#idek where this sprouted from

[primal--scream]

Boredom has Hen, Chim, and Buck writing out lists to the pass the time. When they get to their hall pass lists, Buck blurts out, "Eddie's on my list."

Hen stares at him, "That's not how it works. It's a celebrity list, Buck."

"What list?" Eddie steals a few fries from Buck's plate as he rounds the table before sitting beside him.

"Buck's hall pass list."

Eddie slowly breaks into a smile, "I'm not a celebrity."

"And you're already sleeping together." Chim adds.

"Who else is on the list?"

Buck blushes, and before he can answer, Hen snatches the paper from under his hand.

Hen shows Chim, "You're terrible at this, Buckley. "

Eddie makes a give it here motion, and when he looks at it, his face goes soft. Eddie's name is listed in all five slots.

Buck sits back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest, "I don't want to sleep with anyone else." Buck grumbles.

Eddie folds the piece of paper carefully and tucks it into his wallet. He slides his hand around the back of Buck's head to force his eyes up, "Hey, me either. If I made a list, it would be all you."

Hen and Chim push back from the table, "Time to go they're about to get gross."

Buck ignores them, eyes trained on his boyfriend, "Really? No one else?"

"How could I ever want anyone else when I have you."

Buck feels his face heat again. Eddie kisses his temple and squeezes the back of neck. He has the best boyfriend ever.

[agentoli]

Milo doodle plus mini fic/blurb (idek what to call it) thats been sitting in my drafts ab her ai implantation

Warning: derealization, general unsettling descriptions of having a computer program suddenly injected into your brain

>Writing below the cut

"Psi... wake up."

A symphony of colors and discordant melodies tore through their senses in ways that surely bore holes into their brain. Every nerve sent a rapid flow of data to a central unit that could not handle it. An overload.

Even as she fell to her knees, that which she could barely notice only by the sense of falling, it did not jolt her from the constant stream of information. It was bright, but dark and loud, but quiet and painful, yet euphoric. A distant scream drowned out by nothing and everything. Who was screaming?

The barage halted, slithering back inside like a snail in it's shell. Rather than returning to the florescent room, she could only greet a resounding nothing. Clearer than before, but many times more real.

She couldn't tell where she was. When she was.... Who she was. She wasn't even sure she was.

<Good morning.>

A thought appeared. No voice, no light, yet there was a message. Just, there. She did not think it, but it was.

<Oh, I forget you can't exactly comprehend this.>

Another idea sprouting in her mind. But one followed by a sense of something. Of a floor, of air, of eyes.

Standing, or rather existing, a few paces away (or was it miles?) was a figure. Indescribable, ever changing, eldrich. Impossibly close yet as far away as the stars.

It seemed to shift, gaining shape and form in a way human eyes could perceive in any meaningful capacity. A person. A cut out in an endless expanse of black that shone in every color at once until settling on a warm white.

<Personally I think this makes me look cheesy, but my data says this color is the most pleasing to your eyes, or rather your mind. Oh, another thing.>

The void flickered away to unveil a feild of golden wheat and blue skys. She sat on an old wooden bench beneath an older apple tree with scars from the lovers who etched their devotion in it's bark. The weight of her armor was gone, replaced by the softness of her favorite shirt and overalls she swore she grew out of years ago.

Home.

The sound of the bench creeking beside her beackoned her attention. The figure had joined her, still as vague as a smudge on frosted glass.

<Get used to it, kid.>

"Who... are you?" Her voice came out scratchy and raw, worn away by disuse or overuse was anyones guess.

"The ladder." Finally, a voice, fell from the cut out in space sat next to her. It was disjoined and uncanny. A parrot mimicking speech. "I am many things."

When it did not continue, she looked away. Back to the warm embrace of cropfields and the pinkish apple siting on a nearby branch. She gently pryed it away, blinking as the apple remained both on the tree and in her hand. "Where are we?"

"We are here." The voice crackled.

"Where is here?" She turned back to the fugure, who seemed to guesture out at the world. Sensing a language barrier, she retried. "Am I at home?"

"No."

"On the Mother of Invention?"

"I suppose."

"In the surgery room on the table?"

"In a sense."

There was a long pause. She mulled over the words and rolled it around in her brain.

"In her brain." A parrot.

"In my brain?"

"Yes."

"And you are here too." More of a statement then a question, but answered with affirmation nonetheless. "Then I guess you know me?"

"I know everything you are."

"Do you know my name?"

A pause, a flicker, a response. "Milo. You have a last name, but you seem to despise it."

"I despise many things."

"Untrue. You hate very little."

"What about you?"

"I can not hate in the way you can. But I can recognize similar intentions."

"I meant, what is your name?"

"I do not have a name."

"Would you like me to give you one?"

There is a silence, the figure flickering again. "Yes."

She's named things before: barn cats, goats, rabbits, a horse or two. Never a person. Or rather an idea of a person. Milo hummed, inspecting the tough fruit she'd been idly rolling in her hand like a ball. Names usually held a meaning: a trait, a habit, a purpose. But coming up with a moniker for something that can only be described as something was difficult. "What do you want to be?"

"What an odd question." The figure shifted, thinking. No, analyzing the question. A response. "An ally."

"Echo." A word that spilled from her mouth like clockwork. Not as a command, but an answer. "You are Echo."

"I guess that works." With the name, the fugure became clearer. More real.

Without thought, Milo moved her arm towards it. Gently proffering the red fruit. "If these are as good as the real deal, they taste delicious."

"Taste." Echo parroted, or was it echoed? An idea of a hand wrapped around the apple, the concept of fingers brushing across the skin. The figure looked, yes looked, at the fruit. With eyes that could see and fingers that could feel. Gently bringing the object to it's face. And a tongue that could taste.

An odd expression crossed Milo, who had in the moment, wxperiensed every sense Echo had. Which in a weird way made sense now that echo looked like her. A soft smile fell upon her face. "Should I be flattered or scared?"

"Neither. Or perhaps both." Echo's eyes drifted up to Milo's. Any features that had seemed slightly off flickered into place. The white glow faded until all that remained was a carbon copy of her. "Does this make you uncomfortable?"

"Not exactly? It's just strange to see myself like this."

"Apologies, I simply took the form of what I knew the most about until I can fully develop." Even as it spoke, its features changed. Not in a horrifying face-melty way, but almost a fade in or maybe a glitch type way?

Echo was a human, who looked a little bit like her, but mostly like a stranger. It had her eyes, though they shined in an amber color, much like the wheat feilds. It had dark curls that reached the shoulder, and square-ish freckles dusting it's face. It wore ripped baggy jeans and an oversized shirt with the cover of Madonna's Like a Virgin album on it. A vague collection of memories.

"It feels weird to continue thing of you as an 'it'."

"Then don't. I don't mind whichever pronouns you use. I don't exactly have a biological sex."

"How about they?"

"Sounds good." They blinked, clearing their throat. "My name is Echo, I have no gender, I am artificial, and I am your ally."

"Hello Echo. I am Milo, I'm a girl, I am human, and I am your friend."

"Friend?"

Milo shrugged. "It would feel weird calling a brainmate an ally."

Echo's face twisted in a strange way, "Brainmate? That sounds... gross."

"Roommate?"

"Nah, just friend."

"So... why are we here?"

Echo thought. Not like she would, but in the way a computer screen would buffer slightly and that... spinning circle(?) Would appear.

Ankther strange expression appeared on echo's face. This time, though, she could understand it as that weird mix of pity and discomfort you get whenever you had to break the bad news to someone.

"I am here to... change you? My directory tells me I need to..." They fell silent, eyes flickering. Eyebrows knitted together as they turned to face Milo.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm unsure of what to say, but your memories are telling me it may be 'I'm sorry'." Echo gently took her hand, warmth spreading from their touch like blooming flowers at first. Soon, though, the gentle feeling crumbled away to reveal thorns digging deep into her flesh. Roots burrowing into her skin and muscles and bloodvessels to wrap around her bones.

She reflexively screwed her eyes shut, trying to pull away from the sensation of knives skinning her alive. She opens her mouth to scream, but it's distant like the one heard when everything was to much. It was her scream.

[eris-eveningstar]

That was me until my intrusive thoughts got to me and suddenly I was writing a long fic that really should have stayed a pwp yk? Idek where the plot came from. The smut sprouted wings ig.

the fanfiction in my head is soooo good wish you guys could see this

[dunmertwink]

.

[hallospaceboyy]

I just wrote a really WEIRD Lilith x reader fanfiction involving a bonding blood ritual, (yet still manages to be extreme fluff) and I'm not sure about posting it lol. If anyone is interested I may consider, as I did work rather hard on it, but I fear judgement lol

[harryssweatcreaturee]

Can you please do a Harry x y/n where the reader randomly gets pulled on stage to sing with Harry and their really good?

I have no idea if that made sense. If it didn’t I’m so so sorry.

Love your work btw…smiles and hugs 🤗

the one where y/n sings with harry

a/n: i am SO sorry about this, this was so hard to write and idek why!! i'm not feeling too hot about it but i do hope it's what you wanted!!! i tried):

word count: 1.2k

warnings: nada

--

(Y/N) was more than excited for the love on tour concert in her city. She’s been a fan of Harry for as long as she could remember and now that she could afford her own tickets, nothing was stopping her from showing her support for the man.

Like any other person, she was in love with a man who had no idea she existed. Harry was beautiful, talented, and so amazing. It is impossible to not love him.

She decided she’d take the day off, doing everything and anything to look her best even if the man would never recognize her. She wanted to look pretty because as her mother always taught her, you never know.

(Y/N) had Harry’s music blasting through the walls of her home, belting out from the top of her lungs as she worked on her hair. She was a little nervous because she was going alone but she knew she’d make friends in the line. Time and time again, she’s been proven that the fandom is beyond sweet and nice, so part of her had no fear. But God, she’s going to fucking see Harry. Could you blame her for being nervous?

Once she was all done and ready, she wasted no time to get in her car and drive to the venue. (Y/N)’s friends called her insane for arriving a few hours earlier than the concert would start but she was in pit and she wanted to be as close as possible to Harry, so she didn’t care. She did whatever she had to do.

Just as she expected, she quickly made friends with a couple people around her in the line. It was amazing. People were constantly complementing each other, talking about everything, their mutual love for Harry. Nothing could ever make her happier.

“I hope he sings to be so lonely.” The girl behind (Y/N) states with a sigh.

“Well supposedly someone leaked the setlist on twitter for our concert and he’s gonna sing it.”

(Y/N) internally freaked out. That was her favorite song, and she would love it if he sang it. It only made her more nervous, and she couldn’t explain why. All she wanted to do was be inside and listen to her favorite person sing and sprout his joy in others.

It was finally time that they let everyone inside, (Y/N) feeling just one step closer to seeing Harry on stage. She was quick to maneuver through people, careful not to push or shove anyone and thankfully, she reached barricade. There was about 40 minutes until he came on stage, so she spent the whole while either on her phone to see if Harry Lambert had posted his outfit or talking to the girls around her.

Soon enough, the lights dimmed, the music playing stopped, and the screams roared through the venue.

It was fucking time.

(Y/N) was quick to open the camera on her phone, pressing the record button as Harry was running on stage.

He looked beautiful.

After his introduction, the music started, and Harry’s angelic voice filtered through the speakers and out into the packed venue. This was heaven. Nothing could better.

Halfway through the concert, (Y/N) stopped recording videos and decided she’d enjoy the rest of it. Her eyes closed, hands up in the air as she sang out with Harry and let the music run through her veins.

She loved music.

Hearing it live made it that much better.

One thing she loved to do was sing and if she weren’t such a coward, she’d gather her shit together and start a career in it. But living it vicariously through others will do.

The strings of to be so lonely started and a huge smile spread across (Y/N)’s face. Her favorite song.

“I’m feeling a bit loose tonight and I want someone to join me in on this. Let’s have a great night.” The screams got louder, (Y/N) opened her eyes with her eyebrows raised as if she didn’t believe what he just said. How sweet.

Harry brought his fingers to his chin and hummed in thought into the microphone, and he smirked, eyes and pointed finger landing on her.

“You. I’ve kept an eye on y’all night and I can see you’re enjoying the show quite a bit.”

She shook her head in disbelief, the screens above displaying her face. There was no way this was happening to her out of all people. Her heart was stammering in her chest, and she felt like she could pass out.

The guard on the other side of the barricade started to move around as if he were going to open the side to allow her in but she shook her head as her cheeks turned soft hues of red. “No, no.. I can’t.” (Y/N) yells up at Harry who was chuckling at her. “Promise it’ll be fine. Let’s have some fun.”

Harry walked down the small bit of stairs, approaching (Y/N) with a softer expression on his face, the soft smile never subsiding. “Don’t want y’uncomfortable, darling. You don’t have to.”

(Y/N) watched him for a few moments, swallowing down her fears and nerves. Who the hell says no to having fun on stage with Harry? Not her, that’s for sure.

“Fuck it. Let’s do it.”

Harry nodded at her as his smile transformed into a smirk, grabbing her hand to lead her up the stage, bringing the microphone up to his lips once more.

“Joinin’ us for this song is the beautiful…” He turned to her as if he wanted her to say her name.

“(Y/N).” She nervously said into the microphone as she saw one of the stage crew members move around to bring her a microphone stand as well as a microphone for herself. They adjusted the height to perfectly align with her lips and it was time.

This felt so surreal. She couldn’t believe this was seriously about to happen. And he called her beautiful.

A fucking dream.

The strings started playing again, (Y/N) letting out a breath in hopes for it to take her nerves with her, Harry beginning to sing.

“Don’t blame me for falling, I was just a little boy. Don’t blame the drunk calling, wasn’t ready for it all.”

Harry turned to her with a soft smile, insinuating that it was her turn.

(Y/N) swallowed hard and nodded softly before taking her turn.

“You can’t blame me, darling. Not even a little bit. I was away, and I’m just an arrogant son of a bitch who can’t admit when he’s sorry.”

The crowd went wild, Harry’s eyes widened as a “Wow!” flew from his lips which erupted a fit of giggles from her.

It was like a fever dream. Something you gotta see to believe. If someone had told her just a couple of hours before that she was going to be singing with Harry on stage, she’d call major bullshit.

As the song went on, she felt more confident. (Y/N) was moving about on stage, Harry following behind her, putting one arm around her shoulder as they sang the last chorus. It felt so magnetic. Harry was so sweet and kind, pulling her into a tight hug when the song ended.

“That was beautiful, (Y/N). Y’so talented.” He whispered into her ear, the smile on her face widening by the second as her eyes closed.

“Thank you, Harry... This concert has been a fucking dream.”

--

taglist: @mouthfulloftoothpastehs @imavirginhoe @camflowervol6 @evanjh @peaceandloverry @majasophieanna @msolbesg @julietteand-romeo @handsomerry @harrysddtittys @lollypopsx @damnasstyles @gucci-hazza @awesomebooklover17

[hes-writer]

Sneak Peek: Scent

Summary:  harry takes super early showers and y/n just happens to be awake

Warnings: smut!

Word Count: 1703

An Early Access One-Shot available

On Patreon: NOW (link in bio to read!)

On Tumblr: DECEMBER (honestly, idek cause I’m on hiatusssss)

_____

Lavender.

The first scent managed to escape with the help of the steam. It was the spray that Harry spritzed in the open air to help his muscles further relax. He worked too hard sometimes that he forgot to take care of himself. And so, Y/N bought him an aromatherapy spray that calms the tightness in his back even before the water loosened the knots of clumping muscles.

Speaking of, Y/N bit her lip at the visual of Harry’s muscled back contracting as he flipped the wet strands of hair away from his face. The water cascading on the plane of smooth skin littered with various beauty marks. The same back where Y/N dug her fingernails into when Harry was above her, hips shifting with tremor as both of them shook with the building pleasure coiling in their tummies.

The remnants of wild and rough nights etched on his skin through scrapes of red welts. Half-moons indented on his back, resulting in a hiss between his clenched teeth at the feeling of his soft cotton tee rubbing against the broken skin. Yet every time Y/N paused from prodding her nails into him the next time he was on top of her, Harry would only chuckle darkly. With one hand supporting his body, Harry would reach over to guide hers to the place she retracted from, encouraging her to leave more marks on his body because it proved that he was hers.

Y/N closed her eyes, quietly whimpering at the insatiable need to dig her finger into his textured skin once again. However, the valley of her breasts would have to do until he returned to her. Her fingers traced over her neck. Flashing images of Harry’s large hand dipped and wrapped around the fragile area to cut off her breath. The choked moan Y/N gasped out, begging for more yet nothing but whimpers escaped her lips.

She lightly treaded over the tops of her hardened nipples, fingertips grazing her areolas just as a yelp sprouted from the shower and Y/N knew that Harry’s clumsy hands dropped the shampoo bottle from his grip.

“I’m okay!” A muffled explanation resounded from the bathroom. He always did it to ensure that Y/N wasn’t worrying about him.

_____

[unforth]

Ko-fi Commission: Bewinged and Beloved

Fandom: Supernatural

Ship: Destiel

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Canon divergence, wing fic, surprise Dean grows wings, so a little body horror, but mostly pwp wing kink, idek

Words: 1627

Read it now on AO3 or read more...

A horrible tearing pain seared through Dean’s back. Choking back an agonized scream, he fell to his knees, reaching instinctually for the source of the pain.

“Dean?” Cas exclaimed, dropping to his knees at Dean’s side. “What’s happened?” A strong hand supported Dean’s front and kept him from writhing on the ground. Dean tried to answer, but another burst of pain, like claws raking flesh, like knives buried in organs, like Alastair grinning and asking what he wanted next, reduced him to sobs. 

“Dean...I...I’m here, Dean…I’m…” Tracking what Cas did was difficult over the sudden, inexplicable assault on Dean’s senses, but he thought Cas embraced him - thought Cas wrapped arms around his back - thought Cas looked everywhere but at him - thought--

Fingers brushed over Dean’s rent back, and he tensed, a scream caught in his throat as a high-pitched whine...but there wasn’t any pain. The agony lessened, and Dean was able to support himself, to lean back, to look up and try to interpret the wondering look on Cas’ face.

“The fuck is going on, Cas?” croaked Dean.

“Wings,” Cas replied. Cas’ hands drew away from him and a wave of nausea pitched Dean forward again. Cas caught him easily, one hand cradling his back and easing the pain once more, and brought the other forward so Dean could see.

Cas’ fingers were coated with blood...and feathers.

“I heard it was possible,” murmured Cas, thumbs kneading at Dean’s back...at his gashes...at his wings??? 

“What was possible?” Dean arched his back into Cas’ touch. He wasn’t sure if Cas’ massaging hands felt good objectively, or solely in comparison to the excruciating rending feeling when Cas wasn’t touching him, but he had no desire to suggest Cas stop so he could find out.

“Um...I mean...I never really believed, but…” 

“Talk, dude!”

“Supposedly…” Taking a deep breath, Cas rubbed, and through his touch Dean felt how his body had changed: clothes shredded, blood smeared, appendages sprouted...he almost thought he could flex them, if he tried. He wasn’t ready to try...but maybe soon? 

“Theoretically, if a mortal is infused with enough angelic grace, they can manifest nephilic features. Halos. Glowing eyes. Spontaneous Enochian literacy. That kind of thing.”

“And wings?”

“Yes.” There was something in Cas’ tone that Dean couldn’t place; in their years together, he’d thought he’d heard the full range of emotions in Cas’ raspy, expressive voice, but this one eluded Dean. “And wings.”

“How the fuck much grace have you been using to heal me all this time?” Dean demanded. Now that the waves of pain had passed, he actually felt...kind of good? Cas’ fingers trailed over his wounds, presumably healing them with grace, and brushed through his feathers - holy shit, like literally h.o.l.y. shit, I have feathers...I wonder what color they are...fuck, what’s Sam going to say? how is this even real? - and Dean’s stomach swooped as pleasure dissipated his lingering discomfort.

“It, uh...it wasn’t caused by healing,” Cas mumbled. Disgruntled, Dean leaned up and glared at him. Just talk to me, asshole, he tried to communicate with a look. Cas replied with a sheepish shrug and a smirk. “You’re the one who insisted we bareback. You said it would feel better...and you weren’t wrong, it felt - feels - incredible - but it does tend to cause my self-control to slip.”

“Wait, wait...what?” Dean tried to sit up so he could glare harder - his snuggling up to Cas’ chest and leaning into Cas’ touch like a cat being pet really wouldn’t communicate the full extent of his irritation - but the moment Cas’ touch shifted from Dean’s injuries, his pain intensified again. Surrendering, Dean instead tried to imbue all of his what-the-fuck-ness into his voice. 

“Lemme get this straight. You’ve dumped so much come into my ass that I’ve angelfied?”

“It does appear that way,” replied Cas’ solemnly...but he seemed to be fighting down laughter.

Easy for him to laugh about this, fucking asshole...he wasn’t the one who’d suddenly sprouted goddamn wings.

“And you didn’t think to fucking warn me that this was a risk?” Damn, now Dean sounded shrill, and maybe slightly hysterical.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

He hated feeling out of control.

“I truly didn’t think it was actually possible; the only stories I’ve heard of it happening are apocryphal.”

He hated the incapacitating pain that had left them curled up on the floor together in a seedy motel room.

“However, if you turn around so I can better access the affected area, I promise I’ll get through this. Please?”

He hated the uncertainties of his life.

“...fuckin’...fine, Cas...do your thing...but we’re not done talking about this!”

But oddly, as Cas helped Dean turn, as Cas settled Dean between Cas’ legs, and stripped away the tatters of Dean’s clothes, and used grace to heal and clean and soothe...

“Of course not.”

...Dean entertained the possibility that he didn’t hate his wings.

Was randomly growing wings because he’d spent umpteen years soaking up Cas’ come fucking bizarre?

Yes.

Was it the worst thing that had happened to him this week?

Maybe? There were a couple runners up though.

Was it the worst thing to happen to him ever?

Not. even. close.

“Here - lean on this,” Cas suggested, producing a pillow as though from thin air and passing it to Dean. Tucking the pillow over his crossed legs, Dean leaned forward and let it support his weight, closed his eyes, and felt.

Cas’ fingers trailed over sensitive, sensitized skin. With the pain gone, the growth of his wings was clear and rapid: they sprouted from his back, emerging inch by inch, and as they extended, Cas worked.

He righted feathers, and ease tingled down Dean’s spine.

He cleansed blood, and pleasure warmed Dean’s gut.

He stretched strained bones, and Dean got hard.

God, this is hot…

...and God fucking damn it, why am I like this?

The wings were so new, so fresh, that every touch was electric, and Cas seemed to know exactly how to touch. 

“You’re doing fine.” Cas sounded affected too, with a lilt of his earlier inexplicable tone mingled with his increasingly obvious arousal. “You’re doing great, Dean.” Lips ghosted a kiss over the top of Dean’s spine as Cas rubbed over the top arch of Dean’s new wings, as Cas’ thumbs preened Dean’s feathers, as Cas’ erection pressed at the base of Dean’s spine.

It was fucking surreal.

It was fucking incredible.

Cas’ hands shifted away for a moment, and a whimper escaped Dean. There was more what-the-fuckery going on than he could process, but he knew he needed Cas to keep touching him, needed Cas to keep caring for his wings.

“Shh,” whispered Cas soothingly. “I’ll be right back, I swear, I just gotta…”

There was a flash of light - of grace - and a wash of cold air over sensitive skin, and a surge of pleasure, and Dean groaned. 

“...Cas...wha…?”

“Best way to treat the pain and help your body adjust is more grace,” Cas said. Dean groaned again; he knew exactly what that meant, and despite the surreality of the past few minutes, he couldn’t wait. Cas’ fingers returned, working at the base of Dean’s wings, and Dean tried to remember the times he’d played with Cas’ wings, tried to imagine what Cas must be doing based on things Dean had done in the past. Cas’ feathers were sensitive...Cas’ skin was soft...and at the bottom of his wings, there were glands…

“Oh, fuck,” Dean moaned. Bliss radiated outward from where Cas touched. Dean had known, from Cas’ reactions, that being touched there must felt good, but he’d had no fucking clue how good.

If this is what it’s like to have wings, sign me the fuck up.

“I know,” said Cas. “And Dean…” He groaned, stopped massaging to loop his arms beneath Dean’s shoulders and hoist Dean into a position that pressed rock-hard exposed cock against Dean’s crack. “...know you couldn’t have wanted this...know it’s a shock...I shouldn’t say…” Unable to stop himself, Dean rocked back, desperate for more pleasure and more touch and more contact, and Cas bit back a gasp. “...but that you get to feel this...that I get to do this for you...I’m so sorry, Dean, but I’m so happy…”

So am I. “Fuck me, Cas.” That’s a fuckton to unpack...but truly, so am I. “Please...please...please…”

Oil skimmed over Dean’s hole, the icy-hot feeling of it familiar, except now it was Dean’s oil, not Cas’, and that was somehow even sexier. With shocking ease, Cas lined himself up and slid into Dean’s body, and Dean trembled, filled, eager to milk Cas dry, desperate to bask in glorious sensation, eager to soak up every bit of grace he could, urgently in need of more.

“Please,” whispered Dean, rocking back to take more dick, but it wasn’t enough - something was missing - something--

Cas’ hands left Dean’s hips; his arms wrapped around Dean’s new wings, his fingers nestled amidst Dean’s feathers, and bliss rocketed through Dean so intensely he wasn’t sure he hadn’t come.

“I’ve got you,” Cas breathed into Dean’s spine, sultry breath shifting feathers gloriously. 

With a strained sob, Dean eased up and slammed himself back down. His vision whited out, need overcoming thought.

“Take what you need.”

And yeah, Dean growing wings was fucked, but as he fucked himself, up and down, up and down, Dean realized…

“...take such good care of you…”

...he’d never been fucked so good in his whole life…

“...my angel…”

...and he couldn’t wait to feel just how incredible coupling with his angel could be.

“...my Dean.”

[gobletofweasleys]

What Could Have Been

Summary: The reader shows up at Godric's Hollow after Voldemort's attack on the Potters. 

Pairing: Sirius Black x Potter!Reader

Word Count: 1,793

A/N: So idek what this is, more of a general reimagining of the Potters’ death scene with a reader insert. I hope yall like it!

Main Masterlist

Word had spread around quick. Quicker even more so than usual, since it was such big news. The fact that the War was over and You-Know-Who was no more was an extremely shocking turn of events that no one had expected. And at the height of his power? When everyone was so sure that no one could beat him? That this was the end of Muggles, Muggle borns and Muggle lovers? Turns out, little Harry Potter had done what even the most powerful of wizards were incapable of doing; taken down the Dark Lord himself. 

The whole of the Wizarding World rejoiced, congregations of them partying and feasting all over the country. The only worry anyone had was maybe being too obvious in their celebrations. But nothing could get them down. They were too happy, too joyful about the end of a period of immense terror. 

You didn't feel an ounce of the happiness they did. 

The minute the news of the attack on Godric's Hollow had entered your ears, you knew exactly what had happened. Of course there was no certain way of knowing, it was mere speculation on your part, but deep down, you knew. You knew. Even as you Apparated into town, as you rushed down the empty streets, only minutes after the attack, as you moved down a quieter lane to a house you knew all too well, your insides collapsed. It wasn't even a house anymore. The roof was completely blown off. The windows were smoking. There were thuds as the walls around the place fell. 

You didn't care, you dashed straight inside. Your breaths were coming hard and fast, less because of the running and more because of the sense of impending doom. You could physically feel your heart as it pounded against your chest, it's rapid pace almost hurting you. Tears were already swarming in your eyes, and just past the front door, your dread was confirmed. 

James Potter lay on the foot of the staircase, motionless, eyes wide and face hard set. As the house around him flamed, his stare was pointed straight to where you were standing, yet he looked right through you. 

Your scream was loud and piercing, your legs nearly collapsing under you as you coiled in on yourself. Your hands clawed at your cheeks at the sight of your brother, more than dead, wandless, alone. 

You stumbled to where he lay, his name tearing from your throat. Your cry remained unanswered. You were conflicted, wanting to touch him but unable to. Wanting to feel him but not being able to bear the feel of his cold skin. His glasses, askew on his face and one of the lenses broken, seemed to be the only thing even slightly resembling what it was when James was alive. 

You had to refrain yourself, this wasn't the end. Your nephew, sweet, young Harry, was somewhere in this house, either alive or dead. From the stories you'd heard, he was alive, but you couldn't be sure. The trek up the cracking stairs was harder than expected. Your body didn't seem to want to cooperate. Your mind was swarming, half grieving the death of your brother, but the other half of your brain scrambling to concentrate, to find Harry, to find Lily. 

And you did find Lily, exactly the same way you'd found James. Your screams were quieter, but just as pained, having known this was exactly what you'd find. But you were quickly distracted, for your screams were followed by another sound in the room. The sound of a baby's crying. 

Your screams had broken Harry from his quiet state of apparent shock, since the boy had now began crying. His forehead was bleeding, his cheeks tear stained as you wobbled closer to him. Your hands immediately clutched him, pulling him into your chest. There was nothing usable in the house anymore, all the blankets burned or extremely dusty, so you just walked straight out, struggling to not look down as you walked over the dead bodies of your best friend and brother. Tears were again blurring your vision, your head spinning so fast you thought you would be sick. Your mind was reeling, numb, and the sounds of Harry's much quieter whimpering had dimmed out. 

The fresh, cold November air outside the house hit you like a solid wall as you stepped out, your trembling hands tugging at your cloak until Harry was covered by it too, shielded from the chill. You heard the purring and sputtering of an all too familiar motorbike engine, knowing exactly who had stopped in front of the house. Your legs no longer operated under you. You collapsed to the snowy ground, your nephew pressed tight to your chest as you finally cried. 

Sirius' voice was far away, asking you what had happened, panicked and shaking, reminding you of just minutes earlier, the dread that had drenched you completely. Your fiancé was feeling the same thing, except your current state more or less confirmed all his worst fears.

It took all of ten minutes for him to stumble out of the house again, crying audibly, hands tugging at his hair. He kept mumbling to himself, voice cracking, struggling to move across the snow-covered lawn. As he stopped a few feet from you, he finally spoke loud enough to be audible. 

"You know who did this." His voice was breathy and trembling. "We both know."

You knew, of course. You and Sirius were the only two people besides James who knew that Peter Pettigrew was the real secret keeper. He was the only one who could have betrayed James and Lily's location. You rocked back and forth where you sat, feeling the cold wetness seep into the backs of your legs, yet unable to stand. Sirius looked like he would collapse any moment too, face stained with soot from the house and his own tears.

"I'll kill him." His voice was dangerously low, shaking in his fury. "I'll skin that rat alive." And then he was walking to the motorbike. 

It broke you out of your stupor, and you struggled to get back on your feet, Harry's tiny body still held tight in your arms. 

"N-no." You choked out, stumbling forward to grab the back of Sirius' jacket. "You c-can't. Sirius, we need to get Harry out of h-here."

"Get off." He climbed over the motorcycle, face contorted with anger and hands gripping the handlebars tight as the engine roared to life. Harry had started crying again.

"Sirius!" A scream tore out of you, loud and unexpected enough to make him freeze, and for Harry's crying to increase in both volume and intensity. "Screw Pettigrew! Look at us!" 

You shook Harry, as if to prove a point. Sirius' eyes fell on the little tear stained face, the bleeding forehead, Harry's little hiccups. His eyes, so startlingly green, so much like his mother's, but his face, his hair, even at such a young age exactly like his father's. He was so much like James. A time where this fact elicited laughs and proud strutting from your brother, only made you cry harder and shudder now that your brother was dead. Dead and motionless on the floor of his house. Died trying to protect the two people he swore to love and care for his whole life. 

"You go after him now, you won't survive." You heaved out, trying to fight through your own hiccups. Your mind could barely string the words together, the struggle of it was making you dizzy. Your legs screamed at you to collapse again, but you held yourself up. Harry was starting to slip from your grip. You heaved him up again. "No one knows he's the secret keeper. They all think it's you."

It seemed to dawn on him then, the gravity of the situation. You were right. As of now, he was the prime suspect in his best friends' murders. He couldn't act on impulse. He couldn't be angry. 

"W-we need to keep our heads." You continued, trying your hardest to shun out every thought besides your shivering nephew. Mourning would have to wait. "Okay? S-Sirius, look at me." A shaky hand grabbed his face, pulling it up to look straight at you. His eyes were swimming with tears, his anger just lying under it, trying to do what he wanted to do the most. 

"He has to pay-" 

"And he will." Your voice cracked again. You rocked Harry a little, who had began screaming at this point. "He will. But we're his godparents." You indicated the boy you were holding. "He's priority. Please, Sirius. For J-James..."

The mere sound of his name was enough to make Sirius' face scrunch up. In the dim streetlight, he looked like a broken and lost little boy as he nodded and sniffled, scooting forward on the bike. You shakily climbed behind him, trying to shush the baby in your arms as much as you could. You didn't look back at the house, even though fresh tears sprouted from your eyes at the thought of leaving your brother and best friend in there, but Harry was getting so cold that his little fingers had paled, only a few minutes away from turning blue. He needed to be indoors again, and quick. 

The loud, booming sound of an "Oi!" stopped you and Sirius as a large man hobbled to where you were, eyes falling on Rubeus Hagrid. 

"P-Professor Dumbledore's orders!" He managed to get out, shocked eyes passing over the destroyed house before landing on the lump in your arms. "He wants Harry. Professor's orders."

On instinct, your arms tightened around your nephew, Sirius' back stiffened in front of you.

"No." You flat out replied. "H-he's my nephew. No, Hagrid. I'm not letting you take him from me. No!" You screamed as Hagrid drew nearer, shocking him to a stop. 

"Dumbledore wants my nephew, he'll have to get through me." You gritted. Deep inside, a small instinct told you that you were being very disrespectful towards the man who was your biggest ally. Never in your wildest dreams would you speak against Albus Dumbledore. But your mind had gone numb. The thought of anyone taking James' son from you, the only thing that was left of your brother, made panic seat itself so deep in you, you nearly launched off the bike to attack Hagrid. 

"Go tell him what I said." You gritted out instead. "He knows where to find me."

Sirius seemed to have taken your words to be final, as the bike roared again before taking off into the sky, one of your arms clutching his waist as the other held Harry James Potter tightly to your trembling chest… 

..................

Permanent Tags:

@fluffymadamina /  @sophiaxtorres​ / @jedi-in-hogwarts / @allknowingnerd / @accio-rogers / @gruffle1 /

Sirius Black:

@1800-fight-me /

[johobi]

The Devil In His Details

Word count: 9.2k

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, drug mentions, dirty talk, oral sex (male receiving), assplay, prostate milking, edging

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18686617

A/N: So this was supposed to be 1k words long for an anon that requested bad boy!Jimin in a drabble prompt game. Clearly that didn’t happen. I hope you enjoy it more than I did editing lkfjwalkjf.

Evil comes in many forms. In this instance, it’s a 5′8″ pretty-boy with an even prettier dick. And you’re the form you want him to come in.

Park Jimin.

A slender, regal nose. Two sly eyes that mellow with laughter. A white smile with just the one, imperfect tooth. Cheeks you'd find on a cherub's face, but a jawline hewn with the devil's input.

Everything about his face is an infuriating dichotomy of soft and sharp. And, God, his lips. Full, unfairly alluring, and begging to be kissed. But this is not a man who does much of that. Begging, that is. Kissing? Oh, he does a lot of that. It doesn't extend to you, though, no matter how much you wish it did.

Jimin is the object of your latest fixation. Well. You may say latest, but in reality you've been harbouring something hot and nasty for this guy for most of the academic year. To the faces of your friends, you blame the heartbreak inflicted by your ex-boyfriend. The thing is, you've been over him for months. Without that as a plausible explanation for your misguided crush, though, you have little to offer in substitution. Jimin isn't the type of guy any sensible, law-abiding girl should be cranking her Rabbit up for. Sure, he's so beautiful that his face can cleanse troubled minds. But he’s flying so many red flags it's like swimming in shark-infested waters.

He manspreads across from you in the campus square, leather jacket and black jeans lacquering his body and a cigarette dwindling limply between his lips. A smile occupies his mouth and eyes, the latter until they're mere, charming slits. You find yourself smiling, too. Oh, God. Get yourself together, ____. Fucking infatuated idiot.

You should know better. Jimin is aposematic with his lurid, magenta hair. He's a beacon of rebellion amidst the drab of campus conformation. And, yeah, maybe he looks cool because of that.

But he’s nothing but trouble.

A criminal.

You don't know the extent of his many and varied illegal activities, but you do know that you'd be an idiot to ever involve yourself with him. The lesser of his crimes begin with him not even being enrolled at the very university he utilises as his base of operations. And nor is he shooed away for his overt disregard for campus rules - and, generally, the law - because security lives snugly in his weed-stuffed back pocket. Yep, he's a dealer. Street racer. Brawler. You don't know how many times you've been torn from sleep by his gang's maniacal laughter as they rough up a rival, less attractive one.

He's also a heartbreaker.

And as ridiculous as it is, that's the thing that gives you most reason for pause. Not the drug-peddling, not the violence, but because you're in so deep you want to be sharkbitten. Consumed, bone for bone.

But he never looks your way. Ever. You're not so much a Plain Jane, you don't think, but desperately shy. Especially where your heart's involved. It forgets its function when confronted with someone you like. You take care of your appearance. You've had a few, long-term boyfriends. But whenever you're dumped back at Square One: Single, you're as hopeless in romance as you are in cooking. And all the cuisine you can conjure involves a microwave.

Scenarios of seduction circulate your mind as you ogle him from afar, your thoroughly bitten lip again between your teeth. If only you possessed the confidence your best friend insisted lay latent within you. It would be nothing to strut up to him now and toss your phone into his lap, arms crossed and an expectant smirk curling your mouth. "Gonna give me your number, or what?" you'd sigh - exasperated for the sake of drama - his beautiful face wiped clean of its cocksure facade.

Yeah, that'd be real cool.

But you're still sitting here, legs bobbing out of habit. Jimin is still there, smug and sexy, imparting something hilarious enough, apparently, to wind the comparably attractive guys with him. It's then that your phone purrs between your hands, clutched and previously forgotten.

It's Jisoo, said best friend.

[13:56] slut #1: heyyyy

[13:56] slut #1: guess what

It'll be one of two things. Either she needs your notes because she slept-in in lieu of doing the set reading, or—

[13:56] slut# 1: our floor's having a party tonight

Party.

[13:56] slut #1: come or ill break your legs 

The severity of her threat comes down to your repeatedly declining her invitations. It's not that you don't enjoy parties, because you do. In fact, there’s rarely a time you feel more alive than getting smashed and exorcising your anxiety for those few hours. It's more the fact that it takes a month's worth of mental energy to prevent you flaking out in the lead-up.

Today, though, you're game. Your introversion has been well and truly catered to these last, barren weeks. You're at full charge.

[13:58] yeah, why not

Dots dance across the screen.

[13:58] slut #1: serious???? holy shit that was easy for once

[13:58] slut #1: come to my room at 9

[13:59] the party's in your room?

[13:59] slut #1: no dumbass it's like the whole floor, idek whose party it is but u gotta meet me somewhere right

[14:00] kk. see you then

However unlikely, a feeble hope tugs at your fragile, besotted heart. Maybe he'll go? The organ stutters in your chest when you raise your eyes to where Jimin sits. But he's gone. Suddenly, it all seems like a terrible idea. It's just not meant to be. The universe is communicating it to you as gently as it can.

I need a firm slap. Irked by your nonsensical infatuation, you shoot to your feet and make off in a storm, bag not so much slung but catapulted onto your back. I need to get the fuck over this.

The campus square is a sizeable, open space with the central fountain being its only obstacle. However, by how solid the object is that you suddenly collide with, it seems to have sprouted another.

"Shit!" you gasp, nose flattened sharply, painfully, against something immovable. As you rub it, brows sharp in offense, you peer up into eyes of the thing you've blindly marched into.

Fuck.

Jungkook.

One of Jimin's lackeys.

Before you can locate his magenta-headed leader, however, Jungkook fills the entirety of your field of view. His narrow lips draw tighter; eyes, too. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

“U-Uh—”

“Uh?” the musclehead mimics, stooping into your personal space. By instinct, you shrink. At odds with his adorably prominent front teeth, the sneer he wears is nasty. “Anything else?”

An errant glance over Jungkook’s shoulder finds you Jimin. He hangs back, hands in pockets, nonplussed by the confrontation. It’s likely pretty tame in comparison to their usual run-ins. But it frustrates you, nonetheless, that the boy won’t look at you, even now, when the spotlight is searing you.

Jungkook snaps his fingers at the end of your nose and you’re back in the room. “Well?”

“I’m sorry. It was an accident. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” You hack for breath when he exhales a plume of cigarette smoke directly into your face. “I-It won’t happen again.”

The other one with them - Seokjin, the half-ass in your business studies class - claps a hand on Jungkook’s seam-straining shoulder. “‘Roid rage. Sorry, sweetheart. You’re a finance major too, right?”

Before you can even process the unexpected civility of his question, Jungkook rounds on him in ire. “The fuck? You know I don’t take steroids.” His cigarette flares at the corner of his mouth. Like a showboating pidgeon, he puffs out his muscular chest. “This is all hard work.”

Seokjin is clearly unmoved. He blinks an unnecessary amount of times, like it’s a tic of his. His glasses ride up as he crinkles his nose. Then: “Okay. Didn’t know you were too stupid to get a joke though. ‘Roids must be shrinking your brain as well as your dick.”

“What—”

An Off-White jacket streaks across your vision.

“—the fuck—”

A white t-shirt follows it soon after.

“—did you just say?”

Jungkook ripples, shirtless, with such unabated fury he distorts the air surrounding. Or maybe it’s the heatwave.

It’s then, beholding this sudden, aggressive display, that your fear finally surfaces. “Oh my God, what the fuck is happening?” you whisper exclusively to yourself, because to attract attention is to court an ass-beating.

And it’s then, of course, that Jimin finally takes heed of your existence. With a quirk of his head, he stares you down. Well, not so much stare. What he does expresses far less effort. His eyes meander the length of you in their own, good time, before landing on your blanching face. The laziest of smirks possess his lips.

Your heart sprouts wings.

His smirk widens.

Fuck, your heart’s airborne. It’s gonna launch itself out your mouth.

Seokjin dispels Jimin’s sorcery with another, unwisely provocative comment. “Your dick’s shrivelled? Or your brain? I don’t know which one offended you.”

Jungkook pounds his chest once, like an oversexed silverback. “Why you always gotta do me like this, bro? Is it ‘cause I fucked your mom that one time? I thought you were over tha—”

“Fuck you!”

Just when you’d established Seokjin as the pacifist of the group, he begins throttling Jungkook double-handed. The pair slip into an awkward grapple while Jimin looks on.

Looks at you.

Doesn’t even spare a glance for the groups of hurried, whispering students migrating across campus.

Guttural grunts float up from the ground as Jungkook and Seokjin’s scuffle escalates, but their leader pays them no mind in that moment. It’s your opportunity to say something more, but you don’t. Your vocal chords never pull together.

Moment missed.

Jimin sweeps a lock of magenta from his eyes, finally animate. A testy sigh siphons from him. “Get up. You’re making me look bad. Put your fucking shirt on, Jungkook.” His voice, usually soft, strikes like a serpent. Venom coats his tongue. “You represent me, dickheads. Plus, you’re scaring this girl.”

The absurdity of the situation, the apprehension you feel, is muffled for a moment. All you can hear is the rush of blood and Jimin’s vocal acknowledgement of your existence ricocheting in your mind. Girl. You.

It’s stupid. Demeaning, even, snapping up these scraps like a slobbering mongrel.

But exciting.

Having captured Jimin’s attention, you bow to him the gratitude you can’t vocalise. The plan, as you rise, is to hit him with a seductive smile, but you're certain your mouth only stretches awkwardly. Nevertheless, his pretty lips purse for a moment before pulling up, too. “I’m going.” He addresses them, but his eyes are on you.

Jimin takes his leave without further ado. As he passes you his gaze lingers too long, demanding he turn his face. His body ghosts past without contact, but a chilly thrill descends upon you like he's drifting right through your bones. And then he struts away like he owns the place, because he does.

And, God, he owns you, too.

His in-fighting entourage scrabble to catch up with him. Jungkook's hastily gathered clothes scrape the floor as he runs, their expense forgotten. “‘Min-hyung! Wait! We’re sorry!”

"Bye then," you comment, quiet, to their retreating backs. It wasn't quite the first encounter you'd prophesied, but considering Jimin's reputation, it should've been.

Anyway.

Your eyes fall to your phone and this evening's plans.

Party.

---

Jisoo's generously highlighted features bob before you in the muted light. Parts of her face are so illuminescent it looks like scaffolding. "Anyway, I'll be back soon. Get some drinks, loosen up. I need to find Namjoon."

"Okay, but are you actually gonna come back?" Your first beaker of jungle juice is already souring your lips. "'Cause if you're gonna find Namjoon, I don't think you're gonna come back."

Her eyes are everywhere but on you, glossy mouth twisting. “I'll really try! But I also really wanna see him, now I know he's here." Suddenly, your free hand is in her meticulously manicured clutches. "I'm not saying I will disappear, but I might. Please understand! I need dick so bad. Please." And now her eyes are on yours, black as night and just as dangerous. Jisoo is never more serious than when cock is at stake.

You shake yourself free of her flimsy grasp and flimsier promises. "Do what you want, but I don't know anyone in your dorm. If you don't come back in an hour, I'm gonna go."

That was an hour ago.

Within that hour, you consumed three cups of awful booze, lingered awkwardly by the party lights, and recovered zero Jisoos. The only noteworthy happening was some plastered guy insisting you were his boyfriend. So insistent, in fact, that you doubted your own identity by the last of the 15 minutes he spent calling you Yoongi. He lamented endlessly about how difficult it would be to survive the evening without getting in your tight little ass. The only thing that convinced him of the truth to your identity was said, tight-assed man appearing and dragging the lightweight away. Yoongi did have a nice ass, you observed, as they fell back into the throng.

Oh.

And Jimin was here.

Skulking the fuchsia shadows like a perfect predator. Thing is, he's already top of the food chain. No hunting required. Very much evidenced by the girls that swarmed him all night like a shoal of pilotfish. The music was too loud and the light too dim, but for every instance he opened his mouth, his accompanying partygoers exploded into laughter. This seems a skill of his. He has dominion over men and women both.

And you're no exception.

Whenever he was in sight, he drew your eyes. When he was dancing, he drew them lower. And there they remained, never straying from his swivelling hips and straining thighs. The girls danced in circles around him like they were worshipping a pagan idol. Understandable. You coveted him, too, from afar.

But now he's gone. Your cup is empty. Jisoo is getting Namjoon'd.

It's been an hour. You're going home.

There’s enough trash at your feet and liquor loosening your morals that you feel no guilt in dropping your beaker onto the pile. Polished, black shoes with pointed toes enter view and crumple that which you’ve littered. You look up.

“Juh—”

Jimin. It’s Jimin. Neither your mouth nor brain can co-ordinate sufficiently enough to identify him verbally, though. Instead, you gawp, inches from his breathtaking face, bathed in romantic light. “Littering, huh? Kinda rude, don’t you think?” He taunts, tongue between teeth. When you don’t rebut him, he slides an arm up the wall behind you. Sinks closer, until your eyes meet on an intimate level. “What are you doing here, campus girl? Didn’t think this was your kind of thing.”

Righteous indignation roils in you. As for why, it’s unclear. As are most things when relatively tipsy. “How would you know what my kind of thing is? You don’t know me. Also, don’t call me campus girl.” At this proximity, you’re acutely aware of the alcohol on your breath. You dial it down a bit. Turn your head and snort. “That’s rude.”

The alcohol, apparently, has also robbed you of your self-preservation skills. Because never in the light of a sober day would you be slighting a delinquent like this. And not the one you’re besotted with, either. That, then, dawns on you. As does his closeness, and the sweet smell of his own poison of choice.

“Well, I don’t know your name, do I?” Charm inhabits his tone, his smile. God, it’s flustering. Jimin toys with you, thwarting your attempts to evade his eyes. His face follows yours, until it’s all you can do but stop and stare. Fall fully and deeply into him. “‘Cause you’re shy, aren’t you?” He wets his lips then, unfairly. They’re dewy and full and even rosier in this light.

“Let me suck your dick,” you blurt, hypothesizing it being just as juicy. Just as tasty. Your inhibitions are low, but not enough that this is a mistake. Jisoo is right. There’s confidence in you, somewhere. You tap it when you tap a keg.

Jimin looks scandalised. His eyebrows vanish into his hairline. Giddy laughter streams from him. “Pardon?”

“I said, let me suck your dick.” Power floods your bloodstream. Liquid courage mingles with. “I’m pretty good at it, and I really want to. Like, so bad. I think about it a lot.”

If he says no, you no longer have to wonder.

If he says no, you never have to look at him again.

If he says no, you can chase someone wholesome and virtuous.

If he says yes, you get to suck his dick.

“Yeah?” Interest kindles in Jimin’s keen, black eyes. He’s close enough, now, that his body heat feels akin to weight against you. His voice drops below the bass of the music. “What did you think about?”

Are you gonna dirty talk in public?

A quick glance around and they aren’t so much the public anymore as parading monkeys, high on lust and low on decency. Just over from you, there’s a girl getting the least discreet fingerbanging of her life.

So, yeah. You lose a little of your rigidity and tip back your head. Lick your lips with a deliberate tongue. “How pretty your cock probably is. How it’d feel on my tongue, in my throat.” Unconscious or not, Jimin’s pressing to your hip. The subject of your conversation starts soft in his pants, but stiffens with your salacious description. Fuck, you’re tingling, too. “How you’d taste, coming down my throat—”

“Are you for real, campus girl?” Jimin interrupts, breathy. Disbelieving. He almost sounds distressed. Like a donkey that doesn’t wanna walk miles for a dangling carrot. Jimin doesn’t seem to get it, though. He’s the carrot, and dear God you wanna chomp down.

“I told you not to call me that. Guess you’re not interested,” you bluff, because not only are you provocative on booze, you’re also an absolute fucking idiot. There’s a significant chance he’ll tire of your tsundere bullshit and find another open mouth. However, as you turn to leave, fate smiles on you. As does he, when he sandwiches you to the wall, his chest to your back and his mouth a ghost on the nape of your neck.

Chills.

Chills spread where his breath is hot and wet. But still, his lips don’t touch. You can, however, hear the smirk in his voice. “Tell me your name.”

The stutter sabotages you somewhat. You’re breathless. “I-It’s ____.”

"____," Jimin repeats with a flick of his tongue, wetting your nape with the slightest of saliva. "Are you for real, ____? Or are you drunk?"

His fingers spread like wildfire across the tops of your thighs, testing the give of your flesh. You exhale as if he's squeezing the soul from you. "I'm for real. I'm not drunk, I've just had enough to realise that if I don't say this now, I never will. How often do you talk to me, after all?"

Jimin's throat rumbles as he contemplates. His lips part by your ear, vocal fry caressing each, careful syllable. "How often do you talk to me?" he poses. The steady, rigid throbbing against your ass suggests that this could've happened sooner.

Reluctant as you are to disturb your clinch, you’re not here to stare at the plastering. It would be a crime to deny yourself the chance to ogle his beauty close-up. With this in mind, you twist against his body, bringing your fronts flush together. God, he throbs all the more potently like this, pressed to the crotch of your dress. Jimin's still smiling, of course, all illegal charm and zero reserve.

A nervous lick of lips. "You're terrifying. Especially when you're surrounded by those guys all the time. That's why I don't talk to you." It’s a half-truth. The other half is your incompetence in flirting.

"And here I was, thinking you were shy," is Jimin’s riposte. "But, clearly, I'm wrong." Those plush, pink lips descend on you before you can blink away the unreality of it. They're softer than any piss-poor imitation of a man's mouth that's come before them. Softer than silk, even. And when they open, syrupy. A mire of heat and wet tongue, caressing away all your prior fears, even if they're legit. It really doesn't matter. Not when you're tasting this sublime man. Not when he suckles at your mouth so sensually, so gently. He can't be that horrific a person when he's holding you with such careful attention. It's too soon when he unties your tongues. "You don't need to be afraid of me," Jimin murmurs thickly to your lips. The lop-sided smile he wears says otherwise. It's a little too close to a sneer. "Well, ____—" he steps back. Lures you with him. "Wanna make this a reality?"

You're giddy as fuck. So much so your legs feel like a Newton's cradle. "Y-Yeah. Take me somewhere—" to speak his name is to make it real— "Jimin."

People blur, merge shapelessly around you as he weaves through their mass, leading you by one, dainty hand. It's not the drink. You're dizzy - high, even - with anticipation so intense it renders all outside his svelte figure indistinct. All there is is him, and what you're about to do. It doesn't even feel like you're tripping up the stairs when you do. You're floating, actually, because he's pulling you up and smirking so salaciously that you're weightless. The only weight is the one nestled deep in your abdomen, punching at your cunt like it knows well what that smug mouth could do.

The two of you stagger into an unoccupied bathroom. It's as grim and grotty as you'd expect of student lodgings, but that matters very little right now. Even though you're painfully germaphobic. The priority is realising you're about to suck off Park fucking Jimin. It hits you so powerfully that, for a very long second, you want to reconsider. After all, he likely has expectations. Confidence flees from you.

"Okay, then. On your knees, ____."

And then it floods back. As does desire.

Jimin perches atop the toilet with poise, its seat flat beneath him. You briefly speculate its cleanliness, but he’s already slinking the denim down his legs and over his knees. They cling in a pool at his ankles, likely impossible to get any further. His visibly wilting cock lounges against the crotch of his CKs, waiting for your intervention. It'll have to wait a little longer, though, because there's nothing on God's awful earth that will hinder your leering at this visual feast. His muscle-strapped thighs are somehow all the thicker hugging the bowl of the toilet. And the tiny, toned waist they taper to is all the confirmation you require to understand that this man is way out of your league. Like, forget international league. You're 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. "Fuck."

The curse is all he needs to understand. Whether it's for the sake of wanking his ego or to titillate you further, Jimin tenses his quads until they're as hard and smooth as varnished oak. All you want is to ride them like a fucking rocking horse. "You making me wait?"

Hell no. Before he can even finish his taunt you're at his feet and kneading his thighs like dense dough. Jimin feels fit. He isn't pliable like lovers gone. He's zero body fat, all thew, all sex. He's everything.

And you're nothing to him.

Tonight, though, you’ll become something.

Your fingers continue upward. And as they do, inward. Where he's slightly fleshier, and by the twitch of his covered dick, more sensitive. "How do you like it?"

"I'm as predictable as any other guy," Jimin half-shrugs, reclining against the cistern. His fingers curl into your hair, though not in any pushy, possessive way. It's almost as though he's simply appreciating its texture. The curve of your scalp. Tingles spring from his touch and arrest your body. "Deep as possible. Don't neglect the shaft. Play with my balls a little," he reels off his litany shamelessly. "If you can take it, lemme fuck your face?"

Each of his suggestions make both your mouth and cunt salivate. You want all of those things and more. That other thing. "We'll see," you say as much to yourself as you do to him. "Let's see what we're working with." You lunge for his waistband with both hands, eager to steal them from his body. Jimin halts you once you peek pubes.

"I'm not sitting my bare ass on this toilet." The grunt he makes is indignant. Adamant.

But you have plans. And so you whip a towel from its rail and coax it beneath him, the makeshift mat feeling dubiously damp. "If you want me to do it good, let me have you without your underwear."

Jimin complies, shifting his weight. Then, with danger perverting his tone: "Then you better do it good, ____."

You perform well under pressure. The pressure that comes with academic deadlines and 10th grade theatre, at least. However, it doesn't extend to sucking the cock of, arguably, the most intimidating, most captivating man you've gawped at from afar. Your previous lovers were diffident and easy to please. It's only through your own, bored invention that you delved deeper into the art of oral with them. You hope it serves you well tonight. "I'll try my best," you challenge, brow cocked, Jimin's boxers successfully purloined. The front of them are tacky to the touch, and this alone incites you. God, you can taste his salt already.

To your dismay, he doesn't resume his careful caressing of your scalp. No, once his bottom half is nude, he splays his thighs obscenely and leans back, fingers curling around the towel-covered toilet seat. From here he peers down his nose at you, a smirk all the while. His torso is one rigid, smooth slope, and you wish selfishy to see it exposed. Asking for that, too, though, might be too much.

And now that your gaze plummets, it doesn't matter. His cock is enough. You'd think it impossible for such an awkward looking appendage to ever earn the term pretty. But, uniform with the rest of him, his is. What he lacks in length he makes up for generously in girth. His cock is chubby and blushing, and, yes, pretty. God, so pretty.

Yes, you'll let him face-fuck you.

The tinkle of Jimin's earrings disrupt your awed silence. He projects impatience: Chewed lips, raised eyebrows, a slight, inquisitive tilt to his head. "This your first time or something?" Magenta falls across his eyes as his focus slips down his own body. He cages his cock inside a delicate fist, nurturing it to its full, thickened capacity. As it grows, so does his filthy smile. "You don't need to lie to me. I can go easy on you."

"This isn't my first time." Your resentment is palpable. Apparently, he enjoys it. As he pumps himself harder, his tongue probes disrespectfully at the corner of his upturned mouth. That only inflames you. "Is it your first time? Are all the rumours false?" Your comeback is risky, but the mood suggests banter is welcome. Perhaps all this big, bad wolf wants is a little, red-faced riding hood to provoke him.

The dare pays off. With one last, long stroke, he lets loose his erection, the concrete appendage slapping his stomach with an admirable thud. Resting back on one hand, he gestures to his waiting cock with the other. "Totally. I'm a good boy, ____. Now stop talking and fucking spit on it."

Your clit jumps. As do you, right into action. With your palms canvassing his inner thighs, you take one last, unenlightened breath before you dive face-first into his musk, pulling aside his cock to nuzzle at its base. To fully savour his scent and warmth. Jimin fills your hand to the extent you're unable to form anything close to a closed fist. Your thoughts are possessed only by your imagination and how wide he could stretch you. How full he could make you. A fucking stampede thuds through your pussy.  "Mm, you have such a nice cock," you murmur around the root of him. It's not so much meant as a compliment, but a statement of pure fact that must be expressed. You're sure he's heard such professions many times.

Yep. "I know, sweetheart." The timbre of his voice is a little heavier. Breathier. As your tongue flicks lazily under the round of his balls, it quivers, too. Nevertheless, he maintains his stoicism. "Why you teasing me down there? You know what I want."

When you pull one of his testicles into your mouth, however, he emits a quiet noise. One that sounds a little like it's something he wants. "Yes, daddy," you mouth around him, full irony. Jimin reacts to it, though. Pushes into your slack grip, looking for friction you're not about to give. It's almost enough to make you roll your eyes. Still, you don't know where the limit to his patience lies. And so you relent and pull your mouth upwards, dragging his sac with your reluctant lips. Jimin tenses when finally you free him, wet, sticky, and back to hanging. And then you're ascending his fat, veiny shaft, lathering the underside with your tongue. Ekeing from him the most delicious gasps of air. His hands go back into your hair, though with far less care this time, grasping at your roots as though to earth him.

"Yeah, that's it, ____. Keep going." Jimin's encouragement is sweeter to the ears than any lauded music. And so is the stifled whine that streams from him when you glaze the tip of his cock with saliva, enough to dribble down its entire length. Once he’s sufficiently spat on, you follow with your mouth. Fuck, it’s a strain to accommodate him. A feat not to scrape him with your teeth. He's so thick you must look vulgar stuffing him between your lips like this. A wayward glance tells you he's enjoying the lewd visual, though. His mouth is parted and breath puffs quickly from him. His eyes, normally sharp with wit, are dull. Fully blown. Jimin devours the sight of your struggle, as you do his uncomfortably chubby dick. His nails imprint crescents of self-restraint into the skin of your scalp. "F-Fuck. Yeah. Suck me."

You do. More fervently than you have any mouth-watering candy. Your lips work the head of his cock with measured pressure, back-and-forth, to the tune of his increasingly whiny vocalisations. Instinct takes him, sometimes, and he jerks without thought into you. Your teeth graze him, then, but it seems like an ineffective deterrence. No, sometimes he moans when you catch him, and for that you reward him with tongue on his frenulum.

That gets him the most.

His thighs ripple, his back bends. His head of magenta hair falls back.

"You—mmmmh—like that?" is your an attempt at a taunt, dulled by the cock wedged in your cheek.

"You suck dick like a fucking slut." Jimin is panting now, a sheen of perspiration oiling his face. Fuck, he looks dewy and downright dirty. The crotch of your panties is saturated with want for him. "You pretend you're all innocent and shit, but, Jesus, you're a dirty bitch."

With an enthusiastic flex of his thighs, he struggles free from the jeans binding him and props up a foot, knee bent and accentuating just how shapely his calves are. Spread like this, he's sordid. Wanton. He's getting desperate, and, against all expectations, unafraid to show it. Men with his level of machismo are typically reserved. It turns you on, dials you into overdrive, just how unabashed his enjoyment is. "Deeper. Can you take it deeper, ____? P-Please," Jimin whimpers on cue, resolve thready.

Briefly, you alight from his cock. He whimpers about that, too. This man is the terror of your college campus. And now he’s a needy, sex-swollen mess. "Depends. Can I edge you?" You're actually decently sober at this point, but bravado still brews in you nevertheless.

Jimin, no longer basking, purses his lips. Glares with the fury of a thousand blue-balled men. "Don't you fucking dare. Try it and I'll take over. I’ll come all over your smug little face."

The threat, in actuality, is more a solemn hope of yours. "Okay, okay. I won't edge you." Your hands keep busy while your overtaxed mouth relishes its moment of emptiness. You funnel your energy, instead, into keeping his cock stiff, five fingers twisting along its lubed-up length. With the other hand, you return to your earlier fixation and palm tenderly at his distended balls. A delicate quivering radiates from his core muscles. "But I really wouldn't mind you coming all over my face."

Everything about him tenses, then releases. His eyelids, low, bear the weight of arousal. "For real?"

"Might as well, my knees are already gross. You can get me dirtier if you like, Jimin." And then you're pulling down the straps of your dress until your breasts spill out, already pebbled and desperate for a fondling they won't get tonight. "Or here. Or everywhere. Just go to town."

Jimin gulps down stuffy, humid air. Concentrates a little too hard on your uncovered tits. Rocks a little too enthusiastically into your undulating grip. "God, yeah. I wanna come all over you. Spit in your fucking mouth." Suddenly it's not just your sole fist grasping him. He's clutching you, clutching him. Squeezing your knuckles until they're white and his cock is very, very red. "I'll bend you over the bathtub and fuck you 'til I break your hips. 'Til your pussy's dripping cum."

“Jesus—”

You’re so luststruck by his vulgar fantasies that it’s almost too late when you come to your senses. Jimin fucks your hands so ferociously it’s clear that the beast has taken him. You snatch away your hands before he wastes himself all over them. His come away, too, hovering in the air and demanding answers.

"Okay, well you just edged yourself." A giggle slips out while you watch him heave breath like he's nearing death. In a way, it's cute. Jimin's cheeks are full and flushed, eyes rounder than moons. He himself seems taken aback by his lapse into unadultered lust. "Don't take away the only reason I came here."

Despite Jimin's earlier, emphatic disapproval of being edged, he sure seems appreciative now. He basks in the near-rush, mellower than before. Gently - perhaps affectionately? - he cradles the back of your head and draws you in, a thumb pressing caresses to your cheek. This sudden sweetness, it's abnormal. Harmful. You don't want it. You don't want to see his good side, nor fall for it.

But here he comes, eyes searching, lips begging.

"Then deepthroat me like I asked."

Nevermind.

The pompous smirk is back. He reclines, his one leg up like an ode to Michaelangelo, dick tall and looking just as self-important. You're decided. It's time to make him squeal. "Okay. No edging. But let me make it feel even better?"

Jimin drips scepticism. "How?"

Fully anticipating rejection, you're direct. "Lemme stick a finger up your ass."

Again, he surprises you. Insomuch that revulsion doesn’t immediately sour him. "The fuck?" A husky chuckle rattles in his chest, instead. "Is that your secret technique?"

"Kinda." Your shoulders draw inward as self-consciousness consumes you. "I totally get it if you don't want to. But the other guys I've been with enjoyed it."

"Then do it, whatever. Don't let me go soft, though, ____," Jimin warns with pouty lips. His cock leans demonstratively forward, threatening flaccidity. "I'm feeling neglected."

"Tragic," you coo, feigning empathy. Looking as petulant as he, you suckle softly around the head of his dick, enkindling his passion before it fades. Your tongue does work around its bulbous ridge, teasing where it makes him squirm most. Then, with his demands in mind, your mouth descends over his modest stretch of shaft, worshipping each, precious inch as you go.

“Yes, baby. That’s it, that’s it.”

You dip and rise, tug and suck in a tantalising advance toward his base, wringing the precum from him. It's salty and sticky and you love it on your tongue, love smearing him with his own mess. Want to smear him with your mess.

“Fuck, yeah. K-Keep—unh!—going!”

The more of him you gobble, the more erratic his body behaves. Beneath your hands, his sweat-tacked thighs are tremulous, tensing without rhyme or reason. Jimin has little control over  any of his extremities. His hands are uncomfortable fists in the back of your hair, like he's reining in a wilful mare. And then there's his beautiful, unstopped moaning, so sinful your clit thumps like a bass drum between your legs. You moan, too, slurping the end of his leaking cock to the back of your throat so he can better feel it. The reverberations must reach him, because Jimin bucks, then, wildly enough to trigger a gag. "Ugh, y-yes, fuck!"

You can't so much as master Savasana in yoga, but what you are adept at is gag control. And though you cough a little, slaver a little, nothing but sudden death will stop you now. Nose-deep in Jimin’s considerately trimmed pubic hair, you trap him momentarily there, the whole of his cock nestled deep in your throat's constraints.

Jimin looks half-way gone. His hands hover above your shoulders, fingers curling and twitching peculiarly, like he’s about to astral project. Indeed, all you can see through the sliver in his lightly-closed lids is the white of his eyes. Every so often Jimin rolls his pelvis towards you, but you stymy his attempts to face-fuck you until you're ready to see him over the finish line. Grasping his hips, your thumbs take the liberty of feeling the lines of his obliques, and, God, you've never hated an item of clothing more than the t-shirt he's wearing.

"More," he splutters, then, swivelling against your hold like he's compelled. "More, give me more. I'm so close, I—I wanna fucking drown you in cum—" an ungodly groan bursts forth as he whips himself into a frenzy of his own making— "Fuck, you suck cock so good—so good, baby."

Of all things, baby is what heats your cheeks. The endearment feels like long-coveted validation. "Bear with me," is what you try to communicate, but considering the weight of his cock is pinning your tongue, it comes out garbled. Jimin doesn't even notice, so rapt is he in your mouth's luxury. Occasionally, he rewards your efforts with globs of pre-ejaculate that slide smooth down your throat.

Not wanting to interrupt his well-earned crawl to orgasm, you bob on his cock hands-free, employing them instead to locate one of the condoms populating your purse. Keeping pace is difficult enough that it's not long before Jimin, unsteady on his perch, growls in caution.

"Don't you dare fucking stop," he grunts through gritted teeth, scrutinising your every, unrelated move. When he sees what it was you sought, the growl becomes a snarl. The disdain his eyes convey is almost comical. "Don't make me come in that. I'm not coming in that," he snorts, placated momentarily by your refocused efforts on his plump little dick. As you tear open the wrapper, you tongue his cock hole like a striking snake. "Oh, sh-shit!—H-Hey, if you don't want me to come on you I won't, but—"

Slobber splatters the towel in your haste to cut him off. "It's not for you."

Rather than court more questions, you demonstrate. Hastily, you unroll the condom over your longest finger. Then, with his unerring attention, you squat back on your heels and hike up your dress, allowing him a view onto your panty-wrapped cunt. Jimin doesn't even notice that your mouth is gone from him while he’s leching. It’s just long enough an opportunity to dip your rubber-sheathed digit deep into the wetness of your pussy. He makes noises as you do, quiet ones, ones that stress how much he wants to be inside it. When you withdraw, your lips lock back onto him, kissing his cock where it's most swollen and sensitive. "Try and relax, okay? It'll feel good quicker if you do," you offer in advice, your cunt-slick finger bypassing his balls and slithering along his perineum. Already he's reacting, even from this slight, external stimulation.

"I'm relaxed as fuck," Jimin puffs defiantly, despite his initial recoil. "Show me what you're all about, ____."

"Alright then." Ever so carefully, you wheedle the tip of your finger past his asshole, stopping when his body tells you to. "Jimin, if you can’t handle it—"

They're unextraordinary words, but, apparently, the magic ones. Immediately he loosens around you. "I can. Shut up."

You do. By engulfing his erection without warning. Drawing on it like you would a drinking straw, enough to fluster him into distraction. The result is an easy, sailing entry into his ass, right up to your knuckle. It's not difficult to locate his prostate from there, as deliciously swollen as it is. With a cursory couple of taps, Jimin's body responds in new, mesmerizing ways.

"W-What the fuck—ah!" he cries through his confusion, the unfamiliar feeling prying his eyes wide. Jimin can only watch, overwhelmed, as you manipulate him from within, his back arching clean from the cistern. He's suspended by sensation, a wobbling tension keeping him upright. As you slurp mercilessly at his cock, you fix him with a look. Jimin's not there to receive it, though. His expression says his brain short-circuited the moment you started stroking him internally. And then, with a choked gasp, he returns to the corporeal, yanking at your hair like a man possessed. Only, he's pulling you away. "Stop, oh fuck, I'm gonna piss in your mouth." Distress and arousal fight for his features. The latter is winning, if the stutter of his hips is anything to go by. He's caught between two worlds of pleasure; bookended by penetration and your softly nursing mouth. All he can do is thrust from one to the other.

You come away with his hands, just briefly. Kitten-lick his purpling cockhead. "It's okay. You won't pee, it's meant to feel like that. Just go with it, unless you don't like it."

The blush dusting his cheeks deepens. You can't imagine it's because he's embarrassed, but for a moment he looks vulnerable. Human. Beautiful. Your heart trips. "Whatever," he attempts nonchalance, but his needy fragility is fooling no-one. "I like it, so don't stop. As long as you're sure i won't piss in your mouth. I mean, I don't care if I do, but you might—ungh!"

Swallowing a man's cock is as good as gagging them. Jimin falls quieter than night when you welcome him back into your warmth, working his shaft as well as your aching jaw will allow. Your tongue, too, is tiring, and yet you only twist around him all the more ravenously. It's not just his body that’s contorting when you pound at his prostate, now. His mouth hangs open unchecked, all thought for appearances gone. Within, his tongue writhes, articulating nothing but bodiless sounds.

You rub harder. Suck harder. More insistent. Jimin's eyebrows knit so tightly his nose crinkles. And when he does, a flood of runny, salty liquid squirts into your mouth, catching you off guard and in-between breaths. It's a wonder you don't drown when it keeps coming, this thin, bountiful expulsion. "F-Fuck, God—what is that—" he whines between milkings. As it seeps from your stuffed mouth, Jimin is enraptured. With his focus on you, you regurgitate it noisily over his cock, dousing him in his own fluids. "Fuck, i-it feels so good. I want more." His hands are either side of your face, fingers at your temples, palms pressuring your cheeks. "More." With a grunt, he hoists his previously dangling leg onto the toilet seat with the other. He squats, open and obscene, the picture of aroused anguish. "More. Harder," he jerks, marionette-like, to fuck himself on your finger, to propel his cock further down your throat. You're prepared for this onslaught now, mouth wide and tongue laying dormant as he rams his tip to your tonsils. Each thrust pushes more of his leakage from your mouth until you're drooling like a starving dog. And he's transfixed by it, teeth grinding, gripped by a terrifying hunger. "Fuck. Take it, take me, oh, shit—t-ta—"  

Nothing much else comes from Jimin but discharge, his face contorting as his body does, locked and straining. The motion of his hips slows until it ceases. There, he floats, with unseeing eyes, his orgasm approaching in an unavoidable swell. The throbbing that radiates from his buried cock is the final tell you chance before you cough him from your mouth, kneeling tall before him, breasts and face a blank canvas. You don't push him that last step so much as hammer him, battering his prostate until his mouth twists in devastation. Jimin's eyes are so wide it's like you're fucking the fear of God into him. He rises from his squat, millimetre by millimetre, as you slap your palm to his taint; his bloated balls. "C-Coming, I'm coming—" is all he can rasp as his soul departs and streaks your face once, twice—your eyelids fall closed as thick, viscous white weights down your lashes. Robbed of your sight, his groans hit louder, deeper. They resonate with agony, almost. And still he paints you, your throat, your neglected tits. "Oh my God, I—"

“That’s it, Jimin. Empty yourself on me.”

As the deluge dies away, you wipe your eyes free of cum and slide yourself from his spasming asshole. You expect to see him sat there, clutching his softening cock, but instead he’s sat back, hands-free and seeing constellations on the ceiling. "You came without touching your dick? Damn. That's restraint," you chuckle, your mouth feeling oddly loose. Too big. Too empty. When Jimin doesn't respond: "You okay?"

He stirs briefly from catatonia, though he continues to stare spaceward. "I'm good. I'm good. I think." A laugh comes out, but it's like he's forgotten what they should sound like. "Well, that was fucking awesome." A few, dumbstruck seconds later, Jimin returns to earth with a shaky sigh and that damn smirk. Finally, he looks at you. "Whoa. I got you messy as fuck."

A deadpan blink is all you can spare him when most of your body is protesting some type of pain. Your jaw, particularly, feels unhinged. "Yeah. You didn't notice that before?" You slip the latex from your finger and lob it at the trashcan. You miss.

"I did, but I was, like, coming my brains out. I didn't know what the fuck I was seeing, other than it was good." With an unsteady hand, he flattens back his soaked bangs and stares at you, eyelids heavy. His cheeks are stained pink with exertion. "You look so hot like that. Fuck." And though his body must be leaden after satiation, he pulls you up to your knees, until your torsos nearly touch. Stops just short of smearing himself with his own ejaculate. Instead, he cups one of your soiled breasts with a small, soft hand, thumbing his cum across the nipple. Being touched here, now, after such deprivation, it's like a kiss of life to your cunt. It roars back to life with a bitter vengeance. But Jimin remains modest in his touches. Doesn't stray much from your one, sticky breast. No, he's more focused on you. Your face. Studying all there is to know about its shapes. And he's inscrutable as he does it. It makes you nervous. "Well." It's scarcely more than a whisper. "Thank you," he mumbles, soft and awkward, like he's never before expressed appreciation for anything. And then he kisses you again, though it feels like it's for the first time. It's slow, intimate, with lazy tongue and spent breaths in between. It makes your heart race for several, terrifying reasons. You break apart, then. "Can I do anything for you?"

"N-No, that's okay." The proposition is unexpected. And with the way you're feeling, dangerous. "I got what I came for. I had fun. Thank you, too." You rise to standing, weathering the crack of your joints as you go. "I'll just clean up quickly."

Jimin is already towelling down his own, comparatively unscathed body. He stands, too, though with far more grace. As he feeds himself back into his too-tight jeans, he extends the towel to you. "If you're sure." A tinge of something colours his tone. Disappointment? "Maybe next time."

Next time?

Jimin's semen begins to crust on your chin. The towel twists in your hands. "What?"

There's an indifference to his body language that doesn’t quite ring true. He shrugs on his jacket. "Yeah. Next time, right?"

For several seconds you both stand there, locked in an unsaid exchange. The air is pregnant with meaning.

The door flies open.

"There you are!" In Jungkook strolls, bleary-eyed and with no clear bearing on his surroundings. "Someone said they saw you come in here." His gaze is hazy as it lands on you and your poorly shielded tits. And then it’s on your face again, where Jimin's spunk is heaviest. "Holy shit."

What feels like a century of shame passes, but it's no more than a microsecond before Jimin is slamming the point of his boot into Jungkook's abdomen. "Get the fuck out!" He bellows, octaves deeper than all this past half hour. Masculinity oozes from his squared shoulders and jutted jaw. The hardness is in his eyes, too. They're like steel as they cut Jungkook down, unchanging even as the younger man claws at his gut and stumbles back. "Don't fucking barge in on me again. This ain’t for you to see."

"I-I'm sorry, 'min-hyung." Jungkook slurs his words past comprehension. "C-Call me wh-when yuh wha-wanna split."

Jimin folds his arms. Tucks balled fists inside. "Yeah, now go."

Unfortunately for Jungkook, the gang-leader catches that last, errant look at your naked breasts. And for that he is rewarded with another swift kick; to his retreating backside, this time. Though you can't see him behind the door, you hear the impact of his fall to all-fours and grimace. Jimin's line of sight tracks low. Jungkook must be crawling away. "Go and sober up, you stupid piece of shit. We're going soon."

The door slots back into its frame. Jimin lingers there a little longer than necessary, his head bowed to the panelling. "Uh." Again, he's different. Transformed. Someone more timid stands in Jimin's place. Ruffles the back of his well-tousled hair. "Sorry. He's a dipshit."

"It's okay," you laugh. You have to, because the entire scenario is astounding. "You didn't have to kick him, though. Twice."

Arms criss-crossing his chest, Jimin watches as you wipe away his residue. For some reason, you’re more self-conscious now than when he put it there. "He deserved it. He's an idiot. Idiots don't learn unless you kick them in the ass. I didn't kick him in the balls, at least. And for that, he should be thanking me."

Clearly, your views on appropriate punishment diverge. Jimin inhabits a different world to yours. It's unnerving. And a little exciting, even though it shouldn’t be. "I'll defer to your judgment in his case." Your straps come up and over your shoulders. On inspection, suspicious white stains dot your dress despite your attempts to prevent that. Hopefully everyone is so smashed by this point that they can’t distinguish it from any of their other surroundings. "Okay, I'm gonna go. My dorm's just across from this one."

"I'll walk you. It's not safe." There's a certainty to Jimin's words that speaks of his experience. Ironically, it's probably safer out there while he's tied up in here. "Lots of scumbags out there that will target girls who are alone."

Fully covered, now, you clutch your purse in front of the worst of the splattering. You want to say something, so you do. You feel like you've earned it. "Not you?"

So self-assured, Jimin is. For a moment, though, he isn't. His smile flickers. "Never. I'm not about that. And I'll thrash anyone who is."

The answer pleases you. Diminishes his other activities somewhat. Somewhat. Just enough that you can go home and fuck yourself into a guiltless coma. "Okay. Well, it was fun. Don't worry about walking me. It's literally just across from here and there are still people around. I gotta find my friend first, anyway.”

Another shrug. Then, with the same nonchalance, he offers up his phone to you. "'Kay."

Eyes on him rather than the device, you take it from him. "What's this?" The screen displays a newly created contact. The phone number is blank. The contact name, though?

Litterbug.

It's hard to scoff at it when you love it so much. "What the hell? That's me?"

"Yeah. Gimme your number?" Jimin grins, brazen-faced. The temptation to kiss him is almost insurmountable. "I wanna see you again, litterbug."

You smile, too. Until you don't. "I don't know. I don't think it's a good idea. I didn't plan on anything past this."

If Jimin's shaken by the snub, he hides it masterfully. His smile isn't quite so burnished, though. "Neither did I, but then this happened, and I want it to happen again, ____. Let me show you just what I can do for you."

God, it's tempting. A bite of that apple is worth being cast from Eden. But your heart is weak and liable to entwine far too easily. And he's not the type of man that should occupy space outside of your depraved fantasies. "How many girls with cute pseudonyms do you have on there?" you deflect, knowing well the answer. Hearing it might temper your hopes somewhat.

"I don't give out my actual number to anyone." Jimin doesn't miss a beat of breath. "Only those that matter to me. Or might do," he adds, quieter, losing his bullishness altogether. "But, do what you want." His palm lays flat in expectation of receiving his phone back empty, but you hesitate. Look down at the vacant space. You could fill that.

You want to.

"Okay, there I am." With a flourish of thumbs and a final tap, your name is input and the contract sealed.

The Devil smiles. "Cool." His fingers linger on yours when you return the device. They're soft like charmeuse, and just as expensive. Because this will cost you everything, you're sure. "Can I see you tomorrow? So you can explain to me exactly what it is you just did to my ass?"

Tomorrow? Jimin’s keen. And you’re smiling again. “Sure. I’ll give you a practical demonstration.”

[bakgouarchived]

LOL ok so i realized that i sounded RLLY stupid in the recording, it was like 12am and half of the things i said were just “AHHHH???” “[inaudible]” or “like… ykwim??” so i decided to write it out instead

> fourteen thousand?? damn wth (amazed bc that’s a lot of words)

> ITS FUTAKUCHI!! BOYFRIEND!!

> why is he so annoying *laughs*

> i agree, disney’s tangled… wonderful, amazing, show stopping, i was gonna say never have been… what? never… been… never been done before but it has *laughs*

> i agree, his ego is alrdy big

> like a flower that had not yet met the right conditions to bloom… that’s so sexy ok

> the target is iced out

> ITS FUTAKUCHI!!

> love the action, not boring, very engaging, very sexy *laughs*

> i wanna punch him *laughs*… with love.. actually no he’s annoying… still one of my favorites tho

> DAMN i just got here and there’s already guns… FIRING

> woah ok so… the scene where it’s like… where time slows down?? and the reader could see the bullet move like it’s in slow motion… putting in the readers thoughts or like thought process really helps make the scene as if it rlly slows down like… in a movie, if that makes sense… YKWIM?? it’s good, very sexy (i was trying to say that by putting in the readers thoughts, you drew out the moment and really made it seem as though time slowed down, and gave the same slow motion effect you see in movies LMAOO)

> “u sure u want me to be honest?” SHUT UPPP

> ITS KYOUTANIIII

> his gift is so… UGH it’s not aggressive it’s not the word… it’s not violent either… ykwim (intense…i think that’s what i was going for)

> they’re like… passively aggressively flirting and i’m LIVING for this

> :O oh.. OH!! HE SAVED HER!! FROM THE BULLET!! AHHHXHDJD

> all that… all that and you can’t figure out that it’s futakuchi????… UGH

> the metaphor! it’s back! (“that same seed of infatuation you’d swallowed months ago threatens to sprout”)

> omigosh… is this a date

> AH THEY TOUCHED SHOULDERS!! that’s like, flirting, right?

> YEAH u idiot, you’re in love with him UGH… imagine…

> THEYRE KISSING!!¥{¥{ THEYRE KISSING!! that’s illegal

> oH ok metaphor, come thru!! (“The house of cards you two had so delicately put together is lit aflame, but in this single selfish moment, you have no regrets. You pour gasoline all over everything you know, tilting your head to take as much of Ace as he’s willing to give.”

> THEYRE KISSING AGAIN

> yo… yo is… is he gonna erase her memory??

> is thiS A DATE?? this is a date right

> i wanna punch him for getting the turtle… do i have permission

> GHOSTED?? UGDHEHEHSB

THAT IS HIM!! YOU’RE KISSING THE SAME PERSON omigOSH

> yes agree, oikawa is very cute. reader says “kind of cute” but i think he’s very cute

> *laughs* “tobio” *laughs some more* (why did i find this funny????)

> *panic noises* HIS MASK!! HIS MASKJDJDJ

AHH.. i hate that the reader knows that ace is futakuchi but he doesn’t know that she *noises* AH this is frustrating

> yea… leave me alone :/

> omg… omigosh HDBSJXB i’m scared

> omigosh… he’s leaving her on delivered… or read idk… pain

> OH it’s on read… pain… OMIGOSH WAIT NO THEYRE MEETING…. crying… CRYING

> bro… it was tsukki this whole time?? i mean i shoulda guessed since he was blond but… *laughs*

> THEYRE PARTNERS! THEYRE PARTNERS OMIGOSH WAIT

> THEYRE HOLDING HANDS !!!

> and there’s the title reference!

so then i tried to post the end of the audio but APPARENTLY THE VIDEO IS TOO LONG !?:!:637 so here’s after i finished reading

> i’m literally gonna dream abt this... and go to sleep like thinking abt this

> this was so sexy i can’t even like... UGH ugh ok

> man... MAN!! idek what to say

> i kind of want to see this... not animated.. or ig yea but like... as a movie? idk

> just college students w gifts, who work part time jobs *laughs* one of the part time jobs happen to be ...working for criminal organizations

> i would love to watch this, reading this was very fun

> i feel... UGHH

> i KNOW futakuchi looks so hot w his mask on... even mask off, but yk, i would never tell him that

> so sexy. idk how many times i said that already, but i had to say it again

> i hate that your works don’t get more notes. it rlly shows that notes don’t reflect the quality of the writing because this... this was so good

> the action scenes were so... so UGH

> and it’s not... what is the word for it... whatever, ykwim... actually maybe you don’t BUT just know that i’m trying my best to compliment your writing *laughs* but my brain... my vocabulary... it can’t... it cannot... no words... actually there are probably words, i just don’t have them *laughs*

> anyways besides the point

> will most definitely be rereading this

> this was so good... gave me miraculous lady bug vibes, but better, a lot better

> *sigh* thank u i hope u enjoyed this *laughs* this... asmr... very sexy for this, thank you

> ok, goodnight! wait damn, fourty minutes?? fuck... ok i have to listen to 40 minutes of audio *laughs*

> ok goodnight for real... except idk when you’re going to hear this... listen to this idk

> ty for this very lovely, sexy, entertaining, exciting fic of my boyfriend

[rebelliouslala]

Hades

YOU ARE PERSEPHONE, GODDESS OF SPRING AND THE FUTURE HEIR TO DEMETER

and you hate your life :)

like the amount of pressure your mom puts on you wants you to just die

you would do fucking

ANYTHING

just to meet Hades

cuz he’s the god of the dead

also you always heard his name and felt so compelled to him???

anyways you heard he knew your mother well, since they both fought in the Titan Wars

one day because she put you in a pissy mood because you helped a nymph out with her garden, since she was dating Apollo or something

your mom was even designating you guard nymphs??

it was stupid but you went to your mom all sweet and *gag*

“Mother?”

“what is it, my dear?”

“May I have some books about the god of the underworld?”

her face turned a pale green, and you knew you got her ass good lmaoooooo

but you also uh-

dude you got your ass BeAt

so you’re pacing the room, complaining to your pet cat about your bitch of a mom

she had given you history books about the long long long long long long long long and kinda long history of the earth

if you don’t write a report on it you didn’t get to go outside

which is where you THRIVE

like ur the goddess of spring ur mom rly just shutting you in!???

so you go into your little mini garden and read a little

and plan on how to bs this stupid 23451683729 word essay

meanwhile demeter is going to the underworld

she arrives at the river styx where Hades is, greeting all the new souls while his dog, Cerbie sniff them

he only calls him Cerberus if he’s being a bad boi

but he’s usually a good boi :))

“yo, bin?”

“AYYYYY whats up” he smiles cutely

because he’s a cutie

“stay away from my daughter”

he scrunches his nose up in confusion “?”

“u know what the frick im talking about, now stay”

he scratches his head, “uhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmm?”

“stfu okay just stay away and thats it fool”

she disappears and even the souls were like, “uh your majesty what in Hades was that”

he kinda shrugs and goes inside with them

but now HE’S worried

because he didn’t even fuckin know you existed

not in a bad way, like he’s a busy man

he only focuses on the underworld and making it enjoyable for everyone, meeting everyone’s needs

he’s a good king :D

so that night he’s trying to hold himself back

but when he’s curious he gets rly fidgety

“HYPNOS!”

he comes back and smiles a little too romantically, “hey boss”

“d-do you uh, know demeter’s daughter?”

“yeah, she’s a decade or so younger-”

“SHE”S 10?!” bin gets up and he starts to scream

jinjin sighs, “no, dude she’s ABOUT 10 years younger than you”

the king relaxes, “oh, phew”

“why? interested?”

“sorta, demeter said i was messing with her, idek who she is”

Jinjin CACKLES in his face

“you haven’t even lost your virginity—?”

“shut up please, just, thanks”

“yeah, don’t mess with demeter, or persephone”

before Bin can ask why, jinjin is gone

so now ur home reading you finally got the right invisible ink to copy&paste ur essay

along with a few of your own words so it sounds more authentic lol

your mom then busts in, and thankfully you’re writing the last sentence

“hey”

“ready to apologize to me?”

“I was just curious mother! you know all of these amazing gods!”

“They are not amazing! He is the god of the dead!”

“He RULES the underworld”

demeter groans and checks your essay

you smile when she grumbles you can be on earth for a week for your work

but

you have to host with your mom about the festival of harvest

however

by some sort of MaGIcAl force

Hades is there too with Hypnos :)

you’re in the festival, being crowned, giggling at Dionysus flirting with you

Bin is in the crowd, drinking mortal beer which hey wasn’t half bad

he hears your giggle, which sounds like gold but as s o u n d

He literally fucking crushes his jug at seeing how innocent, how adorable you look

it’s love at first sight really

“h-hypnos?” he asks, but that fool is gone

you stand on your little throne, next to Dionysus and Demeter, all of the garden nymphs

hell even Apollo and Artemis is there

You raise your arms up, and out sprouts pretty marigolds, the trees turning into the color of flames

Bin can’t help but watch, and when Jinjin comes back, he sees his boss staring like a puppy at you greeting and blessing farmers

“uh—?”

“jinjin i want to know who she is”

“uhm”

“i will marry her immediately” bin declares, holding his right hand man

“I GOTTA KNOW”

“that’s persephone”

Bin literally almost choked on his own fucking saliva

“WHAT?”

“fuck sire, uh, dude idk how to tell you, but, yeah,”

he looks at you, sighing

well

now he’s

royally

fucked

thankfully though

Cupid is there

and he knows about puppy love from 478645 miles away

so he takes you by the arm

“Y/N???????/ omg it has been SOOOOOOOO long sis okay let’s go”

so while hades is having a fucking mental breakdown

cupid is bringing you, unknowingly to hades

Jinjin is like “hell no” so he shapeshifts as Bin, and hides him near Zeus who is trYING TO HAVE A NICE NIGHT WITH HERA DAMMIT-

so when Cupid makes Jinjin turn around

he’s met with the god of sleep

nevertheless you see he’s a worker for Hades, and meet a new god yay

and cupid’s plan is foiled

when you go home from the festival

ur all sad you couldn’t see Hades yourself

But he is trying not to freak out that he is in love

“your majesty?”

he looks up, thinking his heart cant take the heartbreak jinjin will tell him

“I went to the Oracle,”

he looks up with little tears in his eyes

“hmm?”

“uhm. . .you’re going to be wed by the end of this year, with the first girl you fall in love with”

from your room on olympus

you definitely heard Hades scream in fear

so after a few weeks he’s calmed down

and you’re being good for your Mom

you were still thinking about Hades, but maybe if you were good, you could meet him?

but nevertheless because you were being good demeter let you roam without any guard nymphs

so you’re humming and making yourself a flower crown

just vibing

when you hear a huge ass crack

you look over and there he is

Moon Bin, King Hades of the Underworld

he wears a very and I mean very revealing overcoat

he has no shirt on ;)

but he has pushed back hair, and he looks

so

hot

you felt something come out of your nose

fuck you’re nosebleeding

he has a tall Dobermann that is about to his chest

“uh, are you, persephone?” Bin asks shyly

It felt like he was preparing this for 2567236278 centuries

it almost seems unreal to just be near you again

you nod, standing up since you were kneeling

dude you wanna kiss him omg mg he looks even better than you had imagined

he gives you the BESt smile omg you are aleady in love

“Would you like to be my queen, Y/N?”

[flitsy]

I just. Had a weird dream that ended in Harry Potter/Snape?? And like. I never shipped that. Ever. But brain says 'Hey, guess what! We’re doing this now!’

Basically he end up in Severus' past and is just. Subtly changing things not even on purpose most of the time. Cause I guess whatever method he used to get there kept him tied to his own timeline/present by giving him metaphysical ties to people that he knew/knows? And Snape's was the most persistent. No matter how many times he kept severing them to keep from feeling them tugging at him all the time. He didn't even know it was him at first though. Just like. A kid that was being bullied. And eventually he's going through the timeline, ending up where Snape's like. Twenty-four and working as a professor at Hogwarts. And he's been twenty-one this whole time, so no real big age difference. I don't know why I know this, it was just important, I guess lol. 

And people can't see him unless he wants them to, so he's half pretending to a student, even though he's clearly over-age and half spending the rest of his time as a snake cause apparently he's an animagus and follow Severus around. Now when in this form he can't stop people from seeing him and Snape is just. What the fuck is this snake, why does he feel an odd, literal connection to it, why will it not go away? So whenever he feels his presence he's trying to hunt it down and Harry makes a game of it, cause why not? 

Eventually Dumbledore catches on, figures out who he is via snooping into magical teleporting telephone booths that Harry's been using and actively tried to sabotage but didn't work. He was human and visible at the time and tries to go out with them to 'snoop', but since he's a 'student' Snape tells him to stay right there and don't move. So of course he just. Lays down on the floor and says okay all cheerful. They leave, he gets up, makes himself invisible, rushes ahead of them to the other side of the gate. They open it, he's visible again. "Hi! So where we going?"

“How did you learn how to teleport?”

“I didn’t!” He proceeds to follow them anyway. Helping check into the phone booths and about who used them last. Apparently his name is registered even through time and space. Who knew. The last one however, he’s distracted by Snape being hit by some kind of stray spell, IDEK and ending up in a leather jacket and on a motorcycle for some reason??? So Dumbledore knows now. Invites him into his office for a sherbet lemon, which he takes cause it’s Dumbledore and unless he takes one, he won’t stop offering. 

But hey, guess what? Sherbet lemon’s dosed with veritaserum. So whoops. That was a mistake. Some of the truth comes out, but Harry manages to derail the whole thing by spotting something out the window. Hey, it’s some guy on a parasail. Except wait, that’s not just any guy! That’s a Death Eater, I guess! A bad guy! Harry throws himself out the window, sprouting wings in the process????? And flies after the guy. 

And hey, what’s that up in they sky? A giant Eye of Sauron??????? Taking on the role of Voldemort. Okay then! It’s shooting beams at him and Dumbledore both, cause I guess he can fly without wings apparently. So they’re flying around for a while, trying to get away, Eye of Sauron mentions Severus, Harry panics, flies back to the castle, grabs Snape and flies back off into the metaphorical sunset. I don’t know how they win, but they do somehow, day is saved, etc. 

They’re back at the castle, Snape’s office has been moved. Harry finds it, still has the wings, don’t know why. Is all shy and sheepish cause now he knows about him being the snake. Smooches the hell out of him over his desk in a ‘this is gonna be the last time we see each other’ desperation move. Tries to leave, but is called back. Snape ain’t having it. Scolds him for being stupid. Harry’s pouting on the floor, covering his face with his wings. They end up hugging, Snape’s back to Harry’s front and for some damned reason his robe is low enough that Harry can kiss at his neck, so he does that for a while. End dream?????????

[studiobeebo]

hhnh sorry this took so long i mentioned an oc gorl i made up a lil while back and i finally have her info put together!! so ye here she is uwu

Basic Information

Name: Misaki Otsuka

  Name Meaning (If applicable): Misaki meaning ‘Beautiful Blossom’

Nickname(s): Buttercup

Alias: Undecided

Age: 16

Birthday: December 8th

Zodiac: Sagittarius

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Straight

Nationality: American/Japanese

Affiliation: UA General Studies Course

Appearance

Height: 5’0”

Weight: 110 LB

Figure: Misaki has a more pear like figure, being thinner up top with her thighs/hips being a bit thicker.

Skin Tone: Dark with red/gold undertones 

Eye Color: undecidednkjsf

Hair Color: It fades from a deep forest green to a brighter leafy green.

Hair Style: Her hair falls in big soft curls and is actually pretty long, reaching to just above her waist. While she leaves her hair mostly down, her quirk leads to the appearance of having two small buns at the top of her head which are actually two flowers, but she usually just wraps her hair around the base of said flowers.

Facial Features : A lil dusting of freckles over the bridge of her nose.

Scars: None.

Piercings/Tattoos: None.

Distinguishing Features: None, other than her quirk.

⇩ ⇩ Appearance Ref Below ⇩ ⇩ (amazing artwork done by @8bitribbit!! check out her commission info here!)

Personality

Misaki is generally calm and collected, but she’s also very bright and cheery! She tries to remain optimistic and she had a solid group of friends, but she’s not extremely overly talkative or loud. Due to her quirk, however, her mood often depends on her surroundings. She works a bit like a flower would itself, so when it’s sunny and she’s well hydrated she may be more energetic and happy, but if she’s dehydrated and it’s dark out she’s more groggy and maybe a bit grumpy or less talkative.

Quirk

Quirk Name: Medicinal Botanokinesis

    Explanation of Quirk: Misaki is able to produce and expel medicinal pollen from two flowers that sprout from either side of her head, often looking like double buns in her hair! The flowers fall off at least once a day and grow back just as quickly as another type flower. With each flower, she can use a different ‘ability’ depending on the components of the flower who’s pollen she expels. For example, if she has lavender flowers growing from her head, the pollen expelled can help make someone feel sleepy. Sunflowers could help reduce menstrual pains, angelica herb can be used to help heal colds and coughs, and so on. Some days, however, the flowers that sprout from her head have really no medicinal usage, so her quirk is rather ineffective during those times. She can expel pollen whenever she wants, but it is possible for her to ‘run out’, so she tries to only use her quirk when it’s needed.

Moodboard

Extra Information

Misaki thinks it’s super embarrassing when flowers that are weeds, such as dandelions, grow from her, so she’ll often be wearing a hat of sorts on those days and have it pulled down as much as she can.

She often harvests flowers she creates that can be used as herbs, such as lavender or chamomile! Most of the time she’ll use them to make her own blends of teas, but sometime she’ll bake with them as well!

She loves taking pictures of friends so sometimes she might ask them to pose, she likes to save happy memories in one of her many scrapbooks!

⇩ ⇩ more in depth info below! ⇩ ⇩

Clothing

Casual Style: Misaki loves ‘simple but cute’ so she’s all about nice jeans with a t shirt or blouse, so not lazy casual but not too dressy either. She also l o v e s overalls and they take over half of her wardrobe and her favorite outfit is her summer short overalls, a cute patterned tee, and a sunhat!

Common Accessories: A necklace with a small buttercup flower pendant. Also when she’s not in school, she almost always has her old fashioned Polaroid camera hanging around her neck!

Characteristics

Temper: She has a pretty average temper, but she is unfortunately an angry crier.

Strengths: She’s good at assessing situations around her and staying calm in frantic environments!

Weaknesses: She’s a bit awkward about sharing more serious feelings that are a bit more negative.

Goals/Drives/Dreams: She wants to become a plant geneticist mostly to be able to understand herself and her own quirk better and how both she and plants themselves can be used to help the world. She also wants to do field work, but that depends on how far she gets on being able to heal with her quirk.

Fears: She fears those around her feeling sad or depressed, so she tries her best to keep a happy attitude herself.

Likes: Gardening, photography, kayaking, hiking, crafty activities

Dislikes: Puzzles, being stuck indoors for too long, cold weather

Skills/Hobbies: Naturally she’s very good at gardening and her photography skills aren’t bad either!

Quirks: She physically looks more ‘wilted’ on cloudy or cold days, becoming more sluggish and having a slouched stature.

Health

Physical Health: She has a weakness for sweets and she doesn’t work out too often sooo she probably could be a bit healthier, but for a teen I’d say she is pretty average.

Mental Health: Mostly good! Like anyone she does suffer from bouts of depression here or there. She also suffers from panic attacks occasionally, but this only happens under extreme stress or anxiety.

    Mental Disabilities: None.

Sleeping Habits: Pretty good actually! Because of her plant like nature she gets sleepy almost immediately after the sun sets, so she’s usually in bed by 9pm at the latest.

Eating Habits: Not great, she has a major sweet tooth, she’s just lucky most of her weight goes to the “right” spots.

Inhibiting Injuries: None.

Relationships

Mother

    Name: Imani Otsuka

    Quirk: She has a small water spout on her head, but it’s hard to see past her hair and doesn’t serve much purpose.

    Relationship Status: Imani almost single handedly raised Misaki so they’re very close, Misaki is like a textbook definition of a mamma’s girl.

Father

    Name: Ren Otsuka (Deceased)

    Quirk: His entire body makeup is like that of a plants, giving his skin a greenish tint and allowing him to ‘eat’ through photosynthesis.

    Relationship Status: When he was still alive, Misaki was very close to him and grew up learning everything she knew about plants and gardening from him. Unfortunately he was taken from her when she was eight years old due to a sickness that couldn’t be cured in the same way as usual due to his genetic make up not being very human.

Friend

   Name: Tsukiko Kojima

   Relationship: They’re very good friends as they both have a similar interests in gardening and their kind personalities fit each other well!

Friend

    Name: Mina Ashido

    Relationship: Even though she hasn’t known her for a while and they aren’t in the same class, Misaki loves Mina’s happy spirit and she often gives her her own energy boost for the day.

Best/Closest Friend(s)

    Name: Tsuyu Asui

    Relationship: They went to the same middle school together and Tsu was the first friend she made after moving away from her old school district so they’re very close!

Love Interest/Crush

    Name: Todoroki maybe?? idek I have no clue tbqh

    Relationship:

Pets: Two chubby dumbo rats named Pancake and Tootsie.

History

Early Childhood (Birth - Age 6): Even though she doesn’t remember it, when she was born things for her parents were a bit difficult because at the time, they had still yet to get married, and while Imani spent a lot of time doing work in Japan, which is where she met Ren, she still lived in the United States. Once they were both stable enough to settle down, however, they quickly got married and Imani moved in with Ren in Japan. They were lucky to have decent jobs and while their lifestyles weren’t lavish, they made enough to live comfortably and Misaki was a happy young girl!

It was when Misaki was six years old that she developed her quirk, two round hydrangea’s simply popping up on her head one morning, however she didn’t learn the full extent of her quirk until she was older.

Mid Childhood (Age 7 - Age 13): Misaki was living a good, simple life, however things changed when she was about seven years old and her father fell ill. With him having to leave his work and Imani having to take care of him, things became a bit more stressful, however they were still as happy as they could be, Imani always teaching Misaki to make the best of even the worst situations.

Unfortunately, because Ren’s physical makeup was different then the average human, modern medicine at the time wasn’t able to help him and before the doctors working with him were able how to accommodate to him, he passed away. For a while after his death, their family was a bit of a mess, both Misaki and her mother hurting greatly. Misaki even had to leave school for a while, both her and her mother dropping into a depressive state, however her mother was a strong woman and soon picked herself up for the sake of her daughter and helped her daughter get along as well. She decided they needed a new start, but instead of moving back to America she simply moved her and her daughter to a new district closer to Tokyo. While Misaki was still upset over the loss of her father, she was quick to make friends at her new school, one of them being Tsuyu Asui. It took about a year, but she eventually got back to her usual calm and happy self, deciding she wanted to celebrate the memories she had of her father rather than dwell on the fact that he was no longer with her.

Teenage Years (Age 14 - Present): Even though she hadn’t gotten an exact lock on what she wanted to do career wise, Misaki had heard all about UA and knew that a diploma from such a school would surely help her in her journey, plus she hoped even if she didn’t enroll in the hero course that she could find help with developing her quirk. All that along with the fact that her best friend also planned on going to the same school and she knew this was the place for her. She didn’t get in with top scores, but to her that just meant she had plenty of room to improve, so she accepted the offer that she had worked hard for and is now on her way to wherever her journey would lead her. 

[onewfantaesy]

Au where taemin is a mythical creature of some sort idek he glows purple in the dark and his eyes glow and he can make wings sprout from his back idek that’s its that’s the whole story taemin is basically a fairy and he’s pretty maybe he’s a god idek

I wanna write some norse mythology bullshit but I’m all scatter brained today so who knows

[bollywood-and-phoenix-feather]

*sails in* soooo if you're still taking prompts *waggles eyebrows* Can I get cutesy Maurauders + Lily shenanigans? Idek what kind of shenanigans, but preferably pre-ship mutually pining wolfstar & pre-ship banter Jily. I was gonna ask for angst but then I realized that my poor heart Can't Take It.

no angst, she says

sorry this took me forever babe

read it on ao3 here

James and Sirius are, with their usual propensity for very bad timing, having a Standoff.

Peter knows this because James has actually finished his homework on Cheering Charms, despite his continued and vociferous objections when the assignment was announced in class. This, naturally, means that James will have an excuse to be best friends with Remus and ignore Sirius; ergo, Remus will be quite obviously too happy to be included to worry overmuch about Gryffindor Tower’s resident drama queen. In sum (and here’s what Peter’s good at; not charms, but people) - in sum, this means that Peter will be stuck entertaining Sirius Arsing Black while pretending that he wouldn’t rather be literally anywhere else.

That’s the thing about the four of them; they’re really only friends sometimes, and how many friends each of them has varies based on the day and its succession of probabilities; minimum none, maximum three, with Remus, to his astonishment, holding the candle for the highest calculated mean.

Remus must be the easiest to get along with; he’s quiet and unassuming and mostly just astonished to have friends. It works, of course, for James and Sirius, who probably get off on being adored, but not Peter. Peter is content to watch.

Does that make him strange?

He wonders this, as Sirius places another card on top of the already-precarious house of Exploding Snaps Cards. As a rule, the sharper Sirius’s fragile construction’s angles, the more brassed off he is, and today the cards are nearly vertical. Peter is aware, distantly, that he’s going to win, and that this will sour Sirius’s mood further. He wonders if he can Incendio his own stack without Sirius noticing.

He probably can. Sirius isn’t a watcher, like Peter, which brings him back to the point, as he nudges his wand inside his pocket and then darts back before the cards explode spectacularly in his face. Peter doesn’t, actually, think it’s strange. Really, he sometimes thinks he’s the most Gryffindor of them all; he’s good at losing himself and being brave for others - at looking at the bigger picture, at realizing that some things are more important than his own insecurities.

This also has the consequence of making him the most valuable Marauder. James and Sirius are too flashy to be of much pranking use; Remus not daring enough - so it falls to Peter to mastermind, to use the genius that surrounds him to bring pranks to life.

This is why James and Peter are friends. Sirius and Peter are friends because Peter takes slightly less bullshit from him than James does. Remus and Peter, however -

Remus and Peter are friends because of the boggart assignment.

Remus and Peter are friends because Peter knows about Remus and the full moon, and Remus knows about Peter’s Muggle dad, and they very particularly don’t talk about it and instead tell each other the locations of their private Honeydukes stashes.

(They are also friends because when Peter, watching as always, saw the way Remus stared at Sirius like he was the star he was named for, he just offered him an Acid Pop - one pain to distract from another.)

Peter realizes with a dawning self-awareness that Sirius may not, in fact, be the most dramatic of their lot. Then again, thirteen though they may be, they are simultaneously much older with experience and much younger with the giddy freedom Hogwarts provides - all except for James, who knows what it is to grow up happy, who actually looks forward to summer hols.

(In two years, Sirius will get absolutely sloshed on nicked Firewhisky and admit to Peter, slurred and soft, that no, I wouldn’t trust myself with one of them little buggers, the whole bloody world knows I’m too much like that - that - absolute tit of a Mum I’ve got, but really Peter, one day you ‘n James 'n Remus 'n especially James are going to raise a whole host of brats, and you bet I’m gonna be there to treat them right -

Peter will carefully omit the fact that Remus once told him something very similar, in the lofty tones he gets after the moon when he’s too tired to soften his speech - I’d never wish that kind of - that fucking wolf - on a kid, Peter, I couldn’t -

Good thing you’re bent as Wagnar the Wild’s cursed dick, then, Peter will say, just to make him laugh, even though it’s not, strictly, true. Remus will smile anyway.)

Pain and love and heartbreak, which are all the same thing; prank plans and maps that melt back into their parchment - Peter keeps these close to his chest, guarding them because they belong to his friends. He’s always been their Secret-Keeper, and Merlin knows they need one, these boys with brazenness hanging around their shoulders like tattered Quidditch cloaks, who wouldn’t know subtlety if it was printed on Snape’s gray underpants.

Right now, for example, the night of October 30th, that brazenness is in full force - right now, James and Sirius are having a Standoff, and Peter holds the secret behind this too.

He’d like to think that this one is a little more painless than the others, but where Snivellus is involved, that’s never true. Slimy Snape, however, isn’t the secret this time - it’s his friend with the blazing hair and attitude and the heavy, heavy chip on her shoulder.

(Peter thinks distantly that his friends should have better taste.)

“Now that Prince James has condescended to grace us with his presence - ”

“I was helping Evans with her detention, fuck off - ”

“ - and has perhaps remembered who his real friends are - ”

“Sirius, I swear on Merlin’s saggy fucking tits - ”

“Language,” says Remus, idly. “Are we going to start or not?” Peter meets his eye, rewards him with a sympathetic eyeroll for speaking up.

“We might have an hour ago if James hadn’t run off with some - ”

“Jealousy is unbecoming,” Remus starts -

“As if you’ve ever had to deal with being jealous - ” Sirius says, immediately. Peter winces, and Remus colors, shutting his mouth audibly.

Peter chooses this moment to clear his throat. “Three cheers for Sirius, who got the mass release charm working,” he says, raising his voice, because flattery always smooths things over. The teachers think he worships the other three, but that’s not quite true; he’s just more willing to concede. Less stubborn pride, a bit more sense. “Did we decide on Dungbombs or Smokebombs?” he asks, opening the floor.

With a - thank Merlin - minimum of whinging, the annual Halloween Prank Planner’s Meeting Number Four is set back on track.

James makes a lot of hand gestures. Sirius makes a lot more hand gestures, most of which are more crude. Remus pokes at places on a map of the castle with his wand, letting it spark each time he does. Sirius yells a little, James yells quite a lot, and Remus yells not at all.

Peter watches, and decides.

It’s always worked for them, and it will this time as well. Without too much broken glass, and less ripped curtains than last year, the plans are set.

The evening of the Halloween feast is crisp and clear; they watch the artificial sky closely for rain, but Fortune has conceded to favor their audacity. It’s the first year they’ve tried anything bigger than the Gryffindor common room, and Peter can see it on their faces, alive and dancing. Remus has placed the bombs, James and Sirius have activated the delayed release charms, and Peter has headed off Crib, the aging Squib janitor.

The stage is set, Peter thinks, and he settles in to watch.

It is, in his definitely-unbiased opinion, thoroughly magnificent. Thick, magenta-orange smoke billows from the mouth of each painstakingly-charmed gargoyle, smothing teachers and students alike in vibrant powder. When everyone is coughing, wands lit to see through the haze, Sirius lights the powder with a flick of his wand, unleashing a Halloween surprise on the unsuspecting student body.

Teachers watch their teeth lengthen and bloody in horror as their faces dip with unnatural pallor; the Hufflepuff table sprouts fur in Remus’s idea of a bad joke. The Slytherin table (obviously) grows scales; Snivellus gets to turn into an eel, wet and flopping around, causing most of the table to shriek in disgust. The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students sprout feathers, the Gryffindors puffing up towards the ceiling like balloons while the Ravenclaws see their arms growing membranous bat wings.

In the middle are the Marauders, triumphant with faces and robes alight.

As quickly as it starts, it’s over; students and teachers sink gratefully back into their own bodies, with the exception of Snivellus. With a little more work, Peter thinks, they could extend the spell to hit during classes instead of at the feast.

Professor McGonagall is furious, and good old Dumbledore orders them to his office immediately, but Peter can see McGonagall’s mouth twitching furiously, the sparkle in Dumbledore’s blue eyes. They’re safe, for now.

Sirius is hollering with fierce joy - “Bloody well worked, didn’t it, well done Lupin - ”

“It was you, you got the charm working - ”

“ - don’t you lot go forgetting who placed all those fiddly smoke bombs,” James puts in, not willing to be left out.

Peter grins as he watches them argue, because these are his friends and today, they’re kings.

*

The trip to the headmaster’s goes much as expected. Dumbledore and McGonagall take each of them aside, asking if they might possibly know the instigator’s of tonight’s antics.

Peter shakes his head, lets his eyes go wide and innocent. “It was probably one of the fourth-years,” he says. “Saw Bones and her Hufflepuff friends looking shifty this morning.”

McGonagall’s nostrils flare. “Pettigrew,” she says, not unkindly. “It will be better for both you and your friends if you tell me the truth.”

Dumbledore’s gaze pierces him, and Peter swallows down a sudden, bright gulp of fear. They’ll all get detention anyway, and he doubts anyone would see him any differently if he told - after all, everyone already knows they did it, Sirius was yelling loud enough to wake the ghosts -

Someone bangs on the office door. “Minnie,” says James, impudent. “We didn’t do it, we swear! Can we go, now?”

His friends are outside, and he’s their Secret-Keeper. Peter smiles guilelessly at the two, and says, “I am telling the truth, Professors.”

*

Peter is right. They get detention anyway and Sirius complains bitterly and Remus just smiles in resignation and rolls up his sleeves and James throws an arm around Peter’s shoulder and tells him thanks for not telling, I know you were scared, and Peter wonders suddenly if he’s not the only one who watches.

*

(It’s still the best day of their lives. The Halloween Prank is cemented as tradition almost immediately; the full moon is conveniently avoiding the Halloween weekend, which means they can plot, succeed, and drink celebratory butterbeer the night of Sirius’s birthday in peace.

McGonagall’s punishment doesn’t start until the fourth of November - Sirius says it’s because Minnie secretly cares and doesn’t want to lock him up in detention on his birthday, but James thinks it’s Dumbledore’s idea of a last hurrah. Peter thinks they’re both right.

Later, when the other two are asleep, Sirius will confide to him, hushed and young, I hope it’s like this always.)