#it's another story when my classmates used one little mistake i made in the paperwork i had given to my teacher in elementary school

[kelin-is-writing]

i... i read your name as 'kelvin'🧍‍♂️ im sorry 😅

well, my name gets misread a lot, so i'm not surprised anymore 😂😂

sometimes it gets read as kevin others as kenny, this is the first time someone misreads it as kelvin lmfao

but yeah... my name is kelin, pronounced as ké-lìn. it actually annoys me more when peoples don’t put the right accent when pronouncing it than when they misread it lol still!!! no biggie anon, there’s no need to apologise 😋

[kampfkuchen85]

You´re so fake

Characters: Rindo Haitani, Ran Haitani, Sanzu Akashi, Hajime Kokonoi

Note: english isn't my first language, so there could be mistakes

Part 1 - next

Masterlist

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It was already past midnight, when Ran, Sanzu and Koko came back from their mission. It wasn´t something difficult, just a normal meeting including dinner - if you can say ‘normal’ relating to the three bonten members - talking about money, future plans, cooperations etc.

Rindo was already sitting on the couch in the meeting room of their own headquarters, when the three said men arrived back, all of them in a good mood, which made Rindo suspicious.

“May I know what happened? Why the playful mood? Did you make a million dollar deal with that asshole?”

He knew that guy they had dinner with, a middle-aged, smeary business shark. A guy who changed his mind in an instant when he feels like it, corrupt and rotten. He didn't trust him and didn't want to get Bonten into trouble because of possible disagreements, so that's why he stayed in the headquarters, doing the paperwork involuntarily.

“Unfortunately not”, Kokonoi replied, “but your brother had the fun of his life. You should´ve come with us. It was really amusing.”

Rindo was waiting for a more detailed answer, while his brother sat down next to him after he took a glass and the whiskey bottle from the mini bar.

“Guess who I met today.”

“How should I know? We know half of the Japanese population.”

“Take a guess.”

“Fuck you.”

“You´re no fun, little brother”, Ran sighed. “Okay, I´ll give you a tip”, pausing for a moment to think of anything useful. “Do you remember the classmate who had a crush on you in middle school?” While he saw Rindos raised eyebrows, he was thinking of another tip. “The one with the glasses that you called ‘bookworm’?”

“L/N Y/N?”, he asked hesitantly, not sure if it's the right name. There were some girls in his class with glasses, some of them were bookworms too, but you were the only one who had a crush on him. He even received Valentine's chocolate from you,remembering that he mumbled a short ‘thanks’ and then ignored you for the rest of his middle school life. Your crush on him faded away over time, because of his actions. Well, you never approached him in that way again, you were just normal classmates.

“Exactly!” Ran snipped with his fingers. “And now guess who's number I got.”

“Y/Ns?”, Rindo groaned annoyed, not wanting to continue this stupid game. “Congratulations. You´ve got the number of a nerd. I hope you're happy.”

“A hot nerd”, Sanzu interfered, sitting down on the leather chair next to the couch, pouring some whiskey in his own glass.

“Hot? Are we talking about the same person? If I remember correctly she was ugly as shit. She scared me with those big glasses.”

“You were scared by a girl with glasses while you and your brother had Roppongi completely under your control?” Sanzu laughed, earning another ‘Fuck you’ from Rindo.

“Unfortunately, she was with the old sack. I don't know what kind of relationship they have, but they seemed pretty close. She was always clinging onto him, always laughing about his stupid jokes, maybe he's her sugar daddy.”

“He can't be her sugar daddy”, Kokonoi interrupted. “I've checked his bank account. He doesn't have enough money to be one and her dumb attitude was faked, if you ask me.”

“Yes, more than fake”, Sanzu nodded agreeingly. “Even a blind person with a cane could´ve seen that.”

“Then why is she with that old fart, when it's not because of his money? His looks?” Ran laughed about his own joke. “Maybe he's good in bed?” He faked a gag when he imagined you under that old guy.

“So, how did you get her number when they were attached at the hips?”, Rindo asked, but he would never admit that he was interested in that story.

“I asked her when she went to the bathroom to freshen her makeup”, shrugging with his shoulders as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “She still knew me from middle school even if we weren't in the same class.”

He leaned closer to his little brother, showing him a picture of you which he took secretly.

“Look! What do you think? Hot or nah?”

Rindo adjusted his glasses - he's still wearing them when he´s doing paperworks - before he looked at said picture. It was of low quality and you had to zoom in to recognize you, but it was definitely you. You changed a lot - maybe you´re still a bookworm, but you looked great. “Moderate”, he leaned back again, crossing his arms under his chest.

Ran smirked, well knowing that his brother was lying and too stubborn to admit that he was right.

“So you don't want to come with us next time? I mean…indulging in old memories together or something like that?”

“You mean, old memories of rejecting her?”, Sanzu giggled. “Man, I wouldn't kick her out of my bed.”

“We'll see”, Rindo mumbled. He could've asked Ran for your number, but all of them would have made fun of him and he doesn't want to deal with that shit. So the only possible way to meet you is to join the next meeting - while ignoring the old sack beside you.

[moonlit-imagines]

Misbehavior (Part 1)

Jason Todd x batkid!reader

warnings:

a/n: tysm anon!!

prompt: anonymous: “Hello Lacey! Hope your doing great! Could I please request a bat family x batsis!reader where the reader is Kind of the middle child (I was thinking older than Damian but younger than Tim) and she’s always forgotten and in the back. Maybe some scenarios can be that no one listens when she talks or they forget to invite her to do stuff. So then one day she acts up in school like maybe punching someone for no good reason because she’s craving attention but instead of Bruce showing up to get her Jason shows up and he sees that she’s actually really sad and starts to question her until she tells him everything and maybe spills some tears and it ends with just Jason comforting her and cheering her up. Just some soft Jason for my soul! Also have a great day and I hope that you feel better and more motivated now after your break! 😘”

part 2

No matter what you did, none of your deeds went unnoticed. Good or bad.

You always heard how Dick was so independent, the one everyone should use as an example.

You always heard how Barbara could do it all, she never failed to impress.

You always heard how Jason was reckless, someone who needed to get his act together.

You always heard how Tim was such a prodigy, he was one of a kind.

You always heard how Steph was so determined, she had such amazing goals.

You always heard that Cass was perfect, they’d never change a thing about her.

You always heard that Duke was so strong, he’d never give up no matter what stood in his way.

You always heard that Damian was dangerous, a kid that needed to be guided.

But what about you? What did they hear about you? Nothing. No one ever spoke of you, they didn’t have the time. It seemed as if you were just unimpressive, there wasn’t one thing that needed to be mentioned. Stuck in the middle of a bunch of bats and birds, no way to stand out in the crowd.

Maybe not in a mask or a cowl, a dress or a suit, behind a computer or among the darkness, but there was one place you couldn’t be ignored...

You sat at your desk, picking at old tape with the tip of your fingernail. The teacher had nothing interesting to say, so what was the point of being here? What made Gotham Academy so special that you just had to attend this place?

The uniform was overkill, the classes went nowhere, the students were too preppy, and you didn’t have a single thing in common with anyone here.

Anger was starting to bubble inside you as you continued your internal self-loathing. Your mind was only focused on the negative, but it was shifting from school back to home.

No one was ever there for you, not even on patrol. You’d called for backup several times on missions and nearly lost it all when you had to go in alone. If it were anyone else, a teammate would have met them in a heartbeat.

Your plans were always overshadowed whenever you tried to set up a mission or even just a day off. You wanted cookies? Too bad, Tim wants brownies. You wanted to watch a movie? Too bad, everyone chose a TV show. It was the little things that irked you the most. Half the time, you never even got the memo.

And what about when you all come back from patrol with all sorts of injuries and Alfred comes to patch you up? Well, not you. He’ll run to check on cuts and scrapes. Meanwhile, you had a broken wrist and a black eye.

You’d finally run out of things to pick at around your desk which resorted in you tapping instead. There was a brief bit of zoning out as you remembered the time that Damian’s plan for evading Killer Croc’s attack was to push you in the way. Or the time that Jason hid his guns in your bed for reasons he didn’t care to explain. Or when Dick drank the last of the milk and didn’t tell you until after you poured your cereal. Or when Tim told you that you weren’t fit for the mission he had been planning. Or when Bruce blatantly ignored the story you told out of pure excitement, giving you nothing but a “sounds like you had fun.”

While you were in a horrible daze, you felt a hand on your shoulder that snapped you out of it faster than the Barry Allen. Without even evaluating the situation, your reflexes caused you to turn and twist your classmates arm backwards as he screamed.

“Hey! Stop, ow, that hurts! Stop! Stop it!” You processed his words too late and knew exactly what was coming next.

“Y/N L/N!” You teacher shouted as you drew your hand back. “Dean’s office. Right now.” Her sharp voice sent a chill down your spine, not even the Joker could do that. You’d be able to explain the situation pretty easily, you just didn’t want to make it worse. But there was one ankle that sent you off the edge. Another student tripped you on your way through the aisles, and that student caught a fist to the face. The audience gasped and shouting from your teacher ensued, but you didn’t listen, you’d take the punishment at this point. So you walked right out and headed for the dean’s office without so much as a hall pass.

“Mx. l/n? What’s this about?” Dean Williams was surprised to say the least, you’d never been sent in for discipline before. Was there a certain way to do this?

“Well, I zoned out and some kid behind me grabbed my shoulder, I accidentally twisted his arm.” You retold your story, the abridged version. “But on my way out I punched a kid in the face because he tripped me. That one’s on me.”

“...Well,” the dean frowned at his obligations, but had to go through with some kind of punishment, “I’m going to have to suspend you for physical contact with a student. I’ll call your father to come pick you up.” You shrugged and slouched back in your chair, giving up on any hope of talking your way out of this. It might as well just happen. You listened to the clicking of the buttons on the dean’s phone as he typed in the Wayne Manor phone number, obviously reaching Alfred almost immediately.

“Wayne Manor.” You eard his faint voice through the speaker.

“Hello, this is Dean Williams from Gotham Academy, may I speak to Mr. Wayne? I have his child in my office.” Your dean explained over the phone, peeking back at your for a split second. You were completely unbothered, it was baffling.

“Is it Damian?” You heard him ask, causing an involuntary eye roll.

“Y/N, actually.” There was a long pause before someone else picked up the phone. “Mr. Wayne, this is Dean Williams at Gotham Academy. I have y/n sitting across from me right now, they seemed to have gotten themself into a physical altercation with two separate students, I have no choice but to suspend them.” You heard a deep sigh over the phone, then the handheld piece was handed to you.

“Bruce?” You asked.

“Really? Fighting at school?” He sounded unimpressed. Nothing new, even when you do something new.

“Something like that. Whoops.” He hung up on you right after that, so you handed the phone back and told your dean, “Guess they’ll get me soon.”

“You call your father by his first name?” Dean Williams had nosily questioned.

“I’m adopted.” He obviously didn’t know you as well as your more troublesome sibling, it was time he just minded his business.

After a good thirty minutes of silent waiting while listening to keyboard clacking and papers flipping by the front desk, the office door opened, and to your surprise, it was one of your brothers.

“I’m here for y/n.” He mumbled, signing the piece of paper and showing his ID.

“Alright, Mr. Harper, I just have to check some paperwork really quick...” The receptionist went into your file and checked for your emergency contacts. “You’re all set. Now, y/n has been suspended for two weeks. I suggest you get to the bottom of their little ‘outburst’ before they’re able to come back to school.” It actually pissed Jason off to hear her say that.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” His sarcasm wasn’t subtle. “Come on, kid.” Your brother gripped your arm and led you out of the office, noticing your bitter expression that he couldn’t even rationalize. Was that normal? “So what happened. Bruce just told me to come get you.”

“Of course he did.” You rolled your eyes on the brink of tears, he didn’t even come to get you himself. Jason opened the car door for you and nudged you inside, slamming it once you were clear.

“You better have a good reason,” he warned as he started the engine, “I was in the middle of a poker game.”

“Oh, yeah, ‘cause I’m such an inconvenience.” You were starting to remind him of himself. That was never a good thing.

“Okay, my bad. I didn’t mean it like that.” Jason began speeding down the block, you’d never once seen him obey a speed limit. You’d think someone with a fake ID and a death certificate would want to avoid any run-ins with the cops, but Gotham was just one of those cities.

“Yeah, right.” You reached for the radio knobs and felt Jason’s hand wrap around your wrist.

“No music until you explain yourself.” You fell back into your seat to pout, muttering some curses under your breath. “I won’t tell Bruce or anyone. I swear.”

“I just zoned out. Reflexes.” You bluntly replied.

“What?” He still didn’t have any context to go off of.

“I twisted someone’s arm backwards. Honest mistake.” Jason knew there was more to this story. “But on my way out of the classroom, I punched this kid who tried to trip me. That was on him.”

“As much as I condone payback, you can’t do that at school.” He sighed. “You’ve never been sent home before. That I know of. So why now?”

“Yeah, you know, maybe that’s the issue? You couldn’t tell me if I’ve ever gotten in trouble before. None of you could. You couldn’t tell me a definitive thing about me. When’s my birthday, Jason?” He was at a loss for words. “That’s what I thought.”

“So this was all for attention?” Jason asked. “There’s a hell of a lot of better ways to go about that.”

“Tried them all, this one barely even worked.” You replied with a crack in your voice. “How come none of you care about me? Why am I always looked over? I’m just like the rest of you. I put on that stupid suit every night and kick ass, I get my job done, I get good grades, I’m resourceful, I’m special—” You’d let that last one slip in your rant to your older brother, it shocked him so bad he stopped the car.

“I know what you mean.” Jason stared straight ahead at the empty road. “I felt the same way when I came back. After everyone was used to me being back, it was like nothing ever happened. Bruce just went back to calling me careless, irresponsible.”

“At least you get noticed, Jason. Your identifiable.” You turned to him with a pained look and he risked his confidence to look you in the eye. Once he did, he couldn’t look away. It hurt him to see someone so familiar to himself have tears running down their face because they felt forgotten. No kid should ever have to feel like that. That was why Bruce took him in. That was how Jason became Robin.

“Fuck this.” Jason hit the gas and turned the car around. “We’re getting ice cream. Do you like ice cream? That’s a serious question.”

“I...I guess.” You were somewhat confused by his sudden literal change in direction.

“Good. You’re my kid for today, all my attention goes to you. I’m sure Bruce won’t notice if you’re gone for a few hours.” Jason’s jaw dropped at his last comment. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, you’re right and you should say it.”

taglist: @thatwaspossession // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove // @kinoko-kai //

[rolyatswonderland]

TWST: A Mermaid’s Tale Pt.2

Yay it’s part 2 ^o^ I’m still not sure how many part’s this’ll have, but at most possibly 4 or 5-? we’ll have to see ^^;

Thank you so much to my bestie @blackevermore for helping me beta read the story! ;7; 

Pt.1 - Pt.2(Here) - Pt.3(Soon)

Professor Divus sat quietly in his office, completing a stack of paperwork, until his door was roughly slammed open. He glared, watching a few papers from the stack fall to the floor due to a sudden breeze sweeping in, but the moment he saw the familiar shade of red hair all he could do was sigh in annoyance. 

“Ah, you four again, whatever could be the issue this time.” Professor Divus saw Grim’s flames and knew that it meant that Deuce and Rolyat weren’t far behind. In all his years of teaching he had dealt with many troublesome students, the flaw of teaching at an all boys school. However it seemed that this year of teaching a new litter of puppies as troublesome as this four really had him questioning his profession, and one was neither human and the other not a boy.�� Despite having dealt with many of their shenanigans before, the sight of Deuce carrying Rolyat with a mermaid tail certainly caught him off guard.

“Ah- W-Well you see Professor we...sorta need your help- haha.” Ace couldn’t help but laugh awkwardly as he scratched the back of his head, glancing over to Deuce who was still holding the newly transformed girl.

“Explain yourselves,” Divus commanded with a sharp glare, his stare so serious that surely the four students before him felt a shiver of fear go up their spines. Ace and Deuce took the lead in explaining what had happened, presenting him with the two cans of scales and Grim even admitting to his own mistake and stubbornness. He remained partially quiet for most of it, only letting out a hum in response or a nod. After they finished explaining, Professor Divus took the cans and examined them, turning them over before letting out a dissatisfied grumble.

“I see, some foolish pup did not properly label these containers.” Divus held the cans in his hands with a dissatisfied expression on his face, then looked to Ace who seemed to have a confused look on his face. 

“Uhm so, how come Roly didn’t turn into a whole fish on us? I mean she totally got splashed when the potion erupted but how come it’s just her legs that got the scale treatment?” Ace asked, Deuce and Grim nodding along, wondering the same thing.

“See this can here? It has a full fish drawn on the lid, this means that these were the fish scales you were meant to use in your assignment. ” Divus held up the still full can of celadon silver scales to show the group before placing it down and picking up the other can. “While this can looks like it has a fish on it, in actuality, it has only a fish tail drawn on, as these are mermaid scales that you seemed to have mistakenly dropped into your potion.” He held up the other can, displaying the pattern that could have been misinterpreted as a fish, but if viewed long enough will show the very obviously mermaid tail like pattern.

Deuce sighed, crossing his arms with a shamed look on his face,“Ah- they both just sort of looked like fish to us so...we weren’t exactly sure.” He felt quite foolish for not noticing such a difference before since he only paid attention to the labels. 

“Hmmm,” Professor Divus looked over to Rolyat. The girl had been awfully quiet throughout their discussion, seeming rather spacey and she simply stared down into her lap while being held in Spade’s arms.  “Miss Rolyat?” It took her a moment to respond, with a slow reaction time as she lifted her head, as if having just realized someone had called her name, she warily looked over to the Professor but didn’t say a word.

Staring intently, the Professor could see that the girls lips were awfully chapped and dry. Focusing his view on her tail he removed one of his gloves, reaching out his hand to touch at the pearlescent tail to find it surprisingly dry, with no feeling of the slick ooze that should have coated her tail. But after adding all these things together did he realize what was going on, looking at the boys with an urgent but serious look in his eyes. 

“I’d advise you three to find Miss Rolyat a body of water immediately, her scales have started to dry out in the air, so her body is quickly being affected by the changes from the potion.” 

“H-Huh? What does that mean?” Deuce asked, looking down at the girl in his arms with extreme confusion. 

“Merfolk can survive out of water but not for very long, if they are kept too far from a body of water like any regular fish they will begin to suffocate, and due to the circumstances of her sudden transformation I worry that Miss Rolyats dried out tail is evidence that such a process has slowly begun.”

“HUH!?” The trio all gaped in shock. Their friend..was going to suffocate!? Immediately panic set it as they frantically looked to one another for what to do, but it seemed like Ace was the quickest to calm down after he realized something. 

“I-I know just the place we can take her to! But Professor what about an antidote?” Ace asked concerned, looking over at his teacher in hopes of an answer, but the seemingly unsure expression on the Professors face drew a pit in his stomach. 

“Sadly I ordered all the materials for the reversal potion to come in tomorrow, seeing as that was when you all would turn in your finished assignments and we would have then proceeded to the next phase of turning the animals back into their original forms.” Divus crossed his arms as he continued to stare at the girl.  “I will go and discuss with Mr. Sam to see if we can obtain the materials sooner, but if not she should be fine as long as you find her a body of water to reside in until a reversal potion can be made, so for now I suggest you three hurry.” The trio nodded, taking a small bow before excusing themselves as they quickly exited the room. Divus could only sigh as he sat back down into his chair, resting his head in his hand with a troubled expression. “What troublesome puppies indeed…”

~~~

Ace ran ahead of the group with Grim still latched onto his shoulders, and Deuce was following close behind as he held on tightly to their friend. “S-So- Where are we going!?” Deuce shouted, the trio speeding past students who looked on in confusion and surprise.

“We’re heading for mostro lounge!” The red head’s answer almost made Deuce stop in his tracks entirely, but he continued running. 

“Huh!? The freaky fish dudes!? You want us to go there?” Grim yelled in surprise, completely baffled as to why they would ever need to go to the Octavinelle dorm. 

“Look those guys are fish people too right? So if anything they’re our best shot of helping us out! I mean they’ve got that big tank too in the lounge!” Ace looked back at Deuce as they ran. The trio didn’t have the fondest memories of the lounge, the place only serving as a reminder of their time as forced servers and Grims poor time as a dishwasher made them shutter. But if there were any people who could help their new mer-friend then it would have to be them. 

“H-Hang in there Roly, okay?” Deuce looked down at the poor girl in his arms, she didn’t so much as open her eyes but she could still hear him, weakly giving him a thumbs up in response. 

~~~

After weaving and bobbing past various students and racing to the hall of mirrors, not even hesitating for a moment before jumping into the Octavinelle portal. Soon they made a beeline for the lounge, bypassing any curious dorm members. 

“Huh!? The Doors are locked shut!” Ace was the first one to get there with Grim, doing his best to push open the lounges double doors only to find them shut tight. 

“Nyaa! What the hell! Don’t tell me they’re closed- there’s no way!” Grim shouted, baffled at the locked doors, seeing how Azul would never miss a chance for business unless he really needed to. 

“Stand aside!” Deuce yelled, still running down the corridor before stopping just a bit away from the doors, and without a second's hesitation he turned his body, raising his leg in the air to swiftly kick at the doors, the trio watching them open on impact with his kick. Ace and Grim stared dumbfounded at their friend for a moment before watching him rush inside, the duo shaking it off as they ran and followed right behind them.

“Oh my, it’s you four” the tall Jade Leech was currently behind the bar counter, drying away at some dishes while Floyd, who sat at the bar, swiveled around in his seat to see who had made all the racket.

“Ehh, it’s crab and mackerel, with little sealy and lil’ shrimp too?” Floyd tilted his head curiously as he got up out of his seat, noticing the ‘little shrimp’ not looking too good in the arms of her fellow classmate. 

“Just who do you lot think you are to cause such a commotion before opening hours?” An annoyed looking Azul came walking up the steps behind them, having heard the crash of the lounge’s doors opening and assessing the damages that would surely need to be paid back. 

“Argh look we’ll pay to fix the door but seriously let us use the tank!” Ace didn’t want to be bothered with getting bombarded with questions, pointing at the large tank in the lounge as he stared down with Jade with a surprisingly determined expression, especially due to the fact that Ace was still somewhat scared of them. 

“Oh? The tank you say?” Jade raised an eyebrow curiously at his underclassmen. His brother however just stalked closer to Deuce and Rolyat before reaching a hand out to take off the blazer on her waist, revealing the beautiful light pink tail. 

“Waah! Little shrimps got a tail!” Floyd looked rather surprised, staring at the girl's pearlescent tail in awe. 

“Okay yes she has a tail! Now just use that benevolent heart of yours and help us!” Ace shouted.

“Fgyaa! She’s gonna’ suffocate if we don’t hurry!” Grim followed right after. Grim and Ace’s words of panic seemed to fully settle in for the aquatic trio. Azul seemed shocked and baffled at the sight of the mermaid tail before quickly regaining composure, adjusting his glasses before looking to his vice dorm head. 

“R-Right, Jade?” Azul was hesitant but quickly found his wording and turned to his right hand man.

“Hm, right away,” Jade nodded, setting the glass down and quickly making his way around the bar, beckoning his hand for the underclassmen to follow him through a door in the back of the lounge. The doorway leads to a backroom with a metal staircase leading upwards, seemingly for the top of the large fish tank that spreads a good amount around the lounge and even has a tunnel that connects the tank to the vast ocean that surrounds the rest of the dorm. Quickly the group made their way up the staircase, stopping at a platform before the large opening of the tank, the trio looking at their friend warily. 

“Ah, pardon me but could I see Miss Rolyat for just a moment?” Jade held out his arms to Deuce who seemed wary at first, looking to his friends before Ace just nodded, telling him it would probably be alright. Deuce sighed, nodding back to Jade and handing him Rolyat. Jade immediately took notice of the girls pailing complexion and how dry the scales on her tail had become, so without a moment's hesitation he carefully slipped off the girls blazer and began unbuttoning her dress shirt, revealing the simple whitish pink camisole underneath. 

“What are you-” Deuce went to stop Jade but stopped in his tracks when Jade shot him a look.

“It’ll be much easier for her skin to breath since it’s quickly started to change, merfolk are not known for wearing heavy layers you know.” Jade’s words quickly cut off Ace’s, the trio were about to question their upperclassman actions before simply letting it be, feeling that he would know best. 

They did stand by and watch warily however, watching as Jade carefully lowered her body into the tank before letting her go as her body floated down to the bottom. He turned back to go down the stairs, the trio following close behind as they joined Floyd and Azul who were watching the tank to see what would happen.

Rolyat looked as if she were peacefully sleeping despite being in water. A couple of curious fish would swim over and stare, some even having the courage to nudge at her with what little force they had. Eventually however, her tail slowly started to move as her eyes fluttered open, she moved to sit up, tiredly confused until she came face to face with a yellow tang. 

She screamed, hardly any sound coming out but saw the pleather of bubbles spill out of her mouth, suddenly realizing where she was she quickly covered her mouth and shut her eyes. But she soon realized that she wasn’t drowning, she uncovered her mouth and warily opened her eyes, looking around with confusion and then looked back at her tail as she moved around. 

The sound of Jade gently knocking on the glass caught her attention, her view immediately catching sight of her friends as she clumsily swam over to them, head accidentally bumping into the glass barrier that separated them. Holding her head in slight pain she continued to look on in confusion, just barely being able to hear what they were saying as the group talked. 

“She may remain here and we’ll do our best to provide support where we can, however I will expect some form of compensation for the repairs on the door.” Azul adjusted his glasses as he stared at the troublesome trio. The group only seems to sigh in response. 

“Yeah yeah we will, sheesh.” Ace scratched the back of his head in annoyance as he glanced over to Deuce who seemed to be typing something on his phone before holding it up to the glass for Rolyat to see.

“We’ll come see you again when lunch time rolls around, but until then hang in there okay?” Deuce’s words of encouragement could barely be made out through the glass, but Rolyat read along with his phone, but all she could do was simply smile sweetly and nod her head. 

They parted ways and she waved goodbye as her friends ran off to class, but now she felt a feeling of loss as she floated in the take, unsure of what to do in her current state. 

She looked over to the Octavinelle trio, Azul simply nodding to her as he adjusted his glasses and walked away, likely going back to the vip lounge. Jade simply gave her his usual mysterious smile, taking a small bow to her before turning away and going to assess the damages of the door that Deuce had kicked through. Floyd on the other hand simply sat in the closest seat to the tank and grinned his sharp toothy smile at her, finding something amusing, which made her worried since Floyd’s smile’s could mean a plethora of things. 

So just as Deuce had told her, all she could do was simply hang in there until they found whatever they could to fix this mess, and hopefully it wouldn’t take too long.

[koko-doodle]

Danny Phantom: Spectral Shadows

PROLOGUE

It’s been a week since I was officially adopted. After living in the foster system for so long, I never thought I would end up belonging to someone. I believed I was going to be alone my whole life with no place I belong, or no place that really felt like home. I mean, who would want to adopt a delinquent 15 year old into their family? I close my textbook and sit back in my chair with a long exasperated sigh. Did I really just think that? Those are such cliche thoughts, I sound like the end of a storybook or something. I shake my head and look up to the window across the room. It had started to lightly rain and I watched the small drops of water hit the window with a soft tapping noise.

Three weeks ago is when this whole thing started. I never would have imagined that I would be out of the foster care system, let alone be living with the richest man in the country. When I was younger and dreamed about the day I would belong to a family, I didn’t exactly picture Vlad Masters as my adoptive father. He’s not exactly the most approachable person I’ve ever met, he doesn’t seem to have many relationships with people and considering how we met, you’d think a normal person wouldn’t invite someone who broke into their house to live with them permanently.

It started when I ran away from the foster home I lived in, I couldn’t handle being there anymore. It was suffocating. I was never good enough for any of the foster parents I lived with, always causing too much trouble and getting into fights often at school. I’ve never lasted longer than a year in a foster home. After a very intense fight with my current foster parents I packed what little I have and ran. I stole a car and took off, I had no idea where I was going. I just wanted out.

Once out of town I took what I thought would be a shortcut through the mountains, ended up running out of gas and ditching the car on the side of the road. When it got dark I found a nice cabin in the woods. It was fairly large and expensive looking so I assumed it belonged to some rich person who only stayed there once a year. There were no lights on or anything so I picked the lock and went inside. That was a mistake, I should have checked for a security system.

I stocked up on the non-perishables left in the kitchen and snacked on some chips and granola bars. I went to the main living area and sat on the couch figuring out a plan for the next morning and eventually fell asleep. Next thing I know it’s the middle of the night and there is a man standing over me with his arms folded. I freaked out of course, I don’t know how he got in or where he got in. Come to think of it, I still don’t know how he got in without making a sound.

After an earful of an argument he agreed to let me spend the rest of the night. In the morning I found him going through my bag and I flipped. He eventually found out I had run away and was not planning on going back. I made some threats but he never even flinched. He was so stubborn and not listening to a single thing I said, it really pissed me off. I snagged my things and took off again, not listening to anything he was saying about the woods not being safe for a kid. I’m not a kid and I can handle myself.

I just followed the road and hoped someone would come passing through by chance. After 5 hours of walking, I found myself back at his stupid cabin. I was so frustrated, it didn’t make it any better that he came walking out of the cabin with a ridiculous smirk. He teased me of course and his smug attitude really set me off but… I think that is when I started to like him. He’s different than most adults I’ve ever known, he doesn’t react to my defensive comments by yelling back like most adults do. Just brushes them off like he never heard them or teases me with a smart mouth comment right back.

He talked me into coming back in and eating dinner, he had made spaghetti with what he had in the storage. We ate dinner then sat by the fire and just talked. I feel like I was a bit confrontational with him at first, short tempered too but I knew he was going to try to convince me to go back to my foster parents. He never did though. He just asked me questions about me. Favorite subject, favorite hobby, my story… He just listened. It was nice…

He never told me anything other than his name was Vlad and he flew in on his helicopter when his security system was tripped. He talked a little bit about his job and where he attended college, never mentioned what he was studying. When we talked about sports I had to laugh at how excited he got when talking about his favorite team the Packers. He said he had quite the collection back at his mansion. After our very long conversation he showed me to a spare bedroom to sleep in instead of on the couch. It was the softest bed I’ve ever slept on in my life, I still remember getting under the covers and how soft they were.

In the morning, he made breakfast and then put me to work. I refused at first, saying I still planned to leave but he promised to show me the right road out of the mountains after I helped him. We worked inside and outside, he was always ranting about something as we worked and I had a snarky comment for every funny thing I found. It was actually quite fun. We took breaks and for lunch but by the time we finished everything, it was too dark to travel. He told me to stay another night since night travel is dangerous so I did. I honestly just really wanted to sleep in that bed again but I never told him that.

In the morning while we were eating breakfast, there was a knock at the door. He was gone for quite a while so I went to spy on him and whoever he was taking to. Of course he was talking with two officers, I was shocked to hear that he was telling them about me. That really boiled my blood, he had promised he wouldn’t tell anyone but he lied. When the officers spotted me in the corner of the room, it was all over. They had been out looking for me, they found the vehicle I stole and knew I couldn’t have gotten far. They forced me to grab my things and put me in their vehicle.

As they were thanking Vlad for keeping “the kid” here and not letting me go off he asked to speak to me before they left. I wasn’t going to. He lied and he was acting all heroic in front of the officers. He told me to relax and everything would work out but I couldn’t help but shout at him. I would have given anything at that moment to bolt it from that car, I told him he was a liar and just like every other adult. Everything he told me were just empty words, and nothing he said was making what he did better so I stopped listening.

He watched as the officers drove off with me in the car.

When I got back, I got an earful from every single adult. From the officers, the police chief, my foster parents, the social worker. Everyone told me I had been extremely reckless and made poor choices, everything they said was a blur. I never really listened. I was so distracted by the time I spent with Vlad and how he had lied to me. It shouldn’t have hurt so bad, I should be used to adults making half hearted promises and saying things they don’t mean but I couldn’t understand why I was having such a hard time with what Vlad had done. He did what any responsible adult would do, he was the hero and I was the victim. He had saved the day.

The next week was torture. It had gotten out on the news that I had run away and the “heroic” Vlad Masters saved me from being lost in the woods or getting eaten by a bear. My classmates had new insults for me everyday. I tried to tune them out but when one guy in particular mentioned how I can’t even run away properly, I lost it and ended up breaking his nose. As I was sitting by the principal's office, awaiting to see if I was suspended or expelled and who should show up but Mr. Heroic Masters himself. I wasn’t in the mood to talk. After hearing his so called “apology” I yelled at him to leave, I’m not sure why he was even there.

When I got back to my foster house after school, I was expecting a whole lecture on fighting and anger management again but I was greeted by something far worse. I found Vlad there having tea and coffee with my foster mother. I didn’t want to know what they were talking about, I didn’t care. I was heading to my room when he asked for permission to speak to me privately. I said no of course but my foster parents forced me to go have a private conversation with him in the backyard.

He tried to break the ice but totally failed, I told him to just get right to the point. After a week since seeing him, why was he here? What does he care what I’m doing now? He asked me a question I thought I would never be asked. He asked if I wanted to come live with him, permanently. I thought he was joking at first but the way. he looked at me after he asked, he was serious. I was shocked. I didn’t know what to say or how to react, like a baby I just stared at him and cried. He eventually wrapped me in a hug and I clung to him. At that moment, I’ve never felt so much like a child.

And now I’ve been living with him here in his mansion for a week. I still half expect to wake up and see that it was all a dream but…. I’m still here and Vlad has finalized all the legal paperwork as of yesterday. I belong to him… And this place is now my home.

“Taking a break?” A voice says from the entrance of the library, jolting me back into reality. Vlad stood there with two mugs in his hands and was looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah textbooks are so dull, especially history books. They’re so dry” I retort back with a smirk. He makes his way across the room and places the mug in front of me.

“Well then, how about something warm and sweet to fix that dry brain of yours” he teases back.

“Ha ha, very funny. What is it?” I ask.

“Just hot chocolate, good for dreary and rainy evenings like this” he answers as he takes a sip from his mug.

“A bit corny don’t cha think old man? ”Hot chocolate on a rainy day, so old fashioned” I say with a chuckle and take a sip of the warm chocolatey contents.

“Maybe so but I’m not the one stuck with their nose in a history book, Little Starling.”

We both laugh and continue enjoying our beverages. I look back up to the window and hear the rain as it falls harder on the window pane. I look back to Vlad and a small smile escapes, our eyes meet and I quickly look back to my mug and take another sip.

“What?” He asks.

“Nothing, just enjoyin my corny drink.”

He chuckles. I try to hide another smile. It’s nice to finally have someone who I feel understands me. Maybe things will actually start to get better now.

Well…

Maybe not.

I’m not that lucky.

[ill-go-with-that-then]

Another Soulmate AU because I guess that’s who I am now

Aizawa grows up hearing from every reliable source that someday he’s going to meet his soulmate - the perfect person for him, someone who will understand him completely, be perfect for him, etc etc. It’s supposed to be a happy thought, but it’s really not - Shouta had a difficult home life, anyone who can understand that perfectly is going to be as messed up as him. And Shouta doesn’t know if he’s in a good enough place himself to help. He wants to focus on becoming a hero, on getting out of his shitty home and not looking back. Hizashi Yamada is the name on his wrist, and whoever that is, Shouta is scared of the responsibility he has to him. 

So Shouta starts working twice as hard, three times as hard. He was already planning to save himself, he can save his soulmate too. That’s fine. He works hard in school, he gets into UA, he fights his way into the hero course. 

Where he meets Hizashi Yamada, and all his plans and assumptions shake apart. This is his soulmate? This is the person who’s supposed to understand Shouta, this smiling, friendly genius who makes everything seem so effortless? How can he possibly understand anything? What has he ever worked for? Who’s ever told him he can’t do something? Even now, after a lifetime of work, Shouta is still behind the other students, physically and academically. But Yamada is at the top of the class, he takes down his classmates with ease during quirk training, and he still has time to chat about his friends and hobbies. His future is bright. He couldn’t be more different from Shouta. This is clearly some kind of cosmic joke.

Yamada is, of course, thrilled to meet his soulmate. He’s nothing but excitement, wanting to learn everything about Shouta on the first day, offering to meet up after school to train or study or just ‘hang out.’ He talks about how great it is that they’re both going to be heroes, as if that weren’t far from guaranteed in Shouta’s case. Shouta learns Yamada speaks English fluently and is learning Mandarin, that he plays three instruments and has his own podcast, that he has an internship lined up at a radio station, because he wants to be a DJ as well as a hero.

How can Shouta tell him about himself? How his own dad goes weeks without speaking to him, how every adult in his life has told him that with a quirk like his, he’s not going to make it as a hero. How his grades are middling because half the time when he gets home he’s too exhausted to study. He looks into Yamada’s beautiful smiling eyes and knows he’s going to drag this boy down like an anchor. That somehow, some way, this has all gone wrong, and it’s probably Shouta’s fault like everything else. 

“This isn’t right,” he says abruptly, in the middle of Yamada’s story about his summer abroad. 

Yamada pauses mid-sentence, brows furrowed. “Do you not like your drink?”

“It’s fine,” Shouta shoves away the overpriced coffee Yamada had bought him on the latest of their outings. “But this-” he gestures between himself and Yamada. “This is a mistake.”

Yamada blinks. “Your name is on my arm,” he says slowly, like he’s trying to understand. “My name is on your arm. That’s a pretty big coincidence.”

“It must be,” Shouta tries hard to keep his voice even, calm. Certain. He doesn’t want to string Yamada along. “Or the universe was wrong.”

“Oh.” Is the only thing Yamada says. The friendly light is gone from his eyes, replaced by blankness, and Shouta hates it, but knows this was inevitable. Better now than in the future, when he’s made things even worse. 

“We’re not soulmates,” he says as he stands up, wanting to be completely clear. “I’m sorry.”

He leaves without letting Yamada get another word in. He doesn’t want to hear any arguments - this was hard enough. The latest in a long line of cruelties from the universe,  a perfect soulmate dangled in front of him as if it could actually be his. He doesn’t sleep that night. It’s hard for him to cry, but a few tears manage to escape, and it makes him even angrier. He should be used to disappointments like this. He’s an idiot to have hoped for something different. 

He slinks into class the next morning, praying Yamada won’t say anything to him. His hopes are dashed immediately as Yamada stands before his desk, expectantly. “I didn’t change my mind,” Shouta says, tiredly. 

“I know,” Yamada says. Shouta doesn’t think he’s ever heard him sound that subdued. “And I - I understand.” Good. Shouta hoped Yamada would get it, would see that they’re just too different, that he could do so much better. “But I’d like to still be friends. Even if you don’t want to be soulmates.”

Shouta opens his mouth to correct him. It’s not that he doesn’t want to - who wouldn’t want to be Yamada’s soulmate? Yamada is bright and beautiful and warm, admirable in every way. If Shouta really was his soulmate, he’d be over the moon. But he gets stuck on Yamada’s request. “You want to be friends?” Yamada nods, and Shouta considers. He can’t see the harm in it, aside from the inevitable pain he’ll feel when Yamada wises up and realizes that Shouta brings nothing to the table here. But that’s bearable, surely, a fair price for getting to stay in Yamada’s orbit, to spend time with him once in a while. It will hurt when Yamada moves on, but everything worthwhile Shouta’s ever had has hurt. “Okay.”

Yamada smiles, nothing like the big grins he usually flashes at Shouta, but an improvement over the solemn look he’s been wearing since yesterday, and Shouta can’t help echoing it, just a little. 

Being Yamada’s friend is unlike anything Shouta has experienced before. Yamada - Hizashi - is thoughtful and kind, always looking for ways to make Shouta’s life easier and more fun. At his insistence, they visit arcades and cat cafes, they study together for exams and train together after school. It’s good practice for Shouta, working against an opponent with a powerful quirk, and Hizashi seems to appreciate the opportunity to refine his technique. Shouta starts spending most days at Hizashi’s, and a lot of nights too, and it’s so different, not spending all his free time alone in an empty house. Some afternoons he falls into a nap while Hizashi practices his guitar, and it’s the most at peace he’s ever been. 

Sometimes people ask Hizashi if he’s found his soulmate, and the first few times he glanced at Shouta out of the corner of his eye before shaking his head. But as time goes on his answer comes quicker and more firmly, that he hasn’t, but it’s no big deal. It hurts, though Shouta doesn’t know quite why. They’re not soulmates, Shouta knows that, would say so himself if he were asked. But hearing it makes Shouta’s chest burn, puts him out of sorts for the rest of the day, even though it’s irrational and unfair. 

He thinks it will get easier as they get older, but it doesn’t. They move in together after graduation - it’s only logical, when they get along so well - and Shouta can’t imagine life without Hizashi. In his darkest moments, he wonders what it would have been like if he hadn’t told Hizashi the truth, if he’d simply carried on as if they were soulmates. Would they still get along so well? Would they be even closer, would Hizashi let Shouta kiss him in the mornings, when his eyes were half-shut with tiredness and his hair still messy with sleep? Or would it be obvious something was wrong, that Shouta was a jagged, misfit puzzle-piece? Would the wrongness of it have driven Hizashi away, would Shouta be more alone than ever? 

Years go by, and slowly, Shouta stops waiting for Hizashi to drop him. He was an idiot to think that, he realizes now. Hizashi isn’t that type of person. He’s too kind for that, too loyal, and every day Shouta gets some new reminder of how important he is too Hizashi. Hizashi makes him real meals to eat, finishes his paperwork half the time when Shouta is so tired he can’t read the pages, and when Shouta just can’t face going out, Hizashi will run interference for him with their friends, cancelling their plans and setting up a quiet evening at home with takeout and a movie. He seems to have a sixth sense for what Shouta needs, and never begrudges him anything.

Shouta tries to do the same for Hizashi, as best he can. He’s learned a lot about his friend over the years, things he never would have imagined when they first met. Like how Hizashi’s happy home life was a relatively new thing for him, that before he started at UA he’d been passed from home to home, returned by otherwise well-meaning parents when his quirk became too unmanageable. Hizashi calls his foster mother every Saturday, and after they talk he always smiles at Shouta and says “Guess she didn’t forget about me yet.” And it’s a joke but it also isn’t, and that’s Shouta’s cue to make him his favorite tea and put on that awful singing show he likes. 

He also learns that even though Hizashi makes it all look easy, he works harder than anyone else Shouta knows. He’s up every day before the sun, working on his radio show or filling out police reports, cleaning or repairing his hero gear, getting his chores done. And he falls into bed well into the night, after a long day of patrol and radio work and practicing and training. Sometimes Shouta has to lay across Hizashi’s lap just to pin him to the couch for a few extra minutes. He doesn’t mind, it always makes Hizashi laugh. 

Hizashi gets asked about his soulmate a lot now, almost every day it seems like, either on the radio or when he’s being interviewed or by his fans. He doesn’t even blink before answering, distracting his audience with a wide grin as he tells them no, he hasn’t met his soulmate yet, as if Shouta weren’t listening, as if that brief window of might have been had never happened. Shouta doesn’t know if he thinks about it, if he ever looks up the other Shouta Aizawas to see if one of them is his real match. (There are 34 in Japan, 7 are the right age for Hizashi, and exactly 0 are good enough, in Shouta’s personal opinion.) Shouta wishes Hizashi would tell them yes, that he has met his soulmate, if only so that they’d stop asking and Shouta wouldn’t have to listen to Hizashi say no again and again and again.

“Why don’t you lie,” Shouta asks one night, while they’re making dinner and listening to Hizashi’s latest interview.

“Hmm?” Hizashi doesn’t look up from the vegetables he’s chopping. 

“About your soulmate. It must get annoying that people keep asking whether or not you’ve met them. If you said you had, they’d stop. So why not lie?”

“I do lie,” Hizashi says calmly, sliding the diced carrots into the pot.

“What?” Shouta says, tone and mind completely blank. 

Hizashi sighs. He puts the cutting board down, wipes the knife with a dishcloth before laying it safely on the counter. “Let’s not talk about it, all right?”

“I want to talk about it,” Shouta says instantly, even if he isn’t quite sure that’s true. Hizashi has met his soulmate? When? Whey didn’t he tell him? Why aren’t they together? Why is Hizashi still here, with him. Why why why-

“Why?” Hizashi asks. “I’ve - you made yourself clear, years ago, and I’ve tried really hard to be respectful of that. Your friendship means so much to me - it’s enough, really. I know you don’t want to be soulmates, and that’s fine. And it’s kind of you to try to spare my feelings. But you really don’t have to pretend this is some random coincidence, or whatever. I’m an adult and I can handle the truth.”

“The truth?” Shouta asks, because he genuinely has no idea what Hizashi is saying. 

Hizashi presses his lips together, clearly frustrated that Shouta is making him say it. “That you want us not to be soulmates. I tell people I haven’t met my soulmate yet because that’s what you want. Can we go back to just never talking about this please?”

“You think we’re soulmates?” Shouta says, dumbly. He doesn’t mean to say it. He doesn’t know what he means to say, his thoughts feel too heavy to sort through.

“Dammit!” Hizashi slams the wooden spoon he’d been stirring with against the counter. He turns towards Shouta, shoving his sleeve messily up to his elbow. “Look!” He says, pointing to the mark on his arm. “That is your name! You expect me to believe that’s some coincidence? That you’re not the first one I want to see in the morning, and the last person I want to see at night? When you’re the only one who can cheer me up when I’m sad, or calm me down when I’m anxious? Last year, when I got my big promotion, all I could fucking think was how I couldn’t wait to tell you, how I hoped you’d be proud of me. I’ve loved you since I was fifteen fucking years old, Shouta! And I get that I’m not what you wanted and I’m sorry for that, but let’s not fucking pretend, all right?”

“You’re… not what I wanted?” Shouta echoes, too stunned to do anything else.

“I know,” Hizashi leans tiredly against the counter. “It wasn’t a shock, you know. I was used to people not staying. It meant a lot to me that you were willing to try to be friends. It still does. I’m not going to make it weird, we didn’t open Pandora’s box just now or anything. Nothing’s gonna change. But it’s easier for me if we don’t talk about it, okay?”

“No,” Shouta says instantly. He’s not sure what’s going on, what else to say, how everything has changed so much in just a few minutes, but he knows that what happens next matters. “This is a mistake.”

Hizashi flinches, apparently those words still sting. “Shouta-”

“My mistake,” Shouta corrects. “I - you should never have thought that. That you weren’t what I wanted. That’s not what I meant at all. You’re - you’re perfect. You were perfect. And I’m just - me and it had to be a mistake, do you understand? I don’t get perfect things. It had to be a mistake.”

“You,” Hizashi swallows. “You thought I was perfect? Back then? Not… not annoying or too loud?”

 Shouta shakes his head. “Not annoying or loud. You were perfect. You’re still perfect.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Shouta has no idea what Hizashi is going to say next, if he’ll be angry Shouta put him through years of self-doubt, if he’ll be sad, if he even still wants to be soulmates. His hands are trembling, he wishes he had his scarf to hide in, that Hizashi would just say something and end his suffering. 

“You deserve perfect things,” is what Hizashi finally says, in the end. He sounds hesitant, but not uncertain. Shouta reaches for him, half-expecting Hizashi to shatter apart like everything he touches, but Hizashi’s arm is warm and solid under his hand. Steady. “Nothing has to change.” Hizashi’s voice wavers on his promise, like he’s trying to stay calm for Shouta’s sake. 

But Shouta doesn’t need that, has never needed Hizashi to be anything but entirely himself. “Can it though?”

He’s prepared for hesitation. He’s prepared for a kind no or, at most, a wary, conditional yes. He is not prepared for Hizashi’s arms to wrap around him, to feel Hizashi sigh against his neck like he’s finally able to rest after a long, long day. “Whatever you want,” Hizashi murmurs. 

Slowly, slowly, Shouta brings his arms up to return the embrace. Hizashi feels so right in his arms, perfect as always, and Shouta trembles at the thought of being able to hold him like this for as long as he wants. Hizashi leans into him, but that’s all right, Shouta is steady enough for the both of them, can prop Hizashi up if he needs it. He understands now, that’s what they’ve been doing for each other all along. 

[alwaysmychoices]

Today, I had this idea for the ending of another project I’m working on, and I couldn’t sleep until I had written it out. 

Because I am nowhere near finished with this project and wanted to share it, here it is. It has absolutely nothing to do with Ethan Ramsey (sad), but it is my ending to a story I came up with that mirrors Ethan x MC. 

You may not know Ellis and Ben’s story, but here’s their happy ending. 

I thought about turning back at least a hundred times.

I imagined running through the airport during my layover, demanding an outrageous ticket back to London. I imagined catching a cab and walking back into his apartment only to find him reaching for his keys to come after me.

That image got me through the eight-hour flight, but when I landed in New York for my layover, I didn’t book another flight. Instead, I bought a cup an overpriced cup of coffee – strong, black, and secretly sprinkled with sugar, just like he liked it – and posted a picture to my Instagram story. For the rest of my layover, I checked to see if he had seen it yet.

He hadn’t.

I don’t know why I was surprised.

I gave him every opportunity for him to ask me to stay, and he never did. Instead, he wished me luck, kissed my cheek, and waved my cab off as we drove to the airport. He made it very clear that he didn’t want me to stay. Instead, he wanted me to go off and have all the adventures I could. He wanted me to remember the last year as one of those great stories you share in crowded bars, when your European escapades feel particularly exotic. He was a stamp in my passport, and I was a pleasant surprise.

Benjamin Clark didn’t mean for me to look back. He gave me no reason to hope, yet I did anyway.

I almost turned back before boarding my flight to Charlotte. I let myself have one last fond daydream of returning to him and spending the fall by his side, but at the end of the daydream, I still knew that winter would be a mystery.

Benjamin Clark wasn’t the kind of person you run out of an airport for. If you did, you would only be disappointed in the end.

We weren’t a grand romance. We were, at best, a humorous coming of age film with an exotic locale.

So, I flew home. For a few months, I lived with my parents and applied to every job I could find. While I waited, I hit up childhood friends and visited my old haunts. Sometimes, I would post photos and watch my notifications to see if he liked it.

He did once or twice.

He even viewed my story a handful of times, but he knew better than to message me.

In October, I got a job in D.C., and with two suitcases and a lively early 2000s playlist, I drove up alone. I rented a small bedroom from a friend of a friend, Jessica, in Alexandria, and as soon as I met Jessica, I decided we would be friends. She helped me unpack, and to celebrate my first night, we went to a nearby bar.

It took me four tequila shots for me to message Ben.

He didn’t reply until my sixth.

I didn’t realize it was five in the morning in his time zone. Even if I had, I don’t think I would have cared.

In the middle of a crowded bar, I told Benjamin that I was going to unfollow him and that I wanted him to unfollow me, too.

I don’t know what he felt when I did that. I like to think he was just as heartbroken as I was. Because I don’t know, I get to tell myself whatever I want. Some days, I need to think that he was devastated and enjoyed the remaining connection as much as I did. Some days, I need to think that he was just being nice.

Whatever it was, he messaged me back that he understood.

After a minute, he added that he would miss me.

I didn’t respond to that.

Instead, I unfollowed him. I deleted our DMs. I unfavorited his contact. I deleted our text thread.

I never thought about flying back to London for him after that.

I still harbored the fantasy that he would come to me, though…

I kept all the pictures. I even put one on display in my room. His back was turned to the camera, so I could tell myself that it didn’t mean anything when I taped it to my corkboard. I said I just liked the view.

Of course, Ben was an integral part of the view. Maybe even better than the view.

I lived in that apartment for a year. I went part-time at my job and started grad school. I wanted an apartment closer to campus, and Jess moved with me. I took special care of packing that photo, but when I got to my new apartment, I never displayed it. It lived at the bottom of my desk drawer, safe but out of sight.

I started dating someone that semester. His name was Daniel. He was a classmate, and everyone in my life loved him. We were together for six months, and in that time, I only posted one photo of him. When I posted it, I watched to see if Ben would like it. He never did. I took that photo down when Daniel and I went our separate ways.

In the year following, I cut four inches off my hair, repainted our kitchen, and made new friends. I started drinking gin, and I changed my coffee order. I was close to finishing my masters, and I was already looking for jobs all over the city. I even flirted with the idea of leaving DC, though I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I didn’t think about Ben much during that time. I doubt he thought of me either.

If I was a woman who believed in fate, I might think that there was some grand plan that brought me to that dive bar in April.

But I don’t believe in fate. I believe in coincidences, and it was one grand coincidence that I accepted a friend’s offer to meet at a bar downtown. It was also a coincidence that my friend was late and that, while waiting for her, I took a seat at the crowded bar.

It was even bigger coincidence that the man trying to get around me to order a vodka tonic was Benjamin Clark.

Three years after Ben kissed me goodbye in London, he looked exactly the same…

And even more startling, he looked at me just like he had all those nights before in Sarajevo, like he was astounded how much he liked me standing beside him.

“Ellis?” he was so happy to see me that I instantly forgot the last three years I’d devoted to moving on from him. I was happy to see him, too, if just a little more wary than he.

He was thirty now, and I could see the age on his face when he stood close. Experience etched his skin around his eyes, but after years of frowning and scowling, his smile lines hadn’t been touched. He was still infuriatingly handsome, even more so now that his hair was longer.

“Ben?” I couldn’t erase the amazement from my voice, nor could I do anything other than stare at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

He invited me back to his table, and against my better judgement, I joined him.

There was a woman waiting for him. She couldn’t have been much older than me, but she had a bronze, sultry glow I had always lacked. I immediately worried she was his girlfriend, but she was so friendly to me that I soon let the thought go. Either she wasn’t his girlfriend and didn’t care who he brough to their table, or their relationship was so strong that she wasn’t intimidated by me in the slightest. Either way, there wasn’t much I could do.

He introduced me as an old friend, one that was “one of the best” in our field. It was a complete lie, and I called him on it. He met me when I little more than an intern at an NGO he didn’t even work at. If he wanted to brag on anyone, it was himself, because he was the one who trained me.

He rolled his eyes and ordered a vodka tonic and a mojito for me.

Mojitos had been my favorite drink when we knew each other.

“You’re being too critical,” Ben corrected me with the same voice he used to use when I made a mistake at work.

“You’re being too generous.”

“You were full of potential, even when you couldn’t work a coffee maker to save your life,” Ben scoffed, and not for the first time, I was offended.

“I didn’t burn your fucking coffee,” I asserted forcefully.

The first day we met, he said I burnt his coffee, and I hadn’t.

“Yes, you did,” Ben insisted.

“No, I didn’t!”

We argued for a while.

At some point, my friend arrived, and sensing I didn’t intend to leave this table, she introduced herself and took a seat next to the beautiful tan woman. They talked among themselves as Ben and I disagreed.

He argued that I had been the one who messed up the paperwork for the festival in Belgrade. I called him a liar.

We made peace when he offered me a drink but said we had to stop fighting if I took it.

I seriously considered not accepting that mojito.

But I did.

And he asked what I was doing in D.C.

I told him my story – the job, grad school, my impending graduation, and my tiny apartment at the end of the metro line.

“And you?” I asked, already half-done with my mojito. He had hardly taken a sip of his vodka tonic. Always a slow drinker.

“Moved here a few months ago,” he explained, taking one tiny sip that made me hate him, “I took a job downtown.”

I raised my eyebrows accusatorily, “Downtown?”

“I didn’t sell out,” Benjamin stopped me before I could even suggest it.

I raised my hands innocently, “I didn’t say you did.”

“You were thinking it.”

He was right. I was.

“Well, whatever it is, I hope you’re happy,” I was telling the truth, but I also hoped he would give me every detail so I could finally decide whether or not he had actually sold out.

“I am,” Ben watched me, rightfully suspicious.

“That’s great.”

“You’re judging me,” Ben accused.

“I am,” I boldly confirmed, “I distinctly remember being warned time and time again not to sell out, but look at you…” I shook my head like I was ashamed of him. I wasn’t. I really was happy if he was happy. I just liked to torture him a bit to make up for all the times he had judged me.

As I predicted, Ben was outraged.

He spent the next hour justifying his career and his decisions.

Our friends left us at midnight. I honestly had forgotten they were even still there.

Near one am, I was convinced and gave him my approval. He knew he didn’t need it, but he seemed happy to have it.

It was surprisingly easy to be with him.

I always thought that, if I ran into him again, I would be awkward and pained. I thought that, once you loved someone like I loved Ben, you could never encounter them casually again. I was wrong about that. Sitting and talking with Ben felt like the most natural thing in the world.

I only stumbled once.

That was at 1:30 am, when he checked his watch and told me that he would need to get home soon to check on Porter.

I recognized the name. It was a name we came up with together. It had been a blisteringly cold winter day, and from the comfort of his kitchen, we dreamt up ridiculous, silly names for the dog Ben dreamed of having. At the end of the conversation, we settled on Porter, short for Portobello Mushroom. Ben poured me a second cup of coffee, and I asked him why he didn’t just get a dog if he wanted one.

He told me that he wasn’t ready. As long as he kept moving across the continent every year or so, he couldn’t take care of a dog. His career wasn’t stable enough for a dog, nor was he.

When he got a dog, he was ready to settle down.

Now, he had the dog…

I didn’t mean to, but I did it again.

I dreamed up a future with Ben. I allowed myself to hope for him. I began to long for his attention and affection.

I was scared when I realized it. One night had erased three years of work.

But I didn’t stop doing it.

When we parted that night, I wanted to ask him to come home with me, but I didn’t. He kissed my cheek, helped me in my Uber, and waved me goodbye from the pavement. It was exactly the same scene as when I last saw him in London.

I felt ridiculous for hoping for more.

He followed me on Instagram that night.

He texted me the next morning.

I met him in a coffee shop after class, and I stayed so long that I had to cancel dinner with Jessica.

I would love to say that I never saw the rest coming, but that would be a lie. I knew.

I knew that coffee would turn into dinner, and that would turn into nights in his apartment. Playful texts in the middle of the day would turn into celebrating our first anniversary. My drawer in his apartment turned into dominating half of his closet, and playing with his dog would turn into claiming Porter just as much as Ben did.

Two years after our grand coincidence, I got a job offer in New York, and I walked home slow that day. I didn’t know if our sweet little fairy tale extended beyond the District of Columbia. The first time, he hadn’t asked me to stay. But this time I asked him to come with me.

Three months later, we packed our life into a U-Haul, and from the passenger seat, I looked over at Ben and had the distinct feeling that I might just get to look at him for the rest of my life…

[kidchameleon92]

“life story” 1

i’m not going to edit this at all going along. typos, bad grammar, mistakes. doesn’t matter. this is spontaneous thought.

disclaimer: i changed the word to “spontaneous” from “spurious” which means something completely different, so the first paragraph is already a lie.

anyway, it’s been a really weird and sort of bad couple months for me. mostly in my state of mind. i feel very stuck and very immobile when it comes to my art and career. and that is having a very negative effect on my brain. even though i’m putting out my favorite songs i’ve ever written. i’ve been meaning to write for awhile. i used to post when i lived in los angeles several years ago, just journaling my day to day life. but i haven’t for awhile. i guess i also used to write in a notebook while on different tours. but i think i’ve since thrown that away or hidden it somewhere.

point is: i just want to write to get things off my mind. and hopefully, maybe, it’ll help you (if you care to) get to know me a little more and on a more personal level. even if we haven’t met. and maybe it’ll make what i make (if you care about it) mean more to you. either way, mostly, i just want to rant a bit. so, this is my life’s story. i guess.

chapter 1: kid

i was born in a suburb of the twin cities in minnesota. my parents both grew up in minnesota and lived there their whole lives (until my mom recently moved to tennessee). my mom was a mortician, and my dad was an accountant. also an alcoholic. he cheated on her and left her and i when i was one year old. i remember growing up going to stay with him on weekends, except it was with him and his girlfriend at the time. except he was drunk a lot. and would drive drunk with me (a baby) in the car. so, that’s cool. anyway, my mom was really depressed, and that was not a good time (or so i’ve heard, because i was a baby, so idk).

i stayed with my grandparents a lot, because my mom worked full time. my maternal grandparents lived on a ton of land. my grandpa and i would ride motorcycles and four wheelers and sleep in a treehouse and all that. my other grandparents lived in the same town but in a small house. i used to go up to their cabin during the summer and go fishing and swimming and boating and all that. different g-parent vibes, but loved both a lot.

anyway, when i was three, my mom married my step-dad. he is from india and has had a lot of unique and challenging experiences, so that certainly brought a lot of particular lessons and outlooks into my life. i went there once when i was about 14. it was wild. but so, yeah. that kinda solidified my family unit. my dad got remarried later on as well. but the older i got, i saw him less and less.

so ... i loved video games. i played them all the time. a big part of my childhood. mostly nintendo. explains a lot. as a kid in school (4 years public, 3 years private, 1 year home, 3 years private, 1 year PSEO [look it up]), i was never popular whatsoever. i always wanted to gain some sort of acclaim or attention from my classmates, but was pretty much always looked down on for one reason or another. i remember in elementary school, i was the kid who was literally terrified of storms. probably because i had been in a tornado when i was six. but the moment it would thunder, all the kids would look at me to see if i was gonna cry. usually, i did. and the school nurse would take me outside and we’d walk around as a sort of therapy. i guess it helped sorta. i still get nervous in storms. but i don’t cry.

i also remember a time specifically that i got made fun of for wearing a denver broncos t-shirt. this kid just railed on me because it wasn’t a minnesota vikings shirt. so, one: i don’t even give a fuck about sports. but two: it stuck with me for some reason that someone would be a massive jerk over a t-shirt of a sports team. i guess that’s just because we as humans are messed up things.

anyway, in middle school, i started becoming semi-interested in music. i listened to the radio every night, listening to the top 10 countdown of big songs from that week. kanye, weezer, the click five, black eyes peas, green day. those were some anyway. besides that, i was just listening to like kelly clarkson and relient k or something. my mom had a steven curtis chapman cd in her van i thought went hard. but i started getting into popular music around then. i also started to write my own music. i used to take piano lessons from when i was like six or seven until i was 14 or so. but after i started writing my own songs, i hated practicing assigned pieces. i didn’t care. i wanted to play my own. so, the teacher said if i quit, i couldn’t be her student again. so i did. that’s fine. she said i was her most talented student. but i didn’t work that hard. so, that goes to show that natural talent and hard work have different roles, i suppose. 

chapter 2: girls and high school and such

in high school, i started LiKiNg gIrLs and stuff. i also was still not very popular. i also had started a band (with jack). i wasn’t very good, but i was just as obsessed with it as i am now. anyway, i liked this one girl from my church, and we talked all the time. but because we grew up in a pretty fundamental church culture, we weren’t allowed to date. which honestly, i fine, because looking back, no one knows what they are doing at 16 really. i definitely didn’t. i still don’t know what i’m doing. anyway ...

so, this girl and i half-dated for a couple years, and i was really clingy and annoying. but that’s just how i be. and i thought i was gonna marry her and stuff, because in a fundamental church context, you over spiritualize everything.

[[disclaimer: i am a christian, and i still go to church, but my theology and ideology on a lot of things has just evolved and changed a lot since i was young and since leaving the ultra-americanized/ultra-fundamental “christian” realm. main point being: we all are effed up bro and need saving. i’m an idiot always!]]

but now we’re back. girl “dumped” me and started dating another guy named “patrick” right after, even though she technically wasn’t allowed to date until she was 18. but apparently, she just wasn’t allowed to date me. so, that was cool. anyway, i was angsty, but then i got over it. because i was 17, so life big time goes on.

then i met another girl from canada while i was finishing school and going hard at my band stuff. we hit it off, and i started visiting her up there. and she visited me and all that. it was cool. and then all of a sudden, she really started hating me. and to be fair, i was weird and clingy and sort of a lot to deal with. but we kept dating. all the while, i was sort of leaving behind music to try to get into nursing school. yep, nursing school. but i got rejected, which is great. and so, i decided to go to audio engineering school in canada. and she was gonna go to college in the same city. this is great! so i thought. she dumped me (well, i sort of broke up with myself for her) about a month after we were living in the same city. wack. but it made me buckle down and work my ass off in school. i was top of my class one semester. yeah, i’m not that dumb. sometimes.

towards the spring of the next year, i happened to meet a girl who was at my church with one of my friends. she seemed chill. just talked a little. nothing crazy. happened to hit her up on twitter just to say hi. no intention. we talked a bit. nothing after that. then all of a sudden, a couple months later, i was tweeting about reading harry potter for the first time (note: fundamental upbringing). she happened to tweet me back about it. and long story short, we went out on a date. a sort-of-date. and what was supposed to be a lunch turned into an all day and half the night date. anyway, we got married a year later. after a lot of immigration paperwork and expenses. that’s a whole other post. that sucked. it’s a lot. and it’s why i feel bad for people who have nothing who are trying to come here to flee danger in their own countries. again, another post.

chapter 3: married, and other hard things

so, i forgot to say that before we got married, i lived in los angeles for a year after school. i was doing more sound for film work. on set stuff, post-production. got to do work with like ... james franco, matt damon, emma roberts, william shatner. some cool stuff. but jack’s old band came through on tour, and i saw two shows. and i was like ... bruh. i gotta do music, what am i doing? so, i literally moved back to minnesota within like two weeks, worked as a nursing assistant for a little bit and got married. then moved to nashville like two weeks later. i guess i could’ve stayed in los angeles. but nashville felt like the move at the time. everything happens with a purpose.

so, we moved here, and she couldn’t work for three months because of immigration stuff. so, i was like, well, guess i need a job. so, i got a job managing a home for a couple people with intellectual disabilities. it was super hard. mostly because the company was really, really bad. so, i got another job working as a staffing coordinator in an office for a home health care agency. that was a little better. still tough. but less overwhelming. a couple months after i got that job, i got an offer to go on a country tour playing bass for someone. and i was like ... well, this is why i moved here. so, i quit and went on tour. and shawna actually took my old job. interesting.

i was gone for three weeks, and it sucked and the pay was bad, but at least i was doing what i wanted. but then i got an offer from my friend to do some tech work on a much bigger country gig. i hadn’t done it before, but it was better pay and a better position. and on a bus and nice things and all that. so, i went for it. i pissed the other girl i was playing for off. but that’s show biz, baby. but like, i found a replacement for myself and paid to fly him out to her shows and stuff. so, really she won.

anyway, i toured with this other artist for four years. and i learned a lot. it was very, very challenging, both mentally and physically. and some people are just hard to work with. but i still gained so much valuable experience and insight into touring from that. i also started playing guitar for another artist who was small at the time, but has now had a couple number one hits. but his label fired me because i didn’t look country enough. we’re still homies though, so it’s literally fine. because i do indeed not look country enough.

at the same time, i was doing my own solo music and also producing and writing with and for other people. i’ve had the opportunity to write and produce for everything from independent artists to major label to billboard charting albums to whatever. songs on major television networks. i’m still very un-rich though, if that tells you anything. 

but really, i just wanted to do my own music. and i literally couldn’t get it to go anywhere. i had no idea what the “secret” was. what was i missing? money? connection? power? actually probably all of that, to be honest. this industry is wacko. i was pretty close to giving up.

chapter 4: milkk

i read a satirical article on vice.com about “how to start a trendy band” or something. i thought it was funny. so, i called jack. he had just been kicked out of his old band for no reason. i was like, “bruh, let’s do this article.” and he was like, ok. so, we sort of did. and i’m not gonna go into all the early details, because i’ve done a million press interviews about how our band started. and i don’t wanna say it again. google it.

this was the first time that i actually saw people care about my music. it was a high. it was like a dream. and we hadn’t even had any big song or anything. just the fact that people were listening and engaging was mind blowing to me. but just like with anything, the more things went, the less i found satisfying. the more “likes” or “follows” on socials didn’t feel like enough anymore. the streams didn’t seem good enough. the chart positions on the debut album didn’t seem that great. the hype wore off a little after the debut album hype. and that made me insane. probably because we as humans are not built to be satisfied by the things in our life. “Vanity of vanities!” it’s in ecclesiastes. like the bible one.

chapter 5: now

anyway, that’s bad. i had (and have) let my mind convince me that i have to achieve something in order to be happy or fulfilled, when i know that that stuff will never fulfill me. i could play the biggest stadium and have the biggest song in history, but after a burst of dopamine and excitement, it would be empty. and i know that nothing here will do that. at least, that’s what i believe. my hope is outside of myself.

but that’s hard to internalize when you are so passionate about something, and have been for so long, and all you want to do is create things for other people that they can appreciate and be influenced by. but it’s probably also selfish. like i openly admit i like the idea of fame and presence. and it probably ties all the way back to wanting acknowledgement and attention as a kid, from being unpopular and ridiculed and, honestly, left by my dad. maybe i just therapied myself.

but regardless, i know i can’t put my identity in all this stuff. it’s hard, and it’s harder when you create stuff. because it’s so deeply tied to you. but it’s still not “who i am.” i know who i am and what i believe, but i’m still a mess, so i can’t enact that in my brain perfectly. in fact, far from it.

anyway. it’s late, and i’m going to post this and attempt to not worry about how it does on social media. stupid!!! i just want this out in the world for you to read. hopefully it’s helpful for you in some way. but mostly, it was just cool to write this out, for my own sake.

i’ve been blessed in some amazing ways. my family. oh, yeah i forgot that i have two kids. i love them a lot. i don’t talk about them on social media much. but they are very special to me. and we’ve always been taken care of, even when times were tight or i didn’t know when the next paycheck was coming in or i thought my wife was about to die or whatever. the Lord provided for us every time. and i am grateful to have what career i have. it may be “small” and nothing to look at by the big industry standards, but i believe in what i make so much, and i’m just grateful that anyone cares about it at all. and i will continue to do so until the day i die. because i have to. 

it’s what i was born to do, for better or worse. and no one can tell me otherwise.

[alicepink-me]

The New Guardian

Story Summary: Marinette Dupain-Cheng is an adult in the real world, guarding the Miracle Box in Master Fu's place. She's in love with Chat Noir, but refuses to tell him her feelings. New holders appear to fight the duo and shake up their lives. Marinette makes a tough decision about her future as Ladybug.

Chapter 9: History

Marinette's alarm went off, waking her. She rolled over and hit her clock, looking over at April. April laid in her bed with a book and reading light. She was wearing round purple glasses and more comfy clothes like yesterday. Marinette rubbed her eyes.

"You know, it's not polite to stare." April said, turning a page.

"Why are you awake?" Marinette blinked, breathing in. "It's five in the morning."

"I'm reading." She answered. "What's your excuse?"

Marinette threw her covers over and hopped off her bed. "I have a 6 a.m. class."

"Oh, say hi to the munchkins for me." April laughed.

Marinette rummaged through her dresser. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing." April turned a page.

Marinette rolled her eyes before grabbing her clothes and a small bag. She opened the door but stopped to see a blonde standing right there, smiling.

"Good morning, Marinette." The woman greeted, holding her hand out. "My name is Rebekah and I will be your tour guide for your first week."

"Uh . . . nice to meet you." Marinette shook her hand, awkwardly. "But my first class isn't until six."

"I know. I'm just waiting for you." Rebekah cheered. "I'll give you a tour at anytime and I'll be ready to take you to your class in . . . " She checked her watch. "Exactly fifty-eight minutes."

"Okay . . . sounds great, but I'm gonna get ready first." Marinette carried her stuff past her.

April rolled off her bed and moved to the door.

"Hi April!" Rebekah squealed

April gave a fake smile. "Hey Rebekah."

"I haven't seen you since last year. How are your classes?"

"Great." April slammed the door in her face.

. . .

"Alright, Marinette, first things first . . . I need all of your completed paperwork." Rebekah turned around in her tracks.

Marinette handed over the giant stack of papers before grabbing her bag. "Anything else?"

Rebekah flipped through them. "No . . . I think you're all set. I'll drop these off by Master Mantis later, but I'll show you to your first class now." She started walking.

Marinette followed. "Yeah what exactly is the first one and . . . basically all of my other classes?" Marinette asked. "My schedule was two pages, labeled day 1 and day 2, and they just included times and locations. There wasn't any other information."

"That's because we have one day of school/studying classes and one day of action/fighting classes. Neither are easy to begin with, but if we had both in the same day, students would only focus or excel in one." She admitted. "The study days are mostly history based while action days focus entirely on sparring and the miraculous." Rebekah explained, rounding a corner of the building. "You have four history classes today, all two hours each plus one one hour math class at the end of the day. Tomorrow you will have two two hour fighting and action sessions with your assigned group. I will look into your files tomorrow to give you more information on that." She turned left.

"Why would I need eight hours of history today?" Marinette asked, trying to keep up with her tour guide.

"Because you're here for a shorter time than the rest of us. You will only receive a crash course, yet a sample of each." Rebekah stopped by a door that a bunch of kids were going through. "And we're here."

"We are?" Marinette panted. They were walking really fast. Marinette watched the crowds of kids walk by. They couldn't be any older than thirteen. "These are my classmates?" She raised her eyebrows. "Why aren't they . . . more . . . my age?"

"Most people start training at the academy when they are eleven or twelve years old. You obviously have been here for like ten hours, so you don't even have the beginners level of information." She said. "Which is why you have four. You have one class for each age group."

"I didn't think I drew enough attention to myself already." Marinette said sarcastically. "This should be fun."

"I'll leave it to you then." Rebekah grinned before prancing away on her high horse.

Marinette inhaled. She walked inside and looked around the classroom. It might be best for her to sit in the back, away from everyone, and luckily there were still some empty seats. Marinette slid into a desk, waiting for class to start. There was probably one hundred twelve year olds in the room with her. Either they'll think she's the same age because of her height or Marinette's gonna get made fun of by a bunch of prepubescents. Luckily they hadn't noticed her yet.

"Alright class." The professor walked in and set his briefcase on the counter. The class immediately silenced. "Today's lesson is about the most important event to ever occur at this temple. A temporarily fatal day that permanently changed our lives and futures." The class stared at their teacher with curiosity. "Does anyone know what this time was?" No one answered. "It may be mid-semester, but I think now is the right time to introduce this unit." His eyes locked with Marinette before picking up a piece of chalk. He wrote on the board. "This event was known as The Great Massacre by Wang Fu or The Temple Buried in Time." He turned back to the class. "And since all of you are our newest pupils, none of you were born yet. It's recent yet decades old." He breathed in, pondering. "This Massacre lasted 166 long years . . . and was only cured six years ago."

The class began to murmur. One kid raised his hand "Why haven't we heard about it before?" He asked. "166 years is a long time, but it wasn't even mentioned back in my hometown."

"I'll answer that only because you all are beginners." The professor sighed. "No one, unless they have attended this academy, knows about the existence of us, so our history is hidden as well. News stations will report on heroes, but no information about their origins or identities will be released. If we allowed our secrets to be known, our safety as well as this temple would be in peril. There would be no order and all power could be stolen."

"Actually." Another girl started. "I heard about a story whenever I was seven. The news mentioned a mysterious temple reappearing."

"Yes, that is correct." The professor continued. "But once the story was released, we used some of our miraculous holders to convince every news station that discovered the incident, that nothing unusual or interesting was here. After all, they already had two heroes in their city to focus on. We made the reporters believe that there was no need to ever come back. After that, there weren't anymore stories reported and the general public completely forgot as if it never happened."

Marinette adjusted in her seat, recrossing her legs. Every ambitious child in the room whipped out their notebooks and aggressively took notes on the astonishing information. Marinette didn't really need to since Master Fu had already taught her about his past years ago and she was present for the temple's reappearance. This class seemed more like a refresher course than a complicated history class.

"So this is where the problem started." The professor began, turning back to the chalkboard. "A young guardian in training named Wang Fu made a horrible mistake that cost us dearly. He was assigned the regular training assignment that required guarding the Miracle Box for a measly 24 hours, but . . . the man's hunger got the better of him and he misused this task by stealing the peacock miraculous. Fu then used the miraculous to conjure up a creature that would bring him food, but because of his lack of training with that power the monster turned on his creator. That monster devoured every other miraculous and later the people here as well, including me." The class gasped. "The temple burned and all was lost, but Wang Fu never looked back. He grabbed the Miracle Box that he misused and ran, leaving his mess behind and that monster raging. It wasn't until 166 years later that two of his own uneducated students defeated the monstrosity." The professor turned around. "That man left everything to ruins and never bothered to finish his mess. It required two unqualified tweenagers to do it instead, bringing such shame to our group." The professor sighed. "And to top off his crimes, he lost two miraculouses after that fateful day, the peacock and butterfly. Both were found and used for evil purposes, which we will discuss in tomorrows lesson about Paris."

These kids shouldn't be brainwashed like this. Master Fu wasn't a criminal. Marinette raised her hand, even if it meant outing herself.

The professor glared at her. "Yes, Ms. Dupain-Cheng?"

Oh, he knew her name. "I'm sorry, but . . . some of your facts are wrong." Marinette said.

He squinted. "How so?"

"Well . . . one of the council members actually told Master Fu to run. He didn't leave without looking back. He tried to fix it, but before he could, everything was desiccated in destruction." Marinette continued. "And Master Fu did not leave the monster. He had believed it was destroyed in the fire, but it was later discovered in a rock formation by Mayura. Mayura was a villain, which I'm sure you already know, and she brought the creature back to life. Master Fu's pupils took down the monster that was believed to be indestructible and the temple was restored." Marinette paused, smiling. "You'd never know how happy Master Fu was when he found out that everything had returned. He wasn't some sort of villain who prayed for death and destruction."

"Hmm." The professor's eye twitched. "I suppose your view is slightly distorted since you were taught by him rather than at the temple. Maybe it's only opinion rather than factual."

"I guess the same goes for you." Marinette suggested. "The lesson would be a little biased if it's taught by a survivor of the incident."  

"Seems fair." The professor nodded, turning back to the board. "Now, class, your assignment for the week is to think of your argument." He wrote as he spoke. "How guilty or innocent is the man? What are your thoughts and if Wang Fu was still alive . . . how should the matter be dealt with?" He turned back to the class and looked at Marinette. "I'll be interested to hear your thoughts."

The rest of class was boring and frustrating for Marinette. She had heard everything before and lived part of it, yet every detail was distorted. That professor taught from his point of view, which clearly despised Master Fu. And she can almost guarantee that all the other professors are sharing from their point of views as well. Now, every child that trains at the temple will grow up believing them. They have no reason not to.

. . .

Lunch:

The temple's café was set up like a buffet with several different lines leading to different types of cuisine. Ninety percent of the food was healthy and the only weird thing here was the entire corner for protein bars and drinks. There was a huge crowd around that section. It was probably included since there's so much training at the temple. Marinette did overhear something about a wellness class, so everyone else is apparently trained for that specifically. They're specifically in tune with their diets and understand exactly what they need for their own bodies to maintain their powers at a maximum.

Marinette entered a smoothie line. She figured it might be best to start out with something simple for her first day. She didn't want to spend too much time looking at all the options, seeming like a lost puppy. Marinette might be new, but she didn't want to look like a sad freshman. It was hard to see around the hoards of students anyway.

She stepped up in the smoothie line. There was a tablet to design your smoothie and order it off of. Marinette reached for the tablet after the next girl, typing in her name and picking out ingredients. She put the tablet down as the girl behind her squinted.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng?" She questioned. Something about her tone was off.

"That's me." Marinette turned to her.

The girl picked up the tablet to punch in her order. "I heard about you. You're that girl." Her tude was ripe. " The one who just walked right in, demanding special treating."

Marinette's eyebrows furrowed. "I didn't-"

"I heard enough." She interrupted. "I know what you are, I know all about your past, and I won't let you believe you're better. You don't deserve to be here in the first place."

"I know." Marinette nodded, taking a step down in the line.

The girl's eye twitched as she set the tablet down. "I'm Priya, last name not assigned yet, and I have been here for eight years. You have been here for eight seconds, yet you have an enormous amount of power over me. And did you train for it? No. Did you earn that right? No. And why are you here? To make up for the fact that you cheated the entire system that has been in place for centuries and don't want the guilt to eat away at your soul anymore. Please, don't plead innocence."

Marinette's mouth hung open. "I'm just trying these classes out. I can leave anytime with my miraculous, but I've chosen to stay here for now to understand the history better and to receive partial training. I'm sorry that I wasn't raised with the same lifestyle as you."

"And that's the problem." Priya moved down the line. "You can leave." She glared at Marinette. "I have worked day and night for eight years . . . and I don't have a miraculous. So I don't want to hear your self-centered sob story about how you've changed your path and you want to fit in with the world that never picked you just because you feel destined to be a part of all the magic. It's kind of sad really. If you really felt bad, you would've given up that power and left it behind because you shouldn't have it and there is no way you can start over from the beginning to earn it."

Marinette scooted down the line, standing in front of the barista. "I guess we're just going to live with it. I can't change my past, but I can alter my future here."

"Oh I'll live with it." Priya smiled. "We're in the same class tomorrow after all. There's no way you'll win against us. Once you step into that classroom, you're just prey to the wolves."

Marinette smiled. "We'll see."

"Marinette?" The barista asked.

Marinette took her large smoothie and sipped it. "Class should be fun and you can crush my experience all you want, but even if I get my butt beat . . . I can't feel anything worse than I already have this week."

Priya watched her strut away, Marinette slurping her smoothie with a grin.

. . .

Later that Night:

Marinette reached her dorm room and unlocked the door. She walked in and saw April sitting on her bed, reading. Marinette stopped and stared at the book, her eyes widened.

"My diary . . . " She mumbled. "You're reading my diary?!"

April sprung off the bed and held it behind her back. "To be fair, you are pretty sketchy." She admitted.

"I'm sketchy?!" Marinette threw her bag on her bed.

"You are a cheater, whether you accept it or not." April shrugged. "What am I supposed to believe?"

Marinette took a deep breath. "Just give it back." She held out her hand.

"I won't be so harsh anymore." April handed it over. "I think I understand you a little better now."

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed. I only publicized my entire life inside that journal." Marinette said sarcastically. "But I can forgive a fraction of it if you aren't so bitter all the time."

"Oh please, everyone here is bitter." April snorted. "It's survival of the fittest. Any kindness can be taken advantage of. It's how we are." She leaned against the bed. "And people don't lie in their diaries because they don't plan to show people, so I've learned the real you by reading your secrets."

"Well that's great." Marinette hopped on her bed. "I'm glad my life story and miserable love life brings you reassurance."

"It's not that bad." April walked to her closet. "At least I don't have to kill you in your sleep because of my debilitating trust issues."

"Would you actually do that?" Marinette shoved her diary under her pillow.

April smiled. "Why do you think I didn't already have a roommate when you got here?"

[moodring89]

Espresso Marmalade CH.2

Pairing:  Taehyung / Yoongi (ft. side Jikook) Rated: M / NC-17 Genre: BDSM!AU Tags: Dom!Yoongi, Sub!Tae, Shibari, Master/Slave, Canes, Impact Play       Summary: Jeongguk was more eager to get inside the club, taking long strides to the set of black steel doors. It was the younger’s idea to bring Taehyung to Void. Seoul’s first fetish house, an upscale BDSM parlor that was legally permitted and licensed. Or the one where Tae’s a meek virgin who catches the eye of Void’s most popular dom. Previous chapters: 01

- Problem with the layout? Read on ao3 here.

A/N: Uh…so, first of all, THANK YOU to everyone who took the time to comment, kudos, subscribe, and bookmark this story. I’m not at all used to having such a big response to my work. I usually write het stories with side bl, but my friend challenged me to write a full bl, and that was how this story came about, and I was super pessimistic about it. I thought no one would like it, but you guys kind of popped the bubble to that belief. As far as my writing schedule goes, I never know how long a chapter will take for me to write. If it’s rushed, then it runs the chance of being sloppy, which I don’t want to do to you, ever. I don’t think I’m particularly fast at getting chapters out and I’m sorry for that...I like writing long chapters and this story requires lots of research. Thank you all for being patient with me though. I wouldn’t mind making friends, either! I always follow back, so please don’t be shy: tw Extra note: This is a JiKook heavy chapter. COME NOW. THEY DESERVED IT. Just know that you will never get a chapter with Jikook like this again. Thank you @Bangtan_Trashbag and Melissa for pushing me, beta-ing. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter Two: A Rabbit's Heart It was halfway through Professor Min’s lecture that the reality of the situation had fully started to sink in. Sugar was Yoongi, Yoongi was now taking over one of the most important Art History courses of Taehyung’s precious student career. He loathed the idea of it, completely and wholly, as he watched Yoongi go on about 12th century France, pouring so much passion into articulating the beauty of Gothic churches. He especially hated how attractive it was that Yoongi knew so much about his world, and yet Taehyung still knew so very little about anything else. The class ended with no homework being assigned. No mentions of an exam – just lazy, lazy nonsense. Professor Jung would have had the students groaning by now, save for Taehyung, because he actually enjoyed homework. Unfortunately, his fellow classmates ate Professor Min up like he was a damn buffet, falling into his many examples of how the Christian faith was cultivated through the power of art. Everyone appeared to be sipping the Kool-Aid, except for Taehyung, because he knew that there was a monster in their midst. They just didn’t know any better.   He shoved his belongings inside his bag, the note section of his book completely blank, since he’d been unable to pay attention long enough to jot down anything useful. Or maybe it was the fact that he was paying too close attention to Yoongi, that he’d forgot all about it. Several times he found himself distracted by the way the professor’s mouth drew into a deep pout, like he was frowning around every syllable. The professor even smiled at one point. It was unreasonably gummy and so big that it reached his eyes, which caused Taehyung to momentarily forget himself, and who he was dealing with. “Ridiculous,” Taehyung muttered at the memory of it, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and was about ready to head straight for the doors, when he heard his name being called. Typical. It was fucking typical.   Yoongi glanced at him from behind his glasses, “Can I see you for a minute?” It wasn’t really a request – Taehyung knew this, as he took his time walking towards the professor’s desk. The room was emptied out, leaving just the two of them. Great. The elder was hunched over a mountain of paperwork, attempting to retrace Professor Jung’s steps, not wanting to divert from the original lesson plan. Taehyung waited a good two to three minutes in silence, before he decided to break it, “Professor?” The title of respect was sour on his tongue, leaving its aftertaste twice as bitter. “I’m sure that I don’t have to tell you that my working at Void is to remain hushed,” Yoongi said, as he peered up at him then, boring his dark penetrative eyes through Taehyung’s – holding him very, very still. “Can you do that for me, Taehyung? Can you stay hushed?” “You shouldn’t put me in a situation where I would have to keep one of your secrets, professor. It’s irresponsible of you and it’s also wrong,” Taehyung said, deciding to be perfectly candid about it. He was never any good at keeping quiet over something he felt strongly about and right now, the current situation begged to be screamed out loud to all his friends. Then he briefly wondered if Yoongi had to have this talk before. How did he make sure they stayed silent?   The professor chuckled, softly – endeared, because he’d expected Taehyung’s answer to go exactly like this. However, he felt that he had nothing to worry about when it came to the younger, knowing a good boy when he saw one. He leaned back against the old leather chair, allowing the silence to fester for a few more seconds, before he finally responded, “Fair enough. It wasn’t my intention to offend you, Taehyung.” ‘Taehyung…’ He wanted to swiftly end Jeongguk for saying his name the other night, although Yoongi would have found it out eventually, but it seemed like the professor was saying it purposefully, and intimately…   He sighed, feigning disinterest, “Can I leave now?” “No, Taehyung. You may not,” Yoongi said, tearing his eyes away from the boy’s face to instead take in Taehyung’s ensemble more closely. If he could manage Taehyung, dress him up in whatever he pleased, the possibilities would be endless. The first thing he’d do away with was that purple scarf. It was the same one from the other night. Yoongi pointed to it, voice practically dripping with sarcasm when he asked, “Do you have some sort of unhealthy attachment to that thing?” That ‘thing’ was a handmade gift from Taehyung’s grandmother – the last gift, to be more precise. Taehyung missed her so often that he rarely parted with it, even in the summer it was always in plain sight. Sometimes when he was nervous, he’d run his fingers over the knots, envisioning her working on it.   Releasing a shaky breath, Taehyung was visibly hurt, shooting the professor a glare, “What does that fucking matter to you?” Oh…The formalities were lost to them at that point. Yoongi much preferred it that way, honestly. Fiery, beautiful boys like Taehyung with tears clinging to their lashes tended to be a weakness of his, and Taehyung was the easy kill.   “You know,” Yoongi started, taking a thoughtful pause, voice lower and raspier than usual due to the long lecture. “That scarf is just the right length.” It took Taehyung a moment to realize what Yoongi had meant by that and the only conclusion he’d come down to would leave him furious if he was correct. He would need the professor to elaborate more, “Right length for what, exactly?” “Well, it’s the right length to keep you all nice and warm,” he mused, while standing up from his desk. Yoongi hadn’t failed to notice the way the boy tensed at this, as though he was on high alert. Taehyung was truly exquisite, reacting with such uncertainty, and yet he was still so curious – hanging onto every little thing that Yoongi said or did. Taehyung was already the ideal submissive. He just didn’t know it yet. Yoongi was shameless, as he continued, “It’s also the perfect length to do a simple over-arm tie. There might even be some scarf left to walk you around like a puppy dog.” “Stop talking. Just fucking stop,” Taehyung murmured, still trying to recover from the fact that Yoongi suggested using his grandmother’s handmade scarf as a perverse prop. He licked his bottom lip out of habit, eyes steadying on Yoongi’s – even if it sounded less convincing, even to himself, he tried, “I would never let you.” Yoongi was careful with every step, slow, and so very careful. He wasn’t trying to frighten Taehyung away, not when fate presented him with another opportunity. Taehyung had made a fatal mistake back at Void – he’d allowed himself to be seen, seen to an extent where Yoongi saw every little bit of him. There was desire there, a tangible and desperate cry for help, and Yoongi wanted to do just that, he wanted to answer him. He wanted to save Taehyung, before he falls deeper into misunderstanding himself. “You shouldn’t let me do anything,” Yoongi said, stopping once he was standing directly in front of his student. With their differences in height, the elder had to crane his neck just to be able to stare at him. “Submit to me first, Taehyung. Consent to me.” Taehyung’s lashes fluttered at the words, decidedly pretty – Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed at the thick lump in his throat. He wasn’t sure if he’d meant the next stream of words to spill out, reacting without fear of any real consequence, “If you bring this up to me again, I won’t hesitate reporting you to the Dean. I’m sure he’d love to know that there’s a sick fuck parading around as a professor.” The elder’s lips twitched into a smirk at that, giving Taehyung a long, heavy look of ‘oh, please’ that let him know that he knew – Yoongi fucking knew that he was bluffing. “Are you threatening me?” he asked, dark eyes tracing over Taehyung while under the bright overhead lighting. Imperfections were meant to be seen and exposed, but perhaps Yoongi was a bit biased, in the fact that the boy didn’t seem to have any. Taehyung was an enigma consisting of suntanned skin in the middle of winter, two gorgeous almond shaped eyes, and a highly kissable Cupid’s bow. Three dark freckles stood out like focal points, one on his waterline, another on the tip of his well-round nose, and the other on his bottom lip. There was an old scar on his cheek that was paler in contrast, which only made it stand out more. Yoongi was intrigued by it and the fact that no matter how murderous Taehyung could appear when glaring, no matter how angry, there were still flecks of warmth, and innocence, and perhaps it was that innocence that Yoongi found to be most erotic. “I…” Taehyung started saying, when one of his classmates knocked on the doorframe, interrupting them. Yoongi could have thrown the little prick out a window, watching as Taehyung startled, and clung tighter to his bag. He then bowed deeply to Yoongi in some fruitless attempt to ease any suspicion. “Thanks for the advice, professor.” Yoongi folded his arms in irritation, charcoal eyes following Taehyung, until he was out the door. He snapped his teeth, “Anytime.” Hoseok was waiting at their usual spot by the leaky water fountain. Jeongguk always took a few extra minutes in his Photography class to pack up his camera equipment. This time Taehyung was the one who was late, met with a glare from his starving hyung, and a confused smile from Jeongguk. It took everything in Taehyung not to just explode about Yoongi, but it would be better to unleash once they were all sitting down. “I thought I was gonna have to eat our little Jeonggukie,” Hoseok grumbled, as he pressed himself off the wall to start heading towards the cafeteria. This was the first time Taehyung had seen Hoseok since his visit to Void, remembering all of what Jeongguk told him. The line was short, given how late Taehyung was, the three of them plucking food from under the heating lamps. Then they sat, taking the first few bites in silence. “Why were you late today, hyung?” Jeongguk asked with a mouth full of jjiggae. Next to him, on top of his camera bag, his phone started going off, to which he ignored. It was like he’d grown immune to it, easily droning out the noise.   “The professor had me stay after,” Taehyung said, picking apart his food into an artless deconstruction. He really wasn’t all that hungry, not after his encounter with Yoongi.   “Oh, I heard about poor Professor Jung.” There was a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder, Hoseok’s, as the elder leaned in, teasing his words against his ear. “I know he was your favorite. Guess you gotta hang onto your innocence for a little while longer.” Taehyung shrugged him off, but not before Hoseok could press a kiss to his cheek, “What the fuck is your problem?” “How’s the substitute?” It was Jeongguk’s way of prolonging Hoseok’s death. “I know he’s not Professor Jung, but they wouldn’t hire just anyone to fill his shoes. He’s a legend.” Taehyung wanted to laugh at the irony. “Oh, it definitely wasn’t just anyone.” “Well, spill it,” Hoseok said, having already cleared his plate – still hungry. Jeongguk practically had to stave him off from stealing his banana. “Uh, shit, yeah, okay.” He had both of their attention now. Words were never all that difficult for Taehyung. “There’s really no other way to say this, but Sugar from Void is my professor now. Actually, it’s Min Yoongi. That’s his real name and he asked me not to tell anyone, but well, that’s impossible with you two, and I needed to be able to vent, so now you know.” Jeongguk turned to meet the slow look that Hoseok was casting him, their shared expressions blank, and unreadable. It was quiet for an appropriate duration, as it should be. Maybe now Taehyung could have a moment to himself, when – Hoseok was the first one to crack, giggling himself into a state of hysterics. Jeongguk soon joined him, pressing a hand to his stomach he was laughing so hard. Even his stupid bunny teeth were out on display, both their faces were scrunched up, and dumb – horrifically dumb looking. “Sweet fuck, you’re good,” Hoseok said, wiping the tears from the sides of his face. “Like, drop your major, and get into acting. Immediately.” “I’m not joking. He even dyed his hair black and he keeps his tattoos hidden.” Taehyung looked to Hoseok. “I heard about you, by the way. You’re into dommes?” Jeongguk paused, then. “Wait, hyung. You’re serious?” “As a heart attack.” Taehyung wished it was all just some cruel, twisted joke. Too bad that it wasn’t. “He’s my professor now and if you don’t believe me, then feel free to walk me to class tomorrow.” Hoseok sobered up some, no longer amused. “You told Tae about my time at Void?” “About the stiletto, all of it,” Taehyung said, waving it away like it didn’t matter, because at the end of the day, it didn’t. It changed nothing and it didn’t fix any of his problems. “Also, why in the hell aren’t you reacting to the fact that I went to a bdsm club?” The elder was beyond confused, still dwelling on Taehyung’s previous statement, “Because you’re still fucking straightedge and I’m so sorry for not being proud about that fact, but what about me and stilettos?” Jeongguk shook his head, trying to keep his banana inside his mouth. “It was nothing, hyung.” “Sure doesn’t sound like it was nothing. Did Jeongguk make a domme joke…” Hoseok asked, speaking in a tone that was painfully tart. “…at my expense?” He sighed, turning to Taehyung. “I went to see if I’d liked to be dom’d for a change. Turns out that I’m a perfectly healthy switch.” “Your coming out as bi speech was a bigger shock to us and even that was pretty mild,” Jeongguk murmured, when his phone went off again. This time he took the time to remove the battery.                           It made Taehyung feel uncomfortable, since he was inclined to believe that it was Jimin, and if so, what the fuck was his friend doing? Jeongguk was already in deep enough shit as it was and now the brat was ignoring his ‘master’. He couldn’t stop himself from being nosey, “Who keeps messaging you?” Hoseok nudged the youngest boy, “It’s him, right?” Jeongguk nodded, somewhat guiltily, “I told him I can’t see him until Friday. It kinda goes against our agreement, though.” “Are you avoiding him?” Taehyung asked, unable to look at his dongsaeng, even while Jeongguk was staring directly at him. He shrugged, “I’m just not in a rush.” Hoseok looked back and forth between them, “Okay. What the fuck did I miss?” A lot, Taehyung wanted to say and leave it at that, but he had no choice but to fill Hoseok in on every ridiculous detail about last week, from Taehyung being dragged inside the club to then later being hauled outside of it by Jeongguk. Hoseok kept quiet for once, only stopping to either laugh or to agree – agreeing that, yes, the drink menu was atrocious, and that Jeongguk was sorely fucked. And Taehyung felt responsible. “Alright, well, one thing is clear,” Hoseok said, pointing his spoon at Taehyung. “You’re like, just as fucked as Guk is, and I’d wish you luck, but I hope your Mary Poppins, umbrella wielding ass fails.” Jeongguk shook his head, stealing Hoseok’s phone to check the time. “I have to leave for a hair appointment in twenty-ish minutes.” “If you need a quick buzz, I can do it,” the elder offered, shrugging like it was no biggie, no big fucking deal.   “It’s not getting cut.” Jeongguk never did anything new with his hair, at least not in a long, long while. Taehyung was intrigued by this, “You’re getting it dyed?” Hoseok teased him, “Did you get permission from your master?” “Fuck his permission,” Jeongguk said and that was when Taehyung realized his friend’s poor defense mechanism, and grew more worried. The younger was apparently the type to make one mistake and then keep on going, because why stop there? Why do bad, when Jeongguk was capable of doing so much worse? Shit. It was one thing if Jeongguk never planned on returning to Void, but he did – so, what the fuck? Taehyung didn’t know much about the BDSM world and he knew even less about Jeongguk’s relationship with Jimin, but it felt wrong. Maybe if he was more of a friend and less of judgmental piece of shit, then he would be stopping Jeongguk, but he wasn’t. “I call dibs on your camera,” Hoseok said, already at peace with Jeongguk’s decision. Great. They parted ways after lunch was over, Taehyung taking his anti-social ass back to his dorm room. He declined Hoseok’s offer to watch him work on his choreo, because that could last forever, and ever. And it didn’t need to be said, but Jeongguk clearly wanted to be alone, even if he shouldn’t be left to his own devices. Taehyung slammed his hip into the door, shoving it open. He dropped his bag onto his bed. It was seldom that Taehyung had spare time. However, with what little Professor Min offered as studying materials, he had no other choice but to rest. He fired up his laptop, before digging into the fridge, knowing that it would take a good ten minutes for his desktop to fully load. It was an older model, but he couldn’t be bothered to replace it due to lack of income. Food was better than technology, anyway.   The scarf slid free from around his neck, the gradual pull causing him chills. He couldn’t help but think back to what Yoongi had said, about doing an over-arm tie. What was it? A shibari thing? He settled on a bag of stale chips and sat down in front of his laptop. It was ridiculous, waiting a whole five minutes for his browser to popup, just so that he could further look into what went through Yoongi’s mind. He typed ‘over-arm tie shibari’ into the search engine and let it run. He wasn’t particularly interested in looking at the websites or videos, only the images. There were many different ways of doing the tie, apparently, some more constricting, than others. This hardly satisfied Taehyung’s curiosity, since he had no idea how Yoongi would have done it or what the outcome would have even looked like. Pulling up another tab, he typed in Void. There was an official site, the page coming up in predictable colors of black and red. He snorted, reading over the flattering descriptions of the club’s ambiance, learning that there were themed rooms, which would explain the many left and right turns inside the hallway corridor. Taehyung was in no way interested in finding out what the Enchanted Forest room was like, no, not at all. There wasn’t a staff page, which kind of went hand-in-hand with protecting the identity of Void’s workers and attendees. The only photos provided were of the outside of the club and the lounge area, but it was empty. When he clicked to make an appointment, he found Sugar on the list with a similar description as his chalkboard, minus the middle finger. Out of curiosity, Taehyung checked the calendar to see how many bookings he currently had – whistling low, because holy shit. He was busy for the next two months. ‘Consent to me…’ A flash of pretty, black hypnotic eyes and soft, curvy lips damn near caught him off-guard. Did Yoongi say these things to everyone else? He had to of, right? ‘Submit to me…’ Did he already have other submissives under contract? Of course he did. It wasn’t as though Taehyung was special. Yoongi’s pursuit was just his fucked up way of pocketing another shiny new toy.   At the bottom of the page was a link that read, ‘Are You BDSM Curious? Take a test to find out your results’. Taehyung wasn’t curious, this was not curiosity, but he clicked on it anyway. Some form of homework had to be done this evening. The first page was pretty standard, but the quiz itself had him scoffing at every question. The percentage of completion was racking up, until he made it to the very end, and received his results. It seemed silly, because although he might’ve been intrigued by shibari, he was not a rope bunny. Not like Jeongguk or maybe not at all? Look – so, maybe he was a little bit curious. So what? He wasn’t about ready to go and do anything with that information. A notification on the right side of his taskbar slowly and jaggedly crawled its way up. He had his school email linked up to his computer. The ‘ding’ had arrived a bit late. It was something from the Head of the Art History Department, Professor Min Yoongi. All of his classmates were CC’d in the following message that read: Good Evening, Class. I’d like to thank you all for showing me such kindness on my first day and I’m looking forward to helping you along on your paths. I’ve created a cohesive outline for this semester’s syllabus from Professor Jung’s notes and left the link down below. I have called to confirm the approach that I’m taking and he agreed that it was well-structured, and much like what he had in mind for you. He also requested that I am to be open with you, not only as a mentor, but also as a person. As I understand it, Professor Jung shared a lot about himself with his students, so I’ll do the same with an introduction.     Here’s a little bit about me that wasn’t on the chalkboard today. I was born and raised in a small town in Daegu. I’ll be turning thirty this coming March. I have a toy poodle named Holly. During my free time, I like to create music, and discover new coffee joints. If you have any recommendations, let me know. Also, like Professor Jung, my passion for art has taken me all across Europe, and made me fall in love with the study all over again. I’d like to note that it’s mandatory for all students to give me their contact numbers in the event that they are late for class, or an exam. I expect you to reply back to this email with your information. Today’s lecture is in the attachment for those of you who’d like to look over the notes and again, check out the syllabus. Expect to receive the notes within the first few hours after each class, unless stated otherwise. Sincerely, Professor Min Taehyung had just learned things that he didn’t want to know about Yoongi. For one, he was going to be thirty soon, had a cute dog named Holly, and he travelled around Europe? How convenient that he avoided mentioning what he actually does during his free time. Whatever. The person Professor Min tried to come off as was nothing more than a sham, this was his façade, his Clark Kent identity. Although, Taehyung did appreciate how thorough he was, giving the students access to the syllabus, and attaching the notes – crucial notes that Taehyung failed to jot down during today’s lecture. He closed out of the email, dismissing the professor’s request. Professor Min wasn’t getting his goddamn digits. -------------------------------------------------------------------- Jeongguk got through his week by doing things he knew Jimin would disapprove of – things that went against the terms and agreement of their contract. Two months wasn’t a very long time in the BDSM scene, but the younger fit right in. Admittedly, there was always something missing in Jeongguk’s life, and in all of his relationships. He wasn’t interested in girls from the beginning, but he also wasn’t interested in boys, either. He thought that he would drift in limbo forever, until his last year of high school, where a party was being held back home in Busan. His first sexual experience was with a smaller boy, both in height and width – in all ways. He was just so very little and precious in comparison, on the outside at least, and Jeongguk didn’t want to ruin him. He wanted to be careful, but the other boy only wanted to be broken. Jeongguk was always better at listening to orders, anyway, so there was comfort in being told what to do, and exactly how to do it. So, he took that fragile boy apart just as he wished, but a pattern had formed, however. The stronger Jeongguk became, the more he seemed to attract breakable people. They wanted to be dominated by him. Perhaps that’s why Jimin was everything to him. He was strong, yet elegant, small, but unbreakable. Jeongguk recalled the first time he saw Jimin. He was decked out in a fitted leather one piece that he never saw again, except for in his dreams. When his birthday rolled around, he’d be sure to make a request. Jeongguk vividly remembered falling in love with fifty inches of pretty, baby pink hemp rope. Not the color, but the rope itself. Jimin was teaching the audience how to properly create a dragonfly harness. Jeongguk stood front and center, listening attentively as Jimin went over the basics, while practicing on someone who was randomly picked from the crowd. ‘A lucky bastard,’ was the unanimous response he was picking up on from the spectators around him. Jimin started off with explaining what the bight of the rope was, to the sensitive areas of the body where rope constriction could cause nerve damage. By the end of the lesson, Jeongguk had learned that the art of shibari was beautiful, but it was also dangerous, and any misstep could lead to serious injury. Naturally, he liked it even more for that reason. He was an adrenaline junkie, chasing after one risky endeavor to the next, Jimin being the most hazardous. He not only gave his body to the experience, but he also gave away everything else that was inside him, both the good, and the bad. BDSM was the act of exposing his fears and insecurities, wrapping it up with a neat little ribbon, and handing it over to Jimin – trusting him to take care of it.   His master always handled him as though he were something delicate. Jeongguk had never been perceived as soft in his entire life. Not ever, until Jimin, which was why last week when he saw Jimin pressing light kisses into Seokjin’s wrists, Jeongguk had felt terribly cold. He realized that everyone was treated this way with Jimin. Every submissive was precious to him, was met with the same amount of warmth, and understanding. A shibari expert had to be precise. Every bit of Jimin’s practice was about equal distribution. It was windy on his walk from his car towards the club, a thin layer of frost covering the pavement. Jeongguk pulled the doors open to Void, stepping inside its warmth. His skin was tingling, but it wasn’t from the cold. He was nervous.   “It’s been a whole minute, hasn’t it, Jeongguk,” Hwasa said with a purr of seduction, a well-known domme leaning against the reception desk. She was outwardly impatient, moving her long, jet black hair over to one shoulder. The change with Jeongguk’s hair was an obvious one and she was not-so subtly taking it all in. Hwasa’s laugh was both soft, and unkind, “Oh my…Did your master agree to all of this?” A second passed without an answer, when she said, “I’m going to assume, ‘no’. Jimin wouldn’t like the idea of you drawing too much attention to yourself.” The receptionist returned from the backroom holding a stack of freshly printed documents in her hand, humming to a song that Jeongguk couldn’t recognize. She greeted him, sweetly, before busying herself with paperclipping and tucking the papers away into a folder. She handed it over to Hwasa, “Here’s your contract, mistress. Congratulations on your new pet.” “Thank you, Claire,” she practically cooed, leaning forward so that she could skim the girl’s cheek with her leather clad fingertips. “What do you think of Jeongguk’s new look?” “It’s the color of fresh strawberries and I absolutely love it.” The receptionist – well, his now favorite receptionist, shot him a wink. “The usual room is ready for you, but I advise against keeping your master waiting. He has quite the temper as of late.” Well, fuck. Hwasa glanced up at his hair for one last time with fire in her eyes, “Good luck, little rabbit. Oh, and do make sure to give Hoseok my love next time you see him.” If Jeongguk wasn’t in the obituaries tomorrow, he’ll do that for her, right. He bowed to her, mannerism of especially high importance at Void, although he was usually polite no matter where he was, so it wasn’t much of a task for him. He walked down the corridor, making several rights, until he was met with doors made up of black steel, and floors of pristine marble. It was the east appointment wing, where the best rooms were reserved – in Jeongguk’s opinion, anyway.   Room Nine belonged to them – he and Jimin. The boy stood outside, giving himself a moment, because beyond that door could mean the end of their arrangement. Jeongguk had broken so many rules, unthinkingly, having been so overcome with jealousy that he kept on going. He didn’t even know how to stop himself, concerned only with hurting Jimin in whatever way he could manage it, which wasn’t a healthy reaction, but it was too late to dwell on what was wrong, or right. What’s done is done. He stepped into the room, comforted by the familiar surroundings of black walls and dark tiles. It was meant to be an empty space, save for what the scene professional required for the session. The first thing he noticed was a simple table and chair setup at the center of the room. Covering the surface was an array of red, tapered paraffin candles that were already lit and melting down. Unsafe, leaving the display unattended, but…A crisp sheet of paper lying upon the surface caught Jeongguk’s attention, and as he walked closer to examine it, he realized that it was his submissive contract with Jimin. He tried not to overreact, steeling himself, as he continued taking in the room, trying to figure out what Jimin wanted to do with him. There was a suspension frame over towards the back of the room, which wasn’t all that surprising for a shibari expert. He couldn’t help but to stare back down at the contract, feeling scared for a change. One of the basic rules that were agreed upon when coming to an appointment, was that Jeongguk would be completely bare, as he waited for his master. He started the ritual of removing his clothing, folding his coat – the fabric of his shirt was purposefully light on his skin, because he didn’t expect to leave unscathed tonight. He was left wearing only his collar. It was made of real black leather with a white gold rabbit dangle pendant at the center, hence all the nicknames. Jimin’s baby bunny. Jeongguk lowered himself onto the smooth, black tiles in front of the door, resting his hands in his lap. The silence was more unwelcomed, than the pain from his kneeled position. After several long minutes, Jeongguk wondered if his master was going to show up at all. That maybe, this was some sort of new punishment, when the door was being opened, and softly clicked shut. Jeongguk doesn’t dare look at him, keeping his eyes on the floor. The sound of Jimin’s footfalls was light against the cold floor – his double strapped, Italian leather shoes coming into Jeongguk’s line of vision. Jimin was standing directly in front of him, being eerily quiet. Neither of them had gone a day without seeing each other for weeks. Then again, submissives weren’t known for punishing their dominants with such things. Jimin spoke, softly, “Look at me.” Jeongguk obeyed the command, lifting his face to bravely meet the pair of dark, narrowed eyes piercing through him. A short huff of disbelief escaped Jimin’s lips, as he took in the deep pink color of Jeongguk’s hair. “Is it permanent?” he asked, while his thick, slack covered legs brought him closer to where Jeongguk was kneeling. Jimin was dressed with intent to kill him, apparently, wearing a sleeveless top, showing off his arms – delicate muscles toned, and strong-looking. A black harness clung to his slender frame.   It was difficult for Jeongguk to not break out into a smile. “Yes, master.” Jimin raised an eyebrow at him, “You did this to upset me?” “Why?” Jeongguk actually did smile that time, unable to help it. “Did it work?” Something cold and feral flashed across Jimin’s soft features, actions abrupt when he was suddenly gripping at the soft, pink strands of Jeongguk’s hair. The younger hissed at the sharp pain, his head yanked back from the forced motion. Jimin planted his feet between Jeongguk’s thighs, leaning down to speak carefully to him. “You answer questions with questions now, bun?” he practically seethed, showing a new side of himself that the younger had never seen before. Jimin tugged the hair by its roots, taking in all of Jeongguk’s small gasps. “Are you aware of how many rules you’ve broken? Ten and that’s if I’m not being picky about it, which is why I brought along our contract. You are in serious need of being reminded as to what the rules are here. I want you to go sit in the chair at the table.” He released Jeongguk from his grip, hearing him whimper at the sore, bruising sensation radiating across his scalp. Fuck. The younger was about to stand up, when he was shoved down onto his back – the top of Jimin’s shoe pressing hard into his shoulder. Jimin tilted his head at him, a spark of amusement in his eyes, “You don’t deserve to walk. You’re going to have to crawl for me.” Jeongguk felt his face flush at this, skin becoming hot, as he turned over onto his hands and knees. The floors were unkind, as he started to slowly crawl towards the table. It wasn’t much distance to cover, but it was still humiliating. The worst part was that his cock was heavy between his legs, having been hard since the moment he arrived at the club – that, on top of Jimin’s rough treatment, and already Jeongguk was fucked. He grabbed onto the seat of the chair, using it to pull himself up, until he was sitting down. Jeongguk was less than pleased with the whole ordeal, once again being confronted with the contract. The first time he signed it, he was in Jimin’s lap – sighing, as he received small bites at the back of his arm from crooked teeth. There’d been warmth and excitement, but now there was only tension, and hushed anger. There was a Table of Contents section for their contract that consisted of many things, like; Terms, Submissive’s Goals, Rules, Rights of Master, Communication, Punishment, Exclusivity, Limits, Safe Word, Termination of Contract. “Turn to the rules,” Jimin said, as he casually picked up one of the burning candles from its holder. Jeongguk recognized the paraffin wax as what Jimin typically used, but not usually so thin. Sometimes not even sticks at all, but the melts. The younger turned to the exact page and waited for further instruction. He was on edge, anticipating the feel of hot wax meeting his skin. “Ten rules were broken and I want you to guess which. For each rule you get wrong, I will correct you, and give you a punishment. Do you understand?” He nodded, “Yes, master.” “Broken rule number one is what?” Jimin asked, standing behind the boy. Jeongguk read over the printed letters in front of him, finding the first one rather easily. He read it aloud, “Cosmetic changes without permission.” Jimin’s voice was soft and appraising, “Very good, bun. What’s the second?” It was the rule that started it all. Jeongguk grimaced, “Collar accessory either forgotten to be worn or lost.” “That one especially upset me. Next rule.” “Appointment avoidance or sudden cancellations,” Jeongguk murmured, thinking about the many times Jimin tried calling him personally, instead of having the receptionist do it for him. He even started texting Jeongguk, which brought upon the next broken rule. “Coming without permission…” “Ah, yes,” Jimin smirked, wryly, tempted to drip the wax on the smooth, flawless plain of Jeongguk’s back, when the brat deserved much worse. “The lovely pictures of your spent cock, right after I told you not to touch yourself.” Jeongguk was running out of broken rules that fit their current situation. The next one was a guess. “Undermining the dominant’s superiority.” “That’s only five and yet you sound so very lost. You have three seconds to give me the next rule…” The countdown was slow and generous, almost like Jimin knew that he’d have his chance to paint the younger with wax, one way or the other. The sentence came out rushed, “Talking back to the dominant with usage of foul language or speaking out of turn without permission.”   Even if Jeongguk was safe, if it was only for but a moment, since every other rule didn’t seem to apply. There was still four more to go. Jeongguk tried his best to sound confident, “Failed to meet personal goal that the dominant – a-ah!” The boy cried out, as the hot wax was dripped onto his skin in a long, messy path of red that ran down the length of his spine. Jimin was enthralled by the sight of it, always – always so fascinated, as he crouched down to brush his petite fingers over Jeongguk’s sensitive skin, the dried wax flaking off in the process. He murmured the answer, quietly, “Seven, acting on impulse or behaving irrationally due to an emotional episode, brought upon by jealousy.” Jeongguk had to choke back his rebuttal of, ‘fuck you’. Instead, he roamed his eyes over the list for potential responses. This next one couldn’t have been right, but any answer was better than none at all. “Interacting with another dominant at a social event such as…” Jeongguk stopped the moment he felt hot rivulets of wax sliding along the side of his neck, gasping sharply. Jimin stood up, so that he could drape his arms around Jeongguk’s front. There – he blew cool air onto the wax beneath Jeongguk’s ear, before he whispered huskily, “Eight, failing to disclose all current romantic entanglements with individuals within or outside of the practice of BDSM...” Was he seriously referring to Taehyung? Wouldn’t this go down as Jimin doubting his character and loyalty through making baseless assumptions? There was a rule against that somewhere.               Jeongguk was annoyed at that point, as he shot back, “How about being falsely accused and or punished by the dominant, for having romantic feelings that don’t exist.” “How about it’s whatever the fuck I say it is,” Jimin said, as he brought the heat of the flame to the boy’s chest, so dangerously close to licking his skin. The jealousy issues were mutual, apparently. Jimin continued, evenly, “Nine, being dishonest with the dominant. We can safely say that you haven’t been completely honest with me, bun.” “Neither have y–” Before Jeongguk could finish his sentence, Jimin tilted his wrist, allowing the wax to drip over an erect nipple. This sent Jeongguk’s back against the chair in an attempt to escape the intense sensation. Jimin kept his arm around him, as he extended his reach to start painting over the younger’s skin in other soft, sensitive areas – Jeongguk’s thighs receiving most of the attention. By the time he was finished pouring, the boy was shaking in his arms, as the cool air in the room swept over his burns. He was pink wherever the wax had touched – pink, a color that was to be associated with Jeongguk given his recent choices. “Ten, leaving without being dismissed, which believe me, you will never,” Jimin laughed, still livid over the fact that his submissive had the gall to do such a thing. He pressed his nose into Jeongguk’s hair, “…ever do that to me again.” Jeongguk whimpered, somewhat pitifully, “No, master.” “When you signed the contract, you knew that I would be meeting with other clients. Seokjin is a friend and a colleague. In my opinion, this fact should have upset you less, or not at all.” Jimin placed the candle down back in its holder. “And before you try uselessly defending yourself in regards to your bestie, understand that I don’t care to hear about it. Wanna know what happens when someone touches what’s mine?” Jeongguk bit at the side of his lip, unsure if he honestly wanted to know where Jimin was going with it. “Please, tell me.” The dominant leaned himself away, so that they were no longer touching. “It loses its value.” Jeongguk closed his eyes against the words. It was a secret fear of his, one – that he’d kept under control for the most part. The fear of boring Jimin to the point where all of this would stop and that he would be disowned was difficult for him to handle, which was terrifying, given how little time they’ve spent together.                                                                               Jimin extended his hand out to him, “Come.” The boy’s reaction was automatic, not requiring any thought at all, as he slid his fingers through the dominant’s, locking them together. He was pulled up from the chair. Jeongguk was being bigger and taller, but their differences in height and build only served as another aspect of enjoyment.     The wax was peeling and flaking away with movement, leaving behind a path of play debris. Jeongguk was well aware that he was about to be tied up, which was a present more than a punishment, really. Jimin brought him to stand beneath the steel suspension frame, before going to unzip the duffle bag he placed down while he was setting up the equipment, taking out inches of brand-new jute rope. “There’s more to your punishment, bun,” Jimin said, as started unraveling the many layers. “And you were kind enough to give me a nice, long time to think about what I was going to do with you and what would be sufficient enough to appease me.” He moved to stand in front of Jeongguk, instructing him to put his elbows together. “The safe word for tonight is something I know you don’t want to say to me, otherwise you would have said it by now.” Jimin was quick to grab the boy by his chin, forcing Jeongguk to meet his eyes. “It’s ‘sorry’.” The elder released him in favor of binding Jeongguk’s wrists into a double column tie, stressing all of the tightening on the top band of rope, so that it wouldn’t pinch the submissive’s skin. Jimin teased his fingers through the layers to ensure of this, before he went overhand with the rope. The tie itself resembled cuffs. “Put your arms behind your head.”                                                                                                   Jeongguk did as he was told, struggling to calm his racing heart when Jimin fed the rope through the suspension ring on the steel bar, and tugged on it. “Bend over at the waist for me.” Once the anchor was accurately proportioned, Jimin began securing the knot around the ring and the frame, giving Jeongguk enough inches of rope for the position he required. “Perfect. You can stand for now. How do you feel?” “Good,” Jeongguk said, eyes following Jimin, as he started to remove more rope from his bag. It was black like the set around his wrists. The rigger was then on his knees in front of Jeongguk, moving the rope above his hips. The material dug into his skin in a way that was familiar and he couldn’t help, but sigh in comfort. Jimin didn’t react to it, choosing to work in silence, doing his best to avoid Jeongguk’s swollen, leaking cock – otherwise it could end up in his fist, or his mouth. He pulled the rope around the boy’s left and right thigh, mirroring them to look exactly the same – steadily working him into a diamond harness.   Jimin doesn’t know what a submissive will look like in one of his intricate webs, but he enjoyed fantasizing about it. It was all part of his fun. And when he first saw Jeongguk, the kid was dressed in layers dark baggy clothes, leaving perhaps too damn much to the imagination. Still, he fantasized. Now imagine Jimin’s surprise to see Jeongguk at one of his eight-o-clock appointments, shyly asking to be tied up. The boy turned out to be so much more, superseding anything he could have ever dreamed of – standing at the perfect height with the ideal build, waist so tiny. Jeongguk was so, so very pretty, almost unreasonably so. Dressing the submissive up in nothing but rope had its effects, where not even an experienced dom like Jimin was immune to it. It was often a difficult task to pleasure his little bunny, without wanting to please himself, perhaps even selfishly at times. In their contract, Jeongguk had consented to being penetrated with whatever Jimin felt necessary, be it with toys or his own cock. Jeongguk had begged, sometimes even with tears in his eyes, but the elder would not relent. He’d never had the boy in that manner, never made him his own in that way, not completely. It wasn’t something he did with any of his clients. However, Jeongguk, usually so well behaved – his best behaved boy, tested him on a daily basis. He slid the rope beneath the firm cheeks of Jeongguk’s ass, pushing them up – merely accentuating an already flattering part of his body. The harness was climbing up from his thighs to past his hips. The goal was to stop at the center of his chest, bringing the working ends through loops, and around his spine. When Jimin had run out of rope, he grabbed for more, forming a lark’s head knot, and pulling the first rope through in order to finish it. Jimin got up – stepping away to admire his work, combing his delicate fingers through his styled, silver locks. The black rope stood out against Jeongguk’s winter pale skin, so beautiful in contrast. Any color seemed to compliment him, making it difficult to have a favorite.     The elder finally tore his eyes from the delectable sight of his submissive, taking the duffle bag from the floor to bring it over by the table, emptying it of its contents. “I have gifts for you, bun, though you hardly deserve them.” Jeongguk couldn’t make out any of the items from the distance that he was at, although he still attempted to do so, straining against his bondage, but it was futile. “I hope you like them. You’re already familiar with this one,” Jimin said, stalking back over towards Jeongguk, waving his purchase from the fetish boutique. It was an adjustable cock ring that consisted of leather straps, rubber, and studded snaps. “Thank you, master,” Jeongguk murmured, voice breathy and light, uncertain of how well the ring would fit him, given the fact that he was already so painfully hard. Jimin hummed in response, pulling out the travel sized bottle of lubricant from his pocket, and pushing the cap open to pour it over Jeongguk’s heated length. He jumped at the coldness, unable to get very far when the slightest bit of movement was met with restriction. Jimin took hold of the younger’s cock into a tight grip, earning him a deep, guttural moan. Jimin stroked over him once – twice, before pausing to stare up into Jeongguk’s warm, brown eyes, “You’re so beautiful.” It was difficult for him to form a proper response, when his dick was pulsating, but Jeongguk managed, given the fact that the compliment was the first hint of sweetness Jimin had shown him this evening. “Only with master’s help…” “How true…” Jimin said, somewhat smug as he slid the ring down to the base of Jeongguk’s cock. There was something appealing about how breathy and overwhelmed the younger was, while he worked the leather straps around his balls, snapping the material in place. Cock rings tended to leave Jeongguk twice as sensitive, and so very, very easy. Jimin released him non-too-gently, his touch still lingering on the boy’s skin, “You have a few more presents.” The dom proceeded back towards the table, returning with both hands occupied. “I think I have an issue with spoiling you, bun.” The humiliation came in the form of a tall, white rabbit eared headband. He ran the velvety material along the vulnerable underside of Jeongguk’s arm, Jimin’s dark, playful eyes gauging his every reaction. A soft gasp escaped into the quiet room, when he skimmed over the boy’s rope covered thigh next. The area was still pink and tingling from the wax. Jimin continued on with the slow torment, teasing the fur across Jeongguk’s chest, catching his nipples – knowing that he would be overwhelmed by it, when he arched his back. “Have you had enough?” Jimin mused, as he leaned onto his toes to place the headband behind Jeongguk’s ears. He played with a few choice strands, tucking his pink bangs back, styling the younger however he saw fit. Frankly, Jimin thought it was criminal whenever Jeongguk’s forehead was kept hidden. “All bunnies have really pretty ears,” Jimin said, slipping two fingers beneath the collar around Jeongguk’s throat, slowly running his thumb over the rabbit pendant – when a single tug suddenly jerked him forward, their lips less than an inch away from touching, breaths mingling as one. “You know what else they have? Pretty little tails...” Jimin pressed an ironically chaste kiss to Jeongguk’s mouth that left the younger aching for more. Jimin revealed to him what was in his other hand. It was a puff of white fur attached to a plug that was made of black glass. He took in Jeongguk’s expression with open amusement, watched as the pink in his cheeks turned scarlet, like a fever was having its way with him. Jimin trailed his gaze down to where Jeongguk’s cock was pitifully swollen within the confines of the ring, where a thick bead of precum had formed at the tip. The elder chuckled, softly, “What a naughty little thing you are, already leaking from the thought of having your hole filled.” Jimin moved so that he was standing behind him, pressing an insistent hand against the small of his back – bending Jeongguk at the waist. The rope around his wrists allowed him to do this to a certain extent, the tie specifically in place to hold him up. “Spread your legs for me,” Jimin said, giving him less than a second to perform the task, before he did it himself – wedging Jeongguk’s thighs far apart with his own. Jimin slid his cold, lube slicked fingers down the cleft of Jeongguk’s ass, slowly teasing over his hole – getting him all wet and sticky, before he pushed in with a slender digit. Usually, his master wore gloves, but he didn’t for this occasion. Jeongguk trusted him to do whatever he pleased, consenting to him fully, but the smallest of details seemed to matter more to him when he was convinced that it was love. “You’re such a good bunny,” Jimin cooed, taking his time working Jeongguk open with expert fingers – knowing exactly how far to push him, where to press into him so deep, before he struck the boy exactly where he needed it the most. The constant tightening of Jeongguk’s rim around his fingers, coupled by the soft little sounds he was making sent pulses of arousal straight to Jimin’s cock. He nearly lost himself to it, “You’re always so fucking tight. Was that boy really just your friend? You didn’t let him fuck you, you – the slut with three of my fingers up his ass?” “It’s because I’m yours…” Jeongguk gasped out, the familiar burn in his belly threatened to spill over, his thighs beginning to quake. He was already so close. “Can I come, please? Please.” “Awe, no, bunny. You can’t,” Jimin said, as he removed each digit one at a time, being so very careful with him. Jeongguk whimpered at the emptiness he felt, when he heard the sound of the cap to the lube being opened again. Jimin squeezed a generous amount of it onto the plug, before he pressed the cool, sleek glass against his dripping hole – slipping into him with ease, filling the younger up with warmth, until he was met with the thick, bulbous part of the toy. Jeongguk bit at his bottom lip to hold in his cries, when Jimin slowly, but firmly sank the rest of the plug into him, stretching him beyond what he’d ever felt, when it wasn’t even that large to begin with. Spiteful almost, Jimin patted the tail, delighting in the choked sob that was elicited in response. “You’re so good for me,” Jimin murmured, as he caressed each of his ass cheeks into his palms, warming up the area for what was soon to come. The dom’s words were soft and affectionate, “My precious little bunny. You’re an absolute dream.” Jeongguk’s skin was on fire, embarrassed by the compliment, “T-Thank you, master.” “I worked really hard on this last present,” Jimin said, finally coming into view again just to tease Jeongguk with distance itself. He could hardly stand it, especially needy when he was reduced into subspace. “Each time I missed you, I worked on it a little bit more. However, it was my recent…disappointment that gave me the motivation to finish it.” The last and final item was a handmade paddle. Crafting and modifying was one of Jimin’s many hobbies. He enjoyed customizing everything that he owned, making every bit of the experience personal. It was how he expressed one of the many acts of control that most dominants seemed to possess in one way or another. For the paddle itself, he’d started from scratch with a jigsaw blade, and a sander. It took time – time Jimin never seemed to have enough of lately. He found a cheap set of rabbit stencils at a local art supply store, penciled them onto the wood, and then carved them out with kanna tools. He raised the paddle in his hand, showing it off to Jeongguk, watching as his doe eyes widened. “Do you like it, bun?” Jeongguk nodded his pink head, to which Jimin gave him a free pass, because even he’d been astonished by the finished product. It was absolutely beautiful and possibly his new favorite toy. The paddle was thick and wide where it mattered, its surface smooth. He pressed the flat of it against the boy’s cheek, allowing him to feel it. Jeongguk lifted his face with the motion, meeting the heavy weight of Jimin’s dark, narrowed eyes. Jesus. “It’s going to leave pretty little bunny indents all across your ass…” the elder murmured, voice like a caress, when he stepped behind the submissive. “Your limit has always been fifteen with a paddle, but I think you can handle more. And since your insubordination hurt me twice as much, we’re going to double the count to thirty. Do you understand?” Jeongguk closed his eyes at the declaration, resigning himself to his fate. “Yes, master.” A thuddy paddle was exceptionally more painful and Jeongguk deserved every little bit of it. Jimin gently pressed the wooden surface between the boy’s cheeks and upper thighs. The familiar burst of adrenaline rushed through his veins, when he reeled back his wrist, and came down firmly. The heavy impact was enough to send ripples of pain across Jeongguk’s body, hitting all of his most sensitive places. Jimin was the one counting in a low growl, as he distributed each stroke of the paddle evenly – changing up the spot the moment he felt Jeongguk had become too comfortable. He watched as the boy jolted, even though he knew it was coming, and he listened to him cry, even though he loved it. Jeongguk had such a pretty voice – his whimpers and moans as melodic as a chirp from a songbird. The flesh of his ass was a burning shade of red, save for the rabbit outlines that were coming out stark, and beautiful against his tender skin. “Twenty-two,” Jimin said, as he once again rolled his wrist – the wood meeting the fluffy tail, causing Jeongguk to tug hard at the restraints around his wrists, trembling. “C–Can I come, please?” he asked, voice raw and broken, as every stroke of the paddle made his muscles tense around the plug, drawing it into him deeper. The sting of pain only served as another form of pleasure that was overwhelming him. It felt like an eternity since he was hard, continuing to pathetically leak precum down the side of his cock. “You can come just from this…” Jimin laughed, because of course – of course Jeongguk was capable of doing such a thing. “The answer is no, bun. You can’t come yet and if you do, I’ll make you wish that you hadn’t.” The threat was followed up by another loud, heavy fall of the paddle. The bite from it was enough to tear a scream from the back of Jeongguk’s throat. Jimin rubbed the abused skin with the wood, before he immediately landed another spank – testing Jeongguk, daring him to go against his command. With only seven more left to go, Jimin chose each spot carefully, knowing exactly where Jeongguk needed it. And despite having been certain that the boy would quickly release within the short pauses between each tingling smack, he’d somehow managed to focus on doing the exact opposite. Jimin’s voice was thick and heady with arousal, having already reached his limit in all manners of the word, “Thirty.” This was the moment where he should be lovingly praising his submissive. He should soothe Jeongguk’s skin, care for him – forgive him, even. But there were outcomes that Jimin had anticipated. One, Jeongguk would end up saying the safe word before he reached the end of the count or two, he would come, which would bring upon another punishment, but neither happened. See, Jeongguk was a very, very good boy. Jimin set the paddle down against the wall behind him. He usually kept a pair of scissors on him in case of emergencies, but tonight he carried one of his favorite karambit safety knives. He retrieved it from his back pocket and started cutting through the rope keeping Jeongguk’s wrists restrained. With the boy in his bent position, Jimin had no problem with reaching it – keeping his hand above Jeongguk’s, protecting him from any chances of meeting the blade, however minute. “I want you lying on the floor, on your stomach,” Jimin said, as he curved his fingers under one of the many knots of rope in the event that Jeongguk’s wobbly legs gave out once his arms were freed, and no longer suspended. They didn’t, but the elder helped lower him onto the smooth tiles anyway. Jeongguk gasped when his warm skin met the cold, uncomfortable surface. Jimin left the knife out, as he joined Jeongguk on the floor. He straddled the back of his well-muscled thighs, enclosing them tightly within his own. There were rope marks left on the boy’s wrists that would be gone over night. “I’d try to get comfortable while you still can, bun.” The dom’s tone was mockingly regretful. “The thing is – you’re such a good boy for me, that when you step out of line, it’s unexpected, and when it’s unexpected, it makes me very angry. I’m still so very angry with you.” Jeongguk breathed out, shakily, “I’m sorry.” “Sorry, ‘stop’ or sorry that you were wrong?” Jimin asked him, as he shamelessly roamed his eyes over Jeongguk’s sprawled form, completely at his mercy – if willing.   “I’m sorry that I tried to make you angry.” “Oh, you didn’t try, little bunny,” he laughed, the bitter sound of it running down the length of Jeongguk’s spine. “You succeeded.” The boy tensed when he felt something cold being pressed against his back, knowing that it was the steel of Jimin’s blade. “I need you to be still for me...” He nodded his compliance, when the pressure around his midsection was released. Jimin had cut the knots leading down to his waist, but avoided the rope incasing his thighs. Jimin put the knife away, taking in the endless amount of soft, smooth skin along Jeongguk’s back. He was like a herculean trope, all healthy, and fit – half boy, half god. So pretty that Jimin wanted to ruin him, as he dug his short nails into the back of Jeongguk’s neck, and then slowly dragged them down, listening as the boy drew in a sharp breath. The elder adjusted his hips to better follow his path into the dip of Jeongguk’s spine, purposefully nudging his clothed, hard cock against the rabbit tail. He smiled, wickedly, when the boy keened at the contact, “Do you like this, bun?” “Ah –yes! S–So much…” he gasped, having been startled by the satisfying pain and heat radiating throughout his back. “Harder, master.” Jimin was more than willing to oblige him, using both hands this time – starting at the tops of Jeongguk’s shoulders. The lines forming beneath the deep press of his nails were an angry red, skin breaking with small, puffy cuts. However, the reaction from Jeongguk was one of ecstasy, when he curled in on himself with a wrecked cry. The sound of it rang through Jimin like an alarm, deciding that once more would have to be the absolute limit. He tried to make it last, as he slowly raked his nails down – all the while, rocking his hips against Jeongguk’s ass, reveling in his breathy moans of pleasure. The boy turned his face to the side, resting his overheated skin against the cool tiles. “More,” he whispered, brown eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “I want you to mark me. Please, master. I want to be yours.” The air ghosting over his scratches made everything burn and at the back of his mind, Jeongguk knew that he was bleeding, and that it was probably an ugly sight, but he didn’t care. “You’re already mine,” Jimin informed him, as he gripped the plug at its base and slowly withdrew it from his submissive’s stretched little hole. He spread Jeongguk’s cheeks nice and wide within his palms, the action possessive as he watched him clench around nothing. The last ounce of Jimin’s self-restraint was promptly gone within that moment, as he tugged down the zipper on his dark slacks far enough to pull out his throbbing cock. “I’ve always wanted you beneath me, just like this, my helpless little bunny.” Jeongguk’s skin grew hot from the words being spoken, torn between wanting to hide himself away, or to throw his arms around Jimin. It was a pivotal moment for the both of them, a change in their dynamic. He’d begged, sometimes until his throat was raw, to be fucked. For Jimin to use him up like he was a doll – now it was finally happening.   Jimin opened the lubricant bottle to start slicking himself up, being generous with the application. What he lacked in length, he made up for in girth. Jeongguk knew of this fact, given the many times he choked while giving his master a messy blowjob, left with a stream of tears and a swollen mouth. “It’s too early in your training to be doing this,” Jimin warned, voice grave, as he pressed the thick head of his cock against Jeongguk’s tender rim. “Are you sure?”     “Please, fuck me, master,” Jeongguk murmured, doing his best to push back with his hips, needing the ache inside him to be filled after a long night of being on edge, punished, and teased. Jimin peered down at him, watching as his bunny teeth sucked in his bottom lip. The rabbit ears were so pretty against Jeongguk’s soft pink hair. He wasn’t even that upset about it anymore. The boy whined when he thought he was being ignored, somewhat petulant, “I’ve been good for you.” “That means you deserve my cock, then?” Jimin mused, feeling himself give in, which was a too common occurrence with his submissive, whose response was an indecent moan of, ‘mmmhmm’ at the back of his throat – eagerly nodding and once again squirming, until he abruptly grabbed Jeongguk by the waist in order to cease his movements, Jimin’s strong legs tightening around the boy’s thighs, as he took hold of his length and slowly pushed into him, sinking deep – until his pelvic bone met Jeongguk’s pert, bunny printed cheeks. Jeongguk’s mouth dropped into a soundless cry at the stretch, painful and blissful all at once. He curled his hands into fists beside his head, when Jimin had him by the roots of his hair, brushing his mouth over the boy’s shoulder, “You feel incredible,” he murmured, voice shaky and affected, as he traced over a deep scratch with the point of his tongue, “So tight and perfect around my cock, little bun.” Using his grip on Jeongguk’s pink locks as leverage, Jimin barely withdrew his hips, before he slammed back in – creating a rhythm that sent the younger into the tiles each time he came forward, Jeongguk’s swollen length a dripping mess between his stomach and the floor, stimulated by the raw friction. He whimpered when he felt Jimin sucking marks into his skin, placing bites against the cuts from his nails. Jeongguk was at the point where shame no longer mattered. “Please–I need more, need it f-faster…” “What if I want to take my time fucking you?” Jimin asked, punctuating his question by slowing his hips to a full stop. It was three, excruciatingly long seconds, before he thrust back into him, filling him inch by inch – the elder repeated the action, seeming to draw it out more each time. The boy was quaking beneath him, when he finally let up. “You would cry,” Jimin said, evenly, answering the question on his behalf, despite the fact that they were both aware of the truth. Jeongguk felt as his master took hold of his wrist, carefully guiding his arm back, so that he was grabbing Jimin’s thigh for support. The muscles there flexed and jumped beneath his fingertips whenever Jimin drove into him, the pace having formed into one that was fast and unforgiving, as he relentlessly pressed in as far as he could inside the younger, the harsh sound of skin meeting skin flooding the quiet room. “Ma–ahh… Master, please let me come…” Jimin could feel how close Jeongguk was to unraveling, clenching tightly around his cock at frequent, squeezing him so hard he’d nearly lost breath from sheer overwhelm. The younger felt so fucking good, part of the reason being the fact that it was Jeongguk he was fucking, and Jimin wanted – he craved to have this for himself, which was a dangerous realization that he’d have to dwell on later. “Go on, sweets, I want you to come for me,” he said, words skimming the back of Jeongguk’s neck, as he moved a hand around Jeongguk’s hips to gently grab at his cock, stroking him in rhythm with his thrusts. The second Jeongguk was granted permission he felt the relief swallow him up whole. The pleasure that was steadily melting him through at the center of his being finally spilled over, as he came in a myriad of deep moans and needy, little cries. A professional dominant would do well to remember that putting the needs of his submissive first was crucial. Jimin had always believed in this, focusing on the younger, when he gave himself over to his release. Fingers then coated with sticky ropes of Jeongguk’s cum, Jimin continued pumping him through each intense wave, until his muscles stopped gripping him and his cock softened enough to remove the ring. Jeongguk winced once the pressure was released, dropping his sweaty forehead against his forearm, utterly sated, and blissed out. Unfortunately for his sweet little bunny, it was his turn now. Jimin pressed the flat of his hand between Jeongguk’s shoulder-blades, forcing his chest down to the floor, pinning him there as he started grinding his hips into his ass, thrusts slow and deep, more thorough – expelling the air from Jeongguk’s burning lungs. Jimin was the perfect fit – his thick cock repeatedly stretching the boy open and stuffing him full, rubbing against the deepest parts of him. It didn’t take much for Jeongguk to get hard again from being overstimulated. “Show Master that slutty, little bunny cunt of yours,” Jimin growled the order through his teeth, watching with hooded eyes as Jeongguk did as he was told, a good boy – spreading his cheeks wide enough to give Jimin the perfect view of his cock disappearing in and out of his drenched, abused hole. He captured Jeongguk’s wrists, keeping his hands there, “Who owns you, Jeongguk?” It was very rare that Jimin ever used a submissive’s real name, even though it wasn’t a set rule. It was simply perceived as coming off as too intimate or personal. “Master owns me,” Jeongguk gasped out, as the heat at the pit of his stomach threatened to unfurl for a second time. He didn’t want it to be so soon, trying to focus on the signs that Jimin was nearing his climax, how aggressive he becomes, his words filthy and thoughtless between deep groans and breathy sighs. It turned him on to no end, knowing that he was the one giving his master such pleasure. It empowered him. “Can I p-please come?” “Little bunny, you come now or you don’t come at all,” Jimin husked, challenging Jeongguk even while he was so very close to oblivion. He tore his eyes away from where their bodies were connected to lean down, scraping his teeth over the back of Jeongguk’s shoulder, unable to leave it alone, as he relished in the cries he was rewarded with, continuing to pound into the boy with wild abandon. The sound of Jeongguk’s affliction was enough to send a pleasurable chill throughout his body, or in this case, do him in completely. He used the full weight of his body to keep Jeongguk still, when he came hard – spilling his hot cum deeply inside him. Jeongguk winced at the odd sensation and was quick to follow Jimin over the edge, coming in thick spurts against his stomach and the tiles. Jimin slammed his hips forward one last time, burying his release, before he slowly let Jeongguk go from his bruising grip. Jeongguk felt weightless, basking in the afterglow – a giddy, joyful feeling engulfing him in warmth. He closed his eyes against its comfort, listening to the rapid beating of his pulse in ears – trying to slow it, without ever having to come back down. Jimin was lying beside him on the floor then, arms immediately reaching for him, and wrapping around the boy like vines. Jeongguk allowed himself to be pulled in, sighing at the petite hands stroking over his sore skin. “Did I hurt you?” Jimin asked, his voice back to its usual soft, alluring lilt – soothing him. Jeongguk was contented, a giggle bubbling from his chest, “Only in ways that I enjoyed.” The elder started combing his fingers through the damp, pink strands of Jeongguk’s hair, adjusting the headband in the process. “The bunny props didn’t even embarrass you, did they?” He shook his head, feeling shy all of a sudden, “But you enjoyed seeing me wear them, so it wasn’t a total waste.” He hummed in agreement, as he turned over onto his back, pulling Jeongguk’s mouth to his own, kissing him softly. “You’re so pretty, bun,” he whispered, taking another long, slow drag of the younger’s lips. Jimin didn’t stop until he was certain that he was under the consumption. At the end of every scene or an intense activity, the submissive was prone to a sub-drop, which meant their endorphins crashed. Jimin was always careful about cushioning the fall, all gentle touches and soft words. “So pretty and all mine.” In a few moments, Jimin would go through the routine of cutting off the rest of the rope. He’d then proceed to take a warm, soapy rag to Jeongguk’s skin, washing him of the blood, sweat, and cum that clung to him – all the while, eyeing his water intake, and feeding him his favorite chocolates. The final step would be dressing Jeongguk’s wounds and there were plenty of them. At the end of an evening with Jeongguk, Jimin was always left with such profound emptiness, which is why Jeongguk needed to complete his training, and become his – his forever. No one in this world made Jimin feel so insecure. No one ever could and yet. Jeongguk nuzzled his nose against the side of Jimin’s throat, twisting his fingers into the fabric of his master’s shirt, desperate almost, “Master, I want more kisses.” Jimin smiled. “Of course, bun.” -------------------------------------------------------------------- It was a little past midnight when Taehyung glanced over to look at the clock. He’d been staring at his notes all night, and just to be clear – the ones he wrote down himself, not the ones from Professor Min’s stupid, highly well-detailed outline. Sure, it would be beneficial to him to just suck it up and use the material – s’not like Yoongi would ever have to know about it. A small amount of bitterness came with it though, since Professor Jung never provided the class with his own notes, and Taehyung would have given anything for a small glimpse of what went through his head. He got up from his chair, long overdue for a break, and to perhaps eat something for the first time since three o’ clock in the afternoon – yesterday now. Several times the messenger on his phone went off throughout the night. It was Hoseok giving a play by play of his random outing into the city. He kept taking photos of every ‘artsy-esque’ thing he saw, as though his two friends – one majoring in art, and the other in photography, would honestly give a shit. Jeongguk hadn’t even read any of the messages. It made Taehyung wonder, even worry about the possibility of Jeongguk being at Void? Then he remembered the date and what the younger had said at lunch about seeing Jimin on Friday. It was currently past midnight on a Saturday. Taehyung was so absorbed in schoolwork that he doesn’t remember what time Jeongguk left their dorm room. It was the type of shit that made Taehyung feel anxious. Jeongguk had made it clear that he was avoiding going back to the club. He told Taehyung that he would be punished as a result of what had happened last week. And what happened last week, was ultimately Taehyung’s fault. In the BDSM world, he was a goddamn menace. How would he ever survive being a part of it? The answer was simple: he wouldn’t. Not that he wanted to be, mind you. This wasn’t the Little Mermaid. Just as he was about to wolf down the last slice of Jeongguk’s leftover cheesecake, the door to their room was being opened. He quickly placed the dessert back on the refrigerator shelf. The boy looked exhausted, but the cold weather alone could do that to you. The tops of his cheeks, as well as the point of his nose were beet red. Jeongguk gave their small living area the onceover, eyes immediately landing on Taehyung. “Oh, hey, Guk,” ‘Guk, buddy, hey.’ Taehyung was doing that thing where he smiled so big and wide that it was obvious he was nervous. Despite all of that, he was happy to see his dongsaeng – glad to know he was alive, and that all still appeared to be intact. “How was your night?” “It was good,” he said, seeming to mean it, but there was noticeable hesitation in Jeongguk’s movements. He was slower, more sluggish in removing the coat from off his shoulders. “The drive back here was awful, though. Then I remembered there was a game tonight, and parties – parties galore.” “Uh, yeah, fucking parties...galactic…” or galore, whatever he said – Taehyung paused, trying to not be so obvious about the fact that he was taking in the other boy’s actions, waiting to catch him in something that he shouldn’t. “Did you see Hobi’s photos yet? They’re trash, but we should still try to act impressed, especially over the moonlight garden that we can’t even see, because it’s fucking dark out.” For awhile, all Jeongguk did was stand there with his coat still down past his shoulders, and that was where it stayed. “I haven’t checked messenger today. Were you – or did you take your shower?” Taehyung was in full detective mode now, ready to break out the deerstalker hat, and magnifying glass. “Not yet. Why? Trying to get rid of me, Jeon Jeongguk?” “I was gonna ask if I can wash up first?” he asked, long fingers closed in one sleeve behind his back, where he was carefully pulling on it. “Sure, Guk, whatever you want,” Taehyung breathed out, realizing that Jeongguk was avoiding hurting himself with abrupt movements. There was discomfort somewhere – somewhere in his shoulders, or in his back. “Let me help you with that.” Taehyung wasn’t offering at this point and Jeongguk wasn’t in the position to refuse him. So, he picked up from where the younger left off, gently pulling at the sleeves of his coat. He then placed it on Jeongguk’s bed when the task was done. Throughout the removal, he hadn’t failed to notice the way Jeongguk’s shoulders tensed, as though waiting for it to hurt. Cutting the bullshit, Taehyung deadpanned, “What happened at Void?” “I had my appointment,” Jeongguk said, turning so that he was facing his friend. “It was nothing out of the ordinary, really. Jimin was happy to see me back, there was even one point where I thought he was going to break out a cake, or play the trombone or something.” “Oh, really? Wow, that’s fantastic!” Taehyung laughed in mock-glee, the sound of it absolutely obnoxious – they’d both learned it from Hoseok. He sobered up once he’d made his point clear, that he didn’t believe a word out of his fucking mouth, “You’ll have no problem with showing me your back then.” “Tae…” Jeongguk whispered, brown eyes pleading with him. He looked like he was about ready to break down. Taehyung was stubborn and would not give up, he already knew. “You saw what happened with Woozi. Sometimes there are punishments that may look bad, but they’re not. It’s all consensual and agreed upon.” “Show me,” Taehyung repeated, the tension in the room growing thick, and suffocating. When Jeongguk continued to remain still, denying him without words, he closed his eyes, raising his voice for the first time – in a long while. Years. “If it’s not as bad as you say it is, then you wouldn’t have hobbled yourself in here, struggling to get out of your fucking clothes! I won’t be able to sleep tonight, until you fucking show me.” Jeongguk nodded somewhat numbly, as he reached for the hem of his shirt, pausing midway when he felt the beginnings of pain. He sucked in his breath and quickly tugged it off, as one would a band-aid. If he thought Taehyung hadn’t seen the pain on his face, he was wrong – too perceptive for his own good. Jeongguk dropped the garment to the floor, the front of his body reflecting the marks from the rope, but they would fade soon. Without having to be told, he slowly turned around, unaware of the condition of his back, but he could hear it in the sharp gasp Taehyung drew. It was bad. Thankfully, the older boy couldn’t see his ass. That hurt twice as much and was probably covered in welts. “Jimin did this to you?” Taehyung asked, already knowing the answer, but it made no sense to him. There was a deep bruise from what was an obvious bite mark – lines of red were dragged down the length of Jeongguk’s back. It looked like a mess, a bloody mess and part of it was Taehyung’s fault. His voice was trembling, “The guy you claim to be in love with?” “You don’t understand,” Jeongguk said, looking over his shoulder, and was met with Taehyung’s expression of complete distraught. The younger might’ve been on the brink of tears, but it was his hyung who was crying. “You can’t blame him for what I want done to me.” “A bath would be better.” Taehyung changed the subject, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his shirt, before he raided Jeongguk’s drawers. He pulled out a large black shirt and a pair of boxers. Jeongguk tried again, “Tae…” “The Epsom salt isn’t good for wounds, but,” Taehyung said, talking a mile a minute. “…we can put some Neosporin on the cuts and then uhm, lots of those Finding Nemo band-aids…” “My–Jimin already put cream on them, and at one point, he even dressed them, but I took the bandages off before I got home.” He didn’t want Taehyung to see them in the garbage the next morning. The marks only needed more cream, nothing major. The whole thing was a bit dramatic in his opinion, even if Jeongguk enjoyed being cared for, and coddled. Taehyung was already at the bathroom door, Jeongguk slowly trailing behind him. He was yanking the shower curtain to one side. “Hold on, hyung will clean it first,” he said, as he started scrubbing the porcelain with a Magic Eraser. Taehyung was known for being an anxious person, cleaning things, and talking fast when it got the better of him.           Jeongguk swallowed, thickly, emotions tight in his throat. “Tae, you don’t have to…” He stood up when he was finished, a shaking hand turning the faucet on to adjust the water to his own preference. “Feel the temperature. Tell me if it’s okay.” Jeongguk humored him, wiggling his fingers beneath the spray. “It’s perfect.” “Oh! Your socks,” Taehyung said, as he slowly backed away from him. “I’ll go get them for you, unless you need help with your jeans?” “No – I shouldn’t, but Tae, I don’t…” Taehyung stopped him right there. “Socks are important, they do a lot to keep us warm, you know.” He walked into the room, continuing to go on and on about the amazing comfort. But in all honesty, Taehyung wasn’t interested in socks. He also didn’t want to hear the cries of pain once Jeongguk finally sat himself down in the tub. No, he didn’t want to see the rest of the damage left all over his friend’s body, due to his, his – Kim fucking Taehyung’s behavior. What Taehyung truly wanted was the keys to the car. And he’d found them on top of Jeongguk’s bed from where he’d tossed them so that he could fail to shed out of his coat. Taehyung scooped them up, loudly saying something about the wonders of fuzzy socks, before he pulled on his scarf, and stepped out into the hallway of their dormitory. It took Taehyung a moment to ground himself enough to be able to drive, smoothing his hands flat against the closed door. He felt apologetic for the anger that was currently surging through him, for the fact that Jeongguk would not approve of what he was about to do next. He might not even be able to forgive Taehyung after tonight. He really was going to break Jimin’s wrist. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- TBC Oh, hell. It’s a glossary. Bight - a loop of rope, as distinct from the rope's ends. Lark’s head knot - a hitch knot used to attach a rope to an object. Sub-drop - the ‘down’ or ‘low’ feeling after BDSM play. Rigger - someone that is a top that specializes in rope bondage, often one that performs suspension riggings. *BDSM test link that literally everyone has taken at some point or another.