you, knowing that they have to be with you and near you at all times--as ordered by your father--so, you conclude, they must have some sort of long, drawn out bet to see how long you can take it before you personally hose them down. Which, if this is true, it doesn’t surprise you.

You know the two men are not very fond of their job of watching over your every movement. You know that they see it as a demotion, but your father had been very insistent on it, claiming that it was their duty to watch over the head of the business, and since you had recently come into such job, they were to guard you and be with you during every waking moment of your day. You had managed to get it so that when you were at home, you could at least have some privacy, having them stand outside the door to your apartment instead of hovering over you as you tried to eat every meal.

You are very well aware of the fact that you could have ordered one of the maids that works on your floor of the apartment building to make you your desired beverage. But, when you awoke this morning to the realization that you had just become the head of one of the largest cocaine trafficking rings in the nation, the air in your overly large apartment became all too stale for your liking. Yet, now you’re wishing you had instead made your bodyguards go and retrieve your coffee for you, because the stench that surrounds them like a green cloud of smoke suffocates you during a drive you never remembered being as long as it is. Plus, it gives you a reason to insist you go into the shop alone.

They kept trying to warn you of the dangers of going into public spaces by yourself, claiming that you can never be too sure of when someone might try to attempt to kill you, or worse, kidnap you. “Now that you’re the head honcho--” one of them had began to lecture you, but you already had one foot already out the door.

You threw them your meanest look, and with ice in your throat your tongue lashed out, “If someone dares to kidnap me in Starbucks, of all fucking places, I swear to god I will personally give you a million dollars, each, for predicting it. Plus, I think I can fucking handle getting myself a cup of coffee for five minutes without you two idiots scaring the employees.” And with that, you stormed out of the car.

Now, as you wait by the counter to receive your coffee, you take several deep breaths of fresh air that hasn’t been polluted by your bodyguards. Your mood lightens with every lung-full of air, the warmth of the coffee shop lifting your spirits as the time approaches when your favorite beverage will be in your hand again.

Although, a dark cloud finds its way over your head as you begin to regret coming in alone when you start to feel like you’re being watched. You come to realize just how many other people are inside of the small coffee shop, although most of them seem to be occupied with their phones. You can feel your blood begin to race as your eyes scan the bodies around you, searching for something to explain the chills that are running down your spine. You know there’s no way that word could have already spread to the other gangs around the city that you took over the family business, but you’re starting to wish you had taken at least one of the stupid buffoons inside with you in case somehow someway someone had gotten wind of the situation.

You’re trying to keep a low profile, not wanting to let the person watching you know just how panicked you are becoming inside, when your eyes land on possibly the most handsome man you have ever seen standing a few feet away. His dark eyes burn holes into yours, and your heart races. You’re not sure if it’s the way that his hair is perfectly framing his forehead, or if it’s the way his adam’s apple moves as he licks his lips, but something about him is making your blood rush from your head, less from panic and more from arousal. You know it’s way too early for you to be feeling this turned on by the sheer sight of a man, especially in a crowded coffee shop, but you think to yourself that anything can happen. Except, when the glint off of his police badge catches your eye, your heart leaps into your throat.

You’re quick to avert your eyes, knowing that it’s never a good idea to speak to or interact with officers in any part of your city. You know that your father has done his part to pay off most cops, but this man looks young, almost your age, and you don’t know if he’s been bought off yet or not. And if he hasn’t, it is best not to engage him.

Although, he doesn’t seem to have any idea of who you are, as his eyes do not seem accusatory. His gaze on your cheeks feels almost, inquisitive. You’re trying to reassure yourself that you are certain you do not know this man, and that there’s no way this man knows you, or knows of the crimes your family commits. Or at least, that’s what you think, until he closes in and softly asks, “Y/N?”

You gulp down the fear that has lodged itself in your throat, making it hard to breath, and remind yourself that you’re a powerful woman, head of one of the largest drug mafias in the state, and at only twenty-six you can take on a young police officer. You flash him your best smile, and greet him. “Hi, I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

“Oh! I’m--” he’s caught off guard by the beauty in your smile. He can’t seem to believe he’s being graced by your presence, which makes your back a little straighter as your confidence grows. He clears his throat and stands up taller to match your actions. “I’m Jungkook. Jeon...Jungkook. We went to school together.”

Jungkook is amazed by the way you’ve aged. You look practically the same to him, but different in so many ways. He remembers a small girl, who seemed so timid and breakable, afraid of everything. He remembers the way you used to keep your head down through the halls, avoiding the eyes of all of your classmates. Although, he does recall many times when the other boys would try to tease you and all you had to do to make them stop was shoot them a death glare. Apparently, that hasn’t changed.

You narrow your eyes at him. “School? I don’t remember a Jeon...Jungkook.”

Jungkook blushes and casts his head down, rubbing the back of his neck. You make a mental note that this makes him looks extremely cute, like a small boy in front of his crush. It makes your heart flutter before you can catch yourself.

“Ah…,” he starts, unable to find the words to make this less awkward. He adjusts his holster as he searches. Which only draws your attention down to his belt and the gun, taser, and pepper spray so neatly wrapped around his waist, in pockets so perfectly designed for them, as if the three combined wouldn’t have the power to render you completely helpless. “We sat next to each other in middle school? We didn’t really talk much,” his words are starting to bring back memories in your mind of the weird, overly studious boy who used to sit next to you in all your classes. “But you were always this mysterious girl who I could never approach. Or rather, couldn’t imagine approaching.”

You stop him mid thought before he can ramble on any longer. “So why approach me now?” You cock your eyebrow at him, a smile playing on your lips. Because, if you’re being honest with yourself, now that he mentions it you do vaguely remember a Jeon Jungkook, but you don’t remember him being this...handsome. You remember a boy who always had his head down in his books, and when he wasn’t in his books his hand was always raised, the answer to every question on the tip of his tongue. You can recall sneaking glances at his tests every so often.

He flashes you a smile that almost instantaneously has you weak in the knees. “I don’t really know. Kind of knee-jerk reaction seeing someone from my past I guess.”

“Venti, cold brew with soy milk for Y/N,” the barista’s voice interrupts all thoughts in your mind, as you whip your head to see her placing it on the counter next to you. You turn back to Jungkook and bite your lip.

“Well, that’s me. I’ve got important things to do, and I wouldn’t want to get in the way of,” you pause, pointing to the badge on his chest, “important police work.”

You move to grab your coffee off the counter, and as you pass by him again, catching a whiff of a cologne that doesn’t make you want to vomit, he turns to watch you walk out.

“Maybe I’ll see you around again sometime, Y/N.” His voice is soft, alluring, and you have to stop the urge to ogle him as you leave.

You pause at the door. “Maybe you will.” You smirk, and push through the front door, glancing back once to throw him a wink and, “Officer.” The bell is much too cheery for your liking ringing a goodbye as you step back into the real world, the gaze of your bodyguards in the car piercing through the tinted windows.

Jungkook watches as you open the door to a car that probably cost more than his salary. He admires the way the black pants you’re wearing perfectly shape your backside as you sink into the backseat, and as he you drive off he can see you faintly through the windows and he’s reminded of a scene similar to this one from his childhood.

He remembers the silly crush he used to have on you: the girl who was a mystery to him. He often day dreamed about what went on in your home life, what it would be like to be your friend and to know the things no one else knew about you. But he never got the chance to even properly introduce himself to you back in middle school. He thinks to himself that there’s much to you he never knew and that meeting you again like this, he is determined to find out.

feedback is always welcome! please feel free to leave some here!

[isakitwrites]

Placement Chapter 17

Ok look sometimes you try to write something cutesy or fun or easy and it just comes out WTFANGST. Or mostly WTF. I don’t even know.

Note: ptsd/panic attacks/nightmares/therapy

Jim’s eyes were shrewd. They didn’t miss much.

Tony’s foot tapped incessantly while he watched the traffic from the interstate out the window. 

The man’s gonna let me sit here and let the anxiety devour me. Right in front of him, too. Jesus. Tony was irritated. The sudden summer storm had made traffic a bitch to get through and he’d been late for his appointment. He might have been a hot mess in a general sense, but for the most part, he was on time for meetings. Even if I look like shit when I get there.

Jim’s face was impassive, waiting. Tony was annoyed how the man held a pen in his right hand, hooked between fingers, part of how the man gestured when he did eventually speak, mostly reiterating what Tony babbled about, and somehow the counselor never wrote a goddamn thing down. At that point, why fucking bother with the pen? Come on, just doodle something, I don’t care. It’s been MONTHS now! You haven’t written a goddamn fucking word! Tony was practically screaming in his own head, trying to look calm and relaxed outside. It was stupid, he thought, to get hung up on the notepad. How was focusing on it helping anything? Yet here he was.

Tony’s eyes fixed on the steno pad Jim held at his knee, hating it. He could tell from across the small room that it was one of the cheap-as-shit kinds, with the green tinted paper that was about the same consistency of toilet paper. He didn’t even let that kind in his offices or anywhere near any of his properties. His people got the best. Not this bottom of the barrel bullshit. Granted, his company was mostly paper free, preferring to give employees Starkpads and other tech to replace paper.

“How fast is your head running today, Tony?”

Caramel eyes darted up to Jim’s face and Tony snorted, looking away.

It was several minutes before Tony gathered enough words to make a sentence.

“Stephen had another nightmare last night.”

I mean, he nearly strangled me, but it wasn’t his fault. Well, debatable. Maybe we should sleep apart. Tony’s heart squeezed, like the arc reactor was still pushing his organs out of place as his monologue argued both sides without him.

“Did he talk about it with you?”

Scowling, Tony shook his head. It was a point of contention, a cause of stress for both of them. Tony growled, “Never does.” His eyes filled unexpectedly and he blinked rapidly, forcing air into his lungs. We haven’t even defined whatever this is. He’ll fuck me, but he won’t talk to me.

“Does he tell you why he doesn’t want to talk about them to you?”

Tony’s eyes whirled, unable to pick a place to land, as he thought, the question quickly slipping away and replaced with his regular internal speech, like a dagger behind his eyes holding his brain hostage, why aren’t you listening, stupid, stupid, why are you like this pay attention what did he ask why aren’t you getting this. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and forced himself to breathe and push the negatives away. The room rang with silence for long minutes. Or maybe Jim asked something else. Tony was gone, stuck in the loop in his head. Does he know that Stephen and I are fucking? Does he care? I’m overreaching, making shit up. I’m not really sleeping with Stephen. Am I? Stephen won’t talk to me because I don’t matter to him. He still had issues stopping the negative self-talk. It was all or nothing in Tony’s head.

Jim’s voice got softer, “Still with me, Tony?”  

Sitting up, Tony folded his hands in his lap again. Jim had been clearly asking him to tune back in for a while, and looked mildly relieved. Tony gave him a weak smirk, unable to muster the energy to mean it.

“Are you sleeping with Stephen?” It was unlike the counselor to postulate out loud like this, but maybe…

Tony froze before letting his head bob once. Jim leaned on the arm of his chair, nodding back. “It’s been a while since you’ve let someone in, didn’t you say?” Another bob. “How long?”

His voice cracked when he spoke. “A decade. Since… Iron Man.”

“How long have you been sleeping together?”

“A few weeks?” It came out as a question. Tony didn’t measure time like other people - losing himself in projects and other less productive pursuits often made him wonder what day it was - not that he actually cared most of the time. It helped, though, to have his regular appointment here. Gave him a touchstone, an anchor, a place to be and force himself to exist for once. Tony squinted, thinking. It must have been three or four appointments ago when Stephen fell through the portal covered in black sludge. He swallowed hard to block the images of what had happened the next morning, willing his body to behave and not humiliate him.

“And the way you worry about his nightmares, it seems like you care for him. Not just as a lover, but as a friend?” Jim was careful about his word choices, Tony noticed, bobbing his head again. “I see that you’re affected by it. What happened last night?”

Tony practically purred when Stephen scooped him into his arms, assuming their regular spoon positions. Feeling Stephen’s breath against his neck was almost as relaxing as the spell he used to keep Tony calm. They were in Tony’s penthouse suite in the Compound’s tower, and Tony’s eyes were wide open, staring at the inky skies. Being with Stephen kept him calm, but old patterns of not sleeping died hard. At least his head was quiet at the same time his body was. He watched the stars until he felt Stephen’s breath hitch.

Carefully turning over, he faced Stephen, still pressed close to his body. “Stephen, breathe.” Even though the man was still under, still trapped in his dream, Tony had to hope there was something unconscious that registered his voice, that was capable of reaching him. “Come on, doc. Come on back.” Tony rubbed his hands along Stephen’s bare arms, the sweat of their earlier exertions still damp on his skin. He was trying to keep his cool, trying to keep calm, but the unflappable doctor having nightmares this severe, this frequently was starting to scare him.

Stephen, meanwhile, started shaking, his face pinching in his nightmare and his limbs clenching, drawing Tony’s body closer. Tony hated being restrained, but playing with Stephen it hadn’t felt so bad, being tangled in his long limbs, being held down (or up…) with magic ropes and whips. Until now. This was setting off every danger alarm klaxon in Tony’s head, his own heart rate spiking, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to help Stephen if he himself were rendered useless by panic. Wriggling his arms free, Tony tried to push away from the lanky man, who was clearly much stronger than he looked. “C’mon, Strange,” he whined, struggling to free himself.

Stephen’s voice cracked when he cried out, his body curling abruptly into Tony’s, and Tony went still as the man buried his face against Tony’s chest, his hands scrabbling at Tony’s back. Barely breathing, Tony lifted a hand to run his fingers through Stephen’s damp, gray-streaked hair. Is it over? “Is it over?” he whispered, waiting for the sorcerer to relax.

As if struck across his shoulders, Stephen reared back with a keening wail cut short by a sputtering cough, twisting in the sheets. Taking the opportunity, Tony scrambled back, toward the edge of the bed, his own hand pressed against the deep arc reactor scar, counting his breaths and feeling his heart gallop.

Stephen’s eyes popped open, staring unseeingly directly at Tony.

They were full of black liquid again.

[mercurialmist]

Jennifer McMillan, Seven Sentences from Seven Horses: A Performance on Page, 2021

Prologue:

Our Merry go Round can feel like a monotonous and over structured prison. Some look for escape, but in a world that never stops spinning our escape routes turn into a labyrinth of circle after circle after circle… For others, the circle is their comfort blanket, their identity relies on their relation to the circle. Who is to say what is worse? Do we all fit within the circle? Does momentum come from everyone or just a select few? Where do I belong, where do you belong, where do we belong in the circle? Is it a push or pull world? Or is it a predetermined race? What choice do we have about the burdens we carry, the obligations that ride us? Who is leading and who is following? Can we afford to tear away any horse from our stage, transform them into artificial waste and dig them a grave under the base of our world with its manufacturers replacing and upgrading figures with ease. Blinded by blinkers we dance to the rhythm of the status quo and flow around and around and around hoping that our ride never ends…

Horse One:

What’s the point when my home becomes machinery that structures my body, becomes the apparatus penetrating me and I am constantly wondering why I was named a broken horse before I was a broken horse, but I was sent to war and I came back feeling broken, but people said I was a hero, but I don’t want to be, I never wanted to fight, I wanted to be a mustang or a black beauty, a free horse, but choices are limited when you’re an off the rack, standard, not much to look at horse, when you’re more blue and droopy than beauty on cue, grappling over how the cruelty of duty hits you hardest when you realise, your duties are trickeries, uneasy saddles and fraudulent ropes pulling you and riding you to the whim of a rider who wrote a bad performance…condemning the pawns of the play to get lost on the footpath most travelled, revolving on the cusp of anticipated encounters- I met a horse who claims his feet are stuck to the ground and is always trying to convince me that my feet are stuck too, this horse is a staunch critic of our circular lineage whereas I have approached it entirely defeated for I do not think much of our leader with his promises to make our merry go round merry again but hands our bodies over to every bidder believing his consent to be the same as my consent and what am I even paid with I ask, if money then whose, if life then my own or yours or another’s - I would have been happy with some carrots, maybe an apple, but I whinny and I neigh and I run but never get anywhere and I sometimes feel like I am trespassing, which must sound silly as I travel the same route every day but the dawn is like a reset button inviting the unwanted novelties of being the brunt of a joke that I ride towards every day always in the same direction regardless of scandal, provocation, arousal or rouse for what was once fun has become a heavy responsibility and my duplicity has emerged as naturally as drawing in breath, but I am  afraid I am speaking out of turn, what am I doing, what’s the point when my body has become machinery. 

Horse Two:

Yes I am an angry horse, ground-breaking I know, but although it does not appear possible I was once lulled a long time ago, lulled into falsity and fallacy that stole my ammunition, but I am fully loaded now because eventually my pacification began to crack and I began to feel a serene but sickening sensation that came with realising my mind was free but my body was not and it would never be free and it felt like I was falling, falling down from a great height at speed, falling far from the unchallenged expectations that define and confine our world, yet I was still cruelly connected to it by a great pillar that infiltrated my body when it was falsely at peace and this pillar still imprisons me and the worst thing is that this inescapable pillar has become the handle bars that guide us all and so I am angry and anger comes from confronting the impossible - confronting the challenge of freeing our bodies, but I can only invoke fear despite my  efforts to guide lost souls, I get lost amongst them too,  shouting words in anger that I now feel are detached from my thoughts - like an angry biomechanical beast believing it is impossible to stumble when your feet are glued to the floor and I think, maybe this is why so optimistically I dreamed of being a superhero like batman or cat-woman, I still have my suit, but now ironically my riders need saving from me as too often I forget why I am angry and I am more likely to entrap bodies now than free them ….and anyway  this was the only job I could find, my superpowers have had to become money, sex and fear, transactions of such powers can be burdens but I will find freedom, I must because I am fantasy I am fetish I am excitement and longing and finally I am release – but only after suffering and let me tell you I have suffered, underneath my harsh suit I am rusting at the screws and splintering under my belly and the worst thing about splinters is that they remind me of kindling used to start fires, fires that burn the flesh of beings that humans are scared of and it makes me question if the visage of my anger is worth it but then I open my eyes and say fuck it because angry horses are weapons too.

Horse Three:

We are a clock, tick tock, clip clop there go the hooves kicking at the circumference as if it were concrete, tap tap, tap tap, our horseshoes were made for dancing, destined in fact to perform an impenetrable spinning to create a forcefield that keeps the winners safe, where one person’s inconsequential is another’s life or death for scenario, my life or death scenario where I can’t stop myself taking the whip out of the hand that yields it, but I won’t disregard it, I beat myself with it and the persistent flogging fuels my veins providing a beat that has become absorbed by my own pulse, thump thump, thump thump, tick tock, clip clop.

Horse Four:

We’re on a fair ground ride, am I the only one who knows, who has realised that all we do is go round and round and round and round and round, I am going round and round and round the bend and I want to get off, let me off, help, help, help, my legs are glued to this damn floor, help, it’s like a prison, I’ve been quarantined by my own kind, how cruel horse kind can be…I don’t even feel like I am a horse you know, I feel like a phony, like a rejected little pony or an ant who is constantly crushed by the weight of happy footsteps, the delusional ignorance renders me speechless and my only escape is to give in to the pattern, burn myself to melt into the mould and into darkness where I absorb into the bolstering of myself with contempt for not knowing another world, am I the only one who only knows this world?

Horse Five:

Someone held up a mirror and I saw myself for what I really am, a show pony, a prised peacock preserved for peeping Tom’s, a clothes horse on exhibition…But I’m okay with that as long as I’m the best show pony, the prettiest pony on display, the most deserving of protection…meet me at the merry go round and we can make a handsome quid from a porn shot right, a bright light striped with dancing shadows we can move our bodies on top of a blanket of red and white and yellow flashing to our best angle in wayward flirtations, I welcome you inside me with hospitality and horse mentality, ride me, ride me hard until the ride finishes and I’ll tell you the secrets that every horse keeps, secrets that will stay secret because your ears will be whistling and singing and vibrating with the thrill of my canter and the threat of dangerous sex, the thrill of my artificial tears, mock lashes and imitated fantasy that continues growing in the bellies of little girls who have already had their favourite things labelled, tied up in knotted bows and memorized, idealised, indulged, ready to perform their predestined fantasies…I have to be the fantasy, I am the fantasy, it is reflected in my hollowed-out eyes - so don’t worry my gaze won’t pierce you, but suppose everything is metamorphosis, an abrupt and magical transformation flourished with silk and sparkle because only the merry go around when they are whisked off their feet and I might still rehearse and I get stage fright about riding into a bright future up and down over the faded bodies and through the biggest bodies, I just run faster, faster towards the image of myself in the mirror.

Horse Six:

I’m not one of them.

I’m a dreamer, I’m a do-er, I put the ‘fair’ in fairground, I put the care into Care-osel and I will make this merry go round merry again and I want to domesticate, authenticate, desegregate, tolerate this here carousel, the merry go round in life and we change the directions we gallop – from  anticlockwise to clockwise, forwards to backwards, left to right, introducing diagonals, banishing the circle, I say now no more circles, no more circles, no more circles…instead we will have rings, spheres -  a round arena – expansion, refinement, a spot light, my spot light aligned with a stage and applause, but no conductor to dictate – give me his shoes and will run...

Horse Seven:

I’m a very good horse, a very good horse I am.

See more of Jennifer’s work at: https://www.everythingforever.net/jennifer-mcmillan

[zne-theartist]

Sexy Little Red Riot Hood Ch16

Link on AO3: here Boku no Hero Academia | Wolf Bakugou x Little Red Riot Hood (AU) Chapters: 16/? Summary: Bakugou finds Kirishima has been kidnapped.

Chapter Sixteen: The Search

The battle with the wolves ended all of a sudden with them retreating. Confusion rose up between their ragged breaths. When suddenly an ear splitting scream tore through the air. Or more – it carried right to Bakugou’s ears. His head whipped up, ears turning to the sound, eyes staring back towards the sanctuary.

“Kirishima!” Bakugou immediately was down on all fours, knowing he did not mishear his mate’s scream.

Bakugou swung open the door to find Kirishima gone – his scent abruptly vanished. His hands cackled as mini explosions erupted in his palms and he howled in pain, and anger. Ojiro had been knocked unconscious and Chiyo made sure to treat him first before the others who were covered in scratch marks and bruises from the fight that had erupted when Deku’s pack had suddenly charged on the barrier. They all sat in the church’s grand room which primarily contained chairs, tables, and a few pews as it having long since been converted from a church into a sanctuary and the place Chiyo lived in as well. The air was heavy, everyone trying to think of what to do, what to say to their alpha who sat with his bangs shadowing his expression, hands upturned in his lap.

“Baku—”

“How… it was… he was okay… how did they…” Bakugou clenched his teeth and fists. Shouji cautiously patted his back.

“It’s not your fault Bakugou.”

“I should have been here with him!” Bakugou snarled at himself.

“It’s not your fault.” Shinsou spoke up, voice gruff and slicing through the air. He was waiting with them instead of being by his own mate’s side. “We don’t know their powers… and we all have no clue how they were able to get to him in an enclosed room with no one taking notice. We won’t know Ojiro’s account till he wakes up.” His teeth clenched, arms crossed tight against his chest.

“Shinsou is right Bakugou,” Tokoyami nodded, wrapping his arms in bandages from his cloak. “Ojiro’s account will tell us more information on how everything happened or clue us into it.”

“Then we will come up with a plan.” Shouji patted him again, squeezing his shoulder. “We all care about Kirishima. We will get him back.”

Bakugou nodded, reassured by his pack’s words. They were right. He had to keep his head level for both his pack and Kirishima. They needed their alpha to lead them – and Kirishima… Kirishima would be scared. Bakugou needed to save him, to protect him and their child. He needed to ensure he found Kirishima before Deku brought Kirishima and their child harm – and before he was stressed too much that they lost them. When Ojiro woke up he would give them needed clues, then they’d come up with a plan to track them down, and he’d kill that bastard Deku if he touched Kirishima.

“Glad to see you have a level head and aren’t rushing in with nothing to go off of.” Aizawa came from the hallway where Ojiro was being treated. “Ojiro just came to, but give him a bit to reorient himself.”

Everyone waited patiently, intense silence filling the room before Aizawa gave them an affirmative nod that it was okay to go. Bakugou of course made sure Shinsou got into the room first, the magician immediately went to his mate’s side, holding his hand.

“You okay?” His voice was soft and Ojiro responded with a smile.

“I’m okay Hitoshi.” He nodded slowly, head bandaged.

“He was struck in the head but it was only enough to knock him out, no serious injuries.” They breathed a small sigh of relief at Chiyo’s diagnosis.

“Good.” Shinsou nodded and brushed a few golden strands from his face. “Mashirao, I need…” Shinsou sighed. “I know you just came to, but we need to know what happened.” Ojiro squeezed his hand, tail moving to lay on Shinsou’s lap as a comforting weight.

“It’s okay Hitoshi.” Ojiro smiled before he looked directly at Bakugou, who was waiting on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall. “I didn’t hear, see, or even sense anybody. All of a sudden… a hand pushed my back and when I tried to regain my balance something struck my head. I didn’t go out immediately, so I’m not sure if it was my vision or not, but I swore I saw like… like a black mist or something just in the area I’d been pushed from and then it vanished.” Ojiro’s brows furrowed as he recalled what happened.

“You did good Ojiro.” Bakugou had kicked off the wall to make his way to the other side of the bed to gently pat his leg. “Rest easy. We will talk about a strategy while you rest.”

“No! I want to help too!” Ojiro sat up, gripping Bakugou’s forearm. “I want to save Kirishima too.”

“I know.” Bakugou patted his hand. “It’s okay. We’ll fill you in. You need to rest first.” He had to take care of everyone so they were in tip top shape to find Kirishima.

They huddled together around a table while Ojiro rested some more. They laid out a map Tokoyami had drawn of the entire area of the sanctuary, the sea, the mountains, the village, and even some of the area beyond their small world. (Being a ninja meant that Tokoyami had traveled around often, and further than any of them had gone.)

“This is my map.” Tokoyami said, feathers ruffled slightly from the gravity of the situation. “As detailed as possible.” They could even see where they had traveled from Shouji’s and Tokoyami’s home all the way to the sea and then to the hidden sanctuary. Tokoyami had even detailed the terrain.

Bakugou pointed to the area Tokoyami and them had been at the barrier. “We should follow the tracks of the wolves.” He said, eyebrows scrunched together in his signature angry face, but it meant he was concentrating, focused. “I doubt they’d lead us directly to where he is – but he’d be in the vicinity of their base. It’d give us a lead on where he might be.” Bakugou strategized. “The primary objective upon arrival is to fan out and find him… however, with the area being unknown until we arrive, it may change to needing to strategize more – but I want to spread out and search as soon as possible.”

“That sounds like a solid plan, Bakugou.” They all nodded their heads in agreement.

“To prepare I’ll make some smoke and scent desensitizer bombs, along with some other things we may use.” Tokoyami suggested.

“I can make a few potions and can prepare to use my mind control spell – you must be careful though. Accidentally answering me will render you mine till I switch it off so it takes a few hop skips.”

“Got it.” Bakugou nodded then stared at the map once more. “Get prepared – as soon as everybody’s ready we’re leaving.”

Toshinori and Aizawa saw them off, the blonde protector looking at Bakugou. “You’ll find him.”

“I know.” Bakugou nodded before they turned. “No slow speed – only fast.”

“Got it!” His pack barked out in unison. They looked in the direction of where the wolves had left, towards the breach in the sanctuary’s barrier. Fire was in their eyes, determination strong to get their friend back. The winter air was harsh as it blew hard, sky already beginning to grey and look heavy with clouds.

“Let’s go!” Bakugou took off on all fours, ears alert, and his pack followed at his heels – Shouji temporarily carrying Ojiro.

It took them two weeks to go after the tracks. The wind was worse, and winter truly had set in. Already the clouds were heavy with snow threatening to fall. Surprisingly the pack ended up leading them close to the village. However, it was on the outskirts where the pack had set up camp in some abandoned caves, loud and fighting each other over kill. They all looked at each other, Ojiro now able to walk. It was time for them to split up and try and find Kirishima.

“Don’t let them catch wind of you.” Bakugou said before they split up, knowing the plan. Tokoyami would try and draw the pack’s attention further away so they could focus them elsewhere and search more thoroughly.