#that being said it is impressive as hell that they won the title the first time they made the playoffs since 2000

[the-physicality]

20 years later, the mercury have not changed lmao

[demon-defender]

It's really weird to think about how much Iruma changed Azz's life, and how he kind of saved him in a way??

Azz was a very talented kid growing up, so much so that other kids were intimidated by him to the point of not even approaching him. Hell, he didn't even have any adult role models, since his mother wasn't someone he looked up to and most of the other adults he interacted with worked for them. So he was essentially always "above" anyone he met for one reason or another.

Then he enters Babyls. At first, it's the same as always, he excels and impresses everyone, getting the title of top student on the entrance exam and getting to give a speech in the opening ceremony.

...Except he doesn't get to do that, actually. Turns out, the headmaster's grandson is going to give the speech (and this was seemingly decided at the last second). And what does this guy (who entered Babyls not by proving himself in the exam, but by simply being the headmaster's grandson) do? He flexes his magical abilities by saying an incredibly dangerous curse.

Who does this Iruma think he is, stealing Asmodeus's spot and having the nerve to act so proudly??? Naturally, he must challenge him to a duel to teach him a lesson and regain his status as the star student.

So they battle... Or Asmodeus does. Iruma just keeps dodging his attacks. This goes on for a while. Imagine being Azz, how insulting would it be to have a battle go on for like half an hour and not being able to land a single hit on your opponent? Even moreso since said opponent isn't attacking back?? I would've died

But anyway, it only takes Iruma one single move to knockout Asmodeus. If this had been between two normal demons, Azz would not have been able to live this down. But not only did Iruma carry him to the infirmary (which is probably a rare sign of kindness and respect for someone who won a duel in a single motion, especially in the netherworld), Azz now has someone to look up to.

After years of not even finding an equal because he's apparently so above anyone else, suddenly he has someone who's way above him. And hanging out and respecting Iruma opens the door to forming more meaningful relationships with equals. I think the best example of this is how, at first, he looks down on Clara, but spending time with her makes him realize that she's a wonderful person and he likes being with her!! He starts to talk casually with her and calling her by her first name, which means a lot from someone who values manners and formality as much as Azz.

Imagine if none of this had happened. If Asmodeus just ended up in the top class and still believed he was somehow better than everyone around him. We've seen how he started to stagnate when it comes to his rank in the original manga, so I can only picture him growing more stressed as it gets harder for him to go up the ranks and generally maintain this "young prodigy" image as he gets older. You know like gifted kid burnout but more literal because of the fire powers.

So no wonder he's obsessed, Iruma essentially gave him an ambition!

[llovelyclouds]

notes on pyrrha dve

heres all the relevant info i took note of on pyrrha during my tlt reread, in one place!

(you can find all the other posts from this project here!)

PYRRHA DVE

titles:

Gideon’s cavalier, first gen, founded the second

greek mythological orgin of the name pyrrha

also, pyrrhic victory

notes from gideon the ninth:

G1deon & Pyrrha's room in Canaan house includes a drawing of a chimaera that Gideon describes as "familiar" and a picture on the wall of John and his pals (presumably) with everyone's faces scribbled out with a thick black marker. Also guns (gtn. pg. 205)

notes from harrow the ninth:

presumably lead the development of her and G1dieon's trial at Canaan house, as Mercy refers to it as "Pyrrha's trial" (htn. pg. 97)

 The reason G1deon is named the Saint of Duty (htn. pg. 177)

Asked Wake to kill G1deon quickly (htn. pg. 205)

Was most likely the one conscious in G1dieon’s body when Harrow caught her fucking Wake in Cytherea’s body????? (htn. pg. 216)

"I will remember the first time you kissed me- you apologised- you said, I am sorry, destroy me as I am, but I want to kiss you before I am killed, and I said to you why, and you said, because I have only once met someone so utterly willing to burn for what they believed in, and I loved him on sight, and the first time I died I asked of him what I now ask of you / I kissed you and later I would kiss him too before I understood what you were, and all three of us lived to regret it- but when I am in heaven I will remember your mouth, and when you roast down in hell I think you will remember mine" -Wake's note (htn. pg. 252)

All the lyctors and John loved her (and also thought she was super hot) (htn. pg. 274)

Augustine developed his smoking habit to impress her (htn. pg. 275)

Was ten years older than Augustine (htn. Pg. 278)

G1deon & Pyrrha liked Alecto despite the fact that the other lyctors (at least Mercy and Augustine) didn't (htn. pg. 479)

Mattaius Nonius fought G1deon, and seems to owe Pyrrha a debt (htn. pg. 455)

"We compartmentalised from the Eightfold Word, just like you and your girl- though I'm an accident, and he took more from me than got taken from you. I was able to go underground, even from him."- Pyrrha (htn. pg. 494)

notes from nona the ninth:

Used to be a cop, made detective, knew Gideon from "way back" (ntn. pg. 74)

"'You should be draining and replacing her fucking brain fluid,' said Pyrrha. 'When Gideon and I designed that trial, I used to crack his skull and sieve it myself, just as a control variable. It's aggregative. I doubt you're testing her white blood cell count either. The only other people I put through that damn trial were Mercy and Cris, because only Cris didn't mind being trepanned on the regular. Fucking around with souls is the problem, Sextus… you can't ever get data on souls.'" - Pyrrha, discussing when Cam & Pal "overlap" (ntn. pg. 84)

"I visited her hometown back before Anastasia got settled, and it was grim as fuck then. Just spooky caves all the way down…" -Pyrrha (ntn. pg. 86)

"'Do they still do gravid carry where you come from?' 'On the Sixth, only for research,' said Palamedes. 'I helped at a birth once. Theres a lot of noise and run-up before the real thing happens.'" -Pyrrha and Palamedes (ntn. pg. 121)

"P- was great, but like, Ministry ties or no Ministry ties, a big part of her career was going around to the local high schools and telling the drugs kids that they shouldn't be doing drugs. She'd won medals for competition shooting back north in Hamilton, but we're not talking Jesse James. We're talking Hamilton."- john (ntn. pg. 191)

"She chose us that day, not her career. I always loved her for that. She'd adored being a cop." -john (ntn. pg. 191)

"and it was P- of all people who said, First things first. If they're going to let us fix the world, you've got to make them take us seriously. Get some leverage. If they want to make you into a bad wizard, be a bad wizard. We can write the history books to say you were a good wizard. Or at least an okay wizard. They're not going to listen because we talk nicely, they're going to listen because we scare the shit out of them. He said, Which goes to show you that only getting to NCEA Level 2 isnt going to stop you making waves in life, right." (ntn. pg. 271)

"Nona had thrown exactly two tantrums in her entire life. She couldn't remember anything about the first one, but Pyrrha had told her about it. Pyrrha had been laughing with her mouth, but not with her eyes: her eyes had been very brown and distant and uneasy, as though this tantrum had reminded Pyrrha of something her brain didn't want to bring back." (ntn. pg. 275)

She mentions disco?? how does she know what disco is??? (ntn. pg. 362)

"Gideon… G-, you died for nothing." -Pyrrha (ntn. pg. 390)

“I remember P- behind a barricade… not dead yet… telling me, John, run.” (ntn. pg. 406)

Died pretty immediately after Mercy and Augustine, but before G1deon (ntn. Pg. 407)

“Who are you, foreigner, that you know the mysteries of the Anastasian?” “I was here before it was the Anastasian,” said Pyrrha absently. “Painted a nursery. Mint green.” (ntn. pg. 453)

“Cass and Mercy and I worked on cell thanergy- we need thanergy, fresh thanergy, to activate…” - Pyrrha (ntn. pg. 471)

“And Alecto said, Pyrrha, he laid me down as an appeasement to them; he fed you to them as an appeasement to them; but he has never appeased me, and now all he has done was teach me how to die.“ (ntn. Pg. 476)

[pearlescentpearl]

Part 11! Battle won; war uncertain

This night just goes on and on, Findekáno thinks grimly, relegated to a corner of the surgical theater while the healers went to work

He'd half expected them to be offended by him and Fëanáro promising to watch, but Glasslaer just shrugged pragmatically and said, "It's pretty common for victims fresh from Angband to fear being touched in their sleep. Him having people he trusts to stand look out will be less traumatizing for him in the long run if we don't have to force him to sleep."

Not for the first time, Findekáno finds himself both profoundly disturbed by the Lestorodrim, and profoundly impressed by their steadiness

He wishes he had some of that steadiness right now

"Where exactly did you find him?" His half-uncle asks tightly, voice low to not distract the healers. His gaze is unerringly focused on his son, twitching now that they've moved onto correcting bent fingers and toes. It appears some of them are merely long dislocated, but others broke and healed at sickening angles

They can't actually hear the bones being rebroken, not at that size, not over the chatter of the healers, but Findekáno can't not imagine the sound of the snapping. It appears Fëanáro is much the same

"They had him chained outside," Findekáno says, hands clenching at the memory. "Hung from the cliffs over the gate like a holiday wreath. Literally hung. He was suspended by his right wrist." He swallows. "It was all-- seamless iron. The shackle. The chain. I couldn't even pull out the stake."

"So you--" Fëanáro couldn't seem to say it

"So I," he confirms

After a moment of silence, Fëanáro spits. "Outside! And for how long? How long could we have snaked him out from under them without needing to lay siege?"

He would like to know too. There is no telling, save if Russandol knows the answer, but every answer would be condemning upon his father and their faction

"And why did you go at all? What did you hope to accomplish? Don't think I have forgotten how your brother took my son not to me, but Aewendir."

There is no way in all of Arda that Findekáno will betray Turukáno. "He went to ask for help."

"And I went," Findekáno continues, low and furious, "because I was always going to go. Because he is my dearest friend! Because no one, not even the lowliest traitor and kinslayer, deserves Angband."

His half-uncle makes a series of furious faces, visibly biting his tongue on his first response

Findekáno is actually surprised by the restraint

Finally, Fëanáro says, "He asked after you. At Losgar."

"What?"

"'Whom shall we send for first? Findekáno the Valiant?'" Fëanáro recites, mimicking Russandol's particular cadence perfectly. "I thought it-- never mind what I thought at the time. What I thought did not bear out. He just bandies about the title of friend so easily, it's-- easy to forget he doesn't give it out thoughtlessly."

His lungs don't seem to want to work. He wraps his arms around himself, tries to squeeze until he feels grounded again

"I can tell you and my father are brothers," Findekáno forces out. "The both of you forget your children have their own opinions."

And saying such, goes to check with the healers who are cleaning up their equipment and getting ready to move Russandol to a convalescing bed

"We'll give it a week to see, and then we'll figure out how soon to schedule his next surgery," Glasslaer says. "And he's going to need a lot of work. He has poorly set old breaks in all his limbs plus his face, a hell of a lot of muscle and tissue damage, and we found three fractured teeth that need removed. As well," she adds delicately. "He may desire more... cosmetic correcting. For the brands."

Against his will, Findekáno's gaze darts to the largest one on Russandol's chest. It appears to be some kind of script, but it's difficult to parse and gives him an unnatural headache when he tries

"You should also be checked over," Glasslaer says to him. "The Iron Mountains are wholly tainted from Angband's presence."

"In a minute," Findekáno manages. "I must speak to my family first."

Fëanáro won't leave Russandol's side any time soon, so he's easy to ditch

Findekáno just really wants some fresh air

His father and siblings are waiting for him outside, so he forces his head up, his shoulders back, his steps to not drag. "He's going to live," Findekáno says shortly. There is too much emotion trying to scream its way out of his chest. How can he share He did not forget me without breaking down messily? He can't. So he mustn't. It only matters to him, anyway. "It is too soon to say what quality of life it will be."

As it is, his cousin will be bedbound for the foreseeable future

And that is merely for his physical health!

"I see," Finwë-Ñolofinwë says heavily. Then he holds out his hands. "Come here, yonya."

Findekáno folds into his hug with a shudder, hoping, as he has not since he was a child, that his father will feel encompassing and safe enough to make all the problems in the world feel small again

His siblings pile on top

"I am so," his father says into his filthy hair, shaky and sob-strained, "so angry with. You could have been killed or captured and we would never know until Angband bandied your body at us."

He accepts this. He knew this would be a consequence

"And," his father continues, "I am so proud of you. It is important that you know that. I have no words to describe this mix of pride and terror, anger and grief-that-could-have-been inside my heart right now, but it is important that you know the pride is there. So you know when I say how dearly I wish to never let you out of my sight again you know I say it from love."

"You cannot do that," Findekáno says wetly. "I am your best warrior."

Arakáno makes a faint sound of offense, that is shushed by Turukáno

Like hell they're letting the youngest on the front line

"That will mean nothing if you die!" His father says hotly, holding him tighter. But it does mean something. They both know that. Findekáno is his heir, and his Crown Prince, and his best warrior, and his liaison to his people when his will must be carried afar. It is his duty to go forth into danger

Just as it is his father's duty to pursue his people's best interests

Peeking over his father's shoulder, Findekáno meets Turukáno's eye

Did the Lathron agree? He touches to his brother's mind

Turukáno purses his mouth. I asked again when all were distracted. He's agreed to levy his expertise with Angband prisoners until he's assured Nelyafinwë won't endanger others. But he sees no reason as yet to deny Fëanáro his son

It will have to be enough, Findekáno thinks grimly

Political Pawn AU 2

You can find Post 1 here.

Findekáno does not go to bed

Turukáno finds him brooding on the lake shore, stone eyed and tense

“You’re rethinking things you ought not rethink,” Turukáno says, though he knows it is in vain

“I am trying not to,” Findekáno tells him, folding his arms tighter against the wind. “Whatever he did, it doesn’t change the outcome. Those who suffered still suffered. Those who died still died. I can think better of him for trying to speak on our behalf before the betrayal became irreversible, but not for helping kick it off by taking the ships at Araman, nor his foolishness in thinking the situation would be otherwise.”

And he does think a great deal better of Russandol, for trying. Fëanáro’s wrath had proven no small thing to risk. He failed to stop what he himself abetted, and in his failure rested the horror of trekking the Helcaraxë

But still, knowing someone tried to protest, knowing someone didn’t forget them, that Russandol didn’t forget him…

It’s something

“Father and Aunt are already embroiled in plans for how to use this,” Turukáno says dully, settling next to him on the grassy bank. “I left because I couldn’t stand listening them anymore.”

“What are they thinking?” Findekáno asks, half-fearing the answer. Too many have waited too long for the slightest crack in Fëanáro’s defensive stubbornness, and the feud the eldest sons of Finwë wage has always driven them to unreasonable heights. He doesn’t delude himself into thinking the next move won’t be stunningly vicious

“Father’s hoping to foment Fëanáro’s own people against him by suggesting Nelyafinwë is the only of their House deserving of the crown, seeing as he doesn’t agree with abandoning his people,” Turukáno says bitterly. “He’s hoping it will galvanize those who didn’t agree with their traitor king’s actions into… I don’t know, forcing Fëanáro to do something about them.”

Findekáno huffs a disbelieving laugh, voice cracking. “The man is being tortured in Angamando, and Father would make him king? What is he thinking? This is going to rend the Noldor worse than we already are!”

It wouldn’t just be the Fëanárian Faction tearing into itself over this, it would be their own people too. What cohesiveness they’d held onto all this time would dissolve as the question of Russandol’s actions and what they were worth became a Kindred-wide debate

In Valinor they could get away with that. On Angamando’s doorstep?

Death would come for them in their distraction

“You know how Father gets when Fëanáro’s involved,” Turukáno says, and they share such a look of deep commiseration

“I also know how you get about Nelyafinwë,” Turukáno continues, and Findekáno hunches his shoulders. “You’re just like Father, you know. Not an ounce of objectivity in either of you.”

Keep reading

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

journey, m | ot7

full title: journey to the dick

pairing(s): ot7 x reader

summary: A Cinderella story but it's a dick pic. Yup, that's right. You find a dick pic on your phone and make it your mission to find the owner of said dick. Time to fuck the seven hottest guys you know! Onwards!

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, mentions of alcohol consumption / partying; horny crack, everyone radiates chaotic energy and wants to fuck; reader is comparing their dicks to above-mentioned dick pic so there's a lot of talk about dick, did I mention there's a lot of dick? dick; smut (fem reader, slight D/s dynamics in some scenes, m-receiving oral, cowgirl, penetrative sex, doggy, spanking, handjob, thigh fucking, dance studio sex, overstimulation, fingering, dry humping, 69, face-sitting, photography during sex, m-masturbation, being cummed on (neck / chest [a cum necklace LMAO] + hand), film studio sex, wall-fucking, being overheard / walked in on during sex (and not giving a shit, oops), implied car sex, implied threesome); non-idol!AU - ot7 x sex friend!reader; each member has their own scene

appearances based on the 'Butter' jacket photoshoots yes, the opening line is #50 of my prompt list LMAO title comes from Journey to the West, except it's dick because that's way more important. also, yeah, this is basically a harem hentai, but it's you and BTS, woohoo! :D

--

"Whose dick pic is this and why it is so inspirational?"

Park Jimin craned his head over to look at your phone, black hair brushing against your forehead. "Damn! That is an incredible dick."

"What are you guys talking about?" Kim Taehyung muttered, yanking your phone out of your hand and peering at the screen. His eyes widened, eyebrows shooting up into his dark brown hair. "Oh, ho! What a high-quality specimen of a dick."

"Why is it on my phone though?" you frowned, taking your phone back from Taehyung. You were sitting next to Jimin on their sofa, contemplating the great mysteries of the world. The black phone case had a cute mouse holding a large sewing needle and sitting next to a spool of sky-blue thread. "I didn't take this one, sadly."

"Maybe you were real drunk," Jimin offered.

"I haven't been real drunk since I projectile vomited in your guys' parking lot."

"That was last week," Taehyung reminded you, smiling amusedly.

You narrowed your eyes. "Look, it was a bad breakup."

"You went on, like, two dates," Jimin laughed, smacking you in the arm.

"It had potential!"

"Yeah, a potential dumpster fire," Taehyung added, rolling his eyes as he sat down on the other side of you. "I know you go for the quiet, nerdy ones, but you're just–"

"Brash? Forward? Ready to sit on dick at any second?"

Jimin was being very helpful.

Taehyung shoved Jimin's grinning face away. "It's a conflict of personality and yours is quite intense, so maybe you should try and be more open-minded about other options."

You frowned, not enjoying this pep talk that you probably needed. In fact, you avoided said pep talk at all costs. You reached back and yanked on Taehyung's ponytail. He prodded you in the left breast in response, glaring. You smacked his hand. He smacked your hand back.

Hey, when you don't have a good reply, resort to violence, right?

You looked back down at your phone. Swollen, red-purple, a good thickness. Nice length too, so hard it was sticking up without the assistance of a hand. You could spy the white pre-cum beading at the engorged tip. It was a strangely clear and well-composed photo. Black boxer briefs. Blue jeans, white shirt.

Fuck.

Could literally be any guy in the history of existence.

You turned the photo to Jimin. "Someone must have taken it last night when I couldn't find my phone for those two hours."

Jimin nodded. "Yeah, seems like it."

"You remember anyone in this outfit?"

Jimin snorted, wrinkling his cute nose. "Everyone was in jeans and a white t-shirt. 'Cause there was that wet t-shirt contest later that night, remember?"

You scratched your head. Ah, yes. Taehyung won. Man looked fucking amazing thanks to working out his arms and chest the past month. Was it solely for the purpose of a silly party gimmick? Maybe. You weren’t complaining though. You did what any good friend would do.

"Oh, right. Who won?"

Taehyung grabbed your shoulders and violently shook you. "I did! Obviously – ah, fuck you!" His tone quickly changed when he realized you were laughing like a maniac, doubling over in a pile of giggles with Jimin. "You're the worst," Taehyung pouted, holding his arms protectively.

"I'm just kidding, don't be mad," you chuckled, reaching over to hug him. He accepted it, but not without continuing to pout. You nuzzled his neck, placing soft kisses on his skin. "I bought you your favorite breakfast when you were hung over this morning, come on now."

His dark brown eyes shifted back and forth before letting out a long, deep sigh and hugging you back. Damn. He had a nice hug now thanks to these arms and his broad chest. He smelled like warm chamomile.

"I worked hard for these," he mumbled.

You patted him on the back before releasing him and holding up your phone. Back to the first order of business.

"Is this your dick?"

Taehyung scrunched up his face. "No? But I don't look at my dick at that angle either."

You puffed your cheeks and turned to Jimin.

"Is this your dick?"

Jimin plucked your phone from your hand. He tilted his head to one side. Then the other.

"Lemme check."

Then he stood up and started walking to the direction of the bathroom. Still holding your device.

"Uh..."

You trailed off.

Taehyung blinked.

The bathroom door closed.

Pants unzipped.

"PARK JIMIN, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

-

"You have to be kidding me, Jimin."

"Be reasonable. I can't get hard from this dick pic. Don't you want to know the owner of said dick?"

You pursed your lips and squinted at your phone, standing in Park Jimin's and Kim Taehyung's shared bathroom, because they were roommates and your friends. The mysterious discovery of said dick pic from last night's party sparked this Journey to the Dick, because it was a very impressive, intriguing, and, most importantly, inspirational specimen of the male genitalia. Clearly you had to investigate.

For science.

Which was why you were standing in the bathroom with Jimin's sweatpants off and begrudgingly getting to your knees. Begrudgingly, because...

"I thought we were supposed to be ordering pizza and watching Running Man."

"We are," Jimin answered cheerfully. "After you suck my dick."

You glanced at the photo once more.

It remained, indeed, very rousing of certain interests.

You gripped the waistband of Jimin's black boxer briefs.

Hmm...

Hold on.

You stood up suddenly and took your phone from him, sudden determination overtaking you.

"I have to do this correctly."

Jimin blinked rapidly, jumping with a yelp as you flung open the bathroom door to reveal Taehyung throwing himself into the wall, coughing awkwardly and hiding his face with his hands as you marched out purposefully. Jimin was still pants-less.

"In the proper order!"

Jimin and Taehyung shared a confused look.

"The hell does she mean, proper order?'

-

kim namjoon.

“Namjoon, may I look at your dick?”

Kim Namjoon looked up from his book and blinked at you over his round glasses.

“Pardon?” he replied in English.

“Your dick,” you responded in kind, in English and with succinct pronunciation. “Your penis. Your willy. Your ding-dong. Your–”

Namjoon removed a hand from his book and held it up. “My what?” he interrupted you, laughing.

Oh good, back to Korean so you didn’t have to flex all the different ways you knew how to say cock in English. “Take off your pants.”

He blinked rapidly, innocently sitting there in his flowy white button-up and brown pants. He even had suspenders. Fancy man. He had dyed his hair recently, a steel midnight blue. That’s how Namjoon was, attractive and book-smart. Absolutely won the lottery when it came to genes and brains. You couldn’t see the title of the book he was reading, but it was probably a self-help or philosophy book. He was into those nowadays, exploring the human mind, while you were more into exploring the physical aspects of humanity.

Fucking.

Luckily, fucking didn’t usually require reading.

(Usually, heh.)

“I have no objections to your proposition. I’m just confused on why so suddenly.”

You dropped your canvas tote bag on the ground. Your red, short summer dress covered in yellow lemons flared out as you shifted your weight to one hip. Your phone was in one of your hands and you waved it around like a baton as you talked.

“Aren’t I usually sudden when I want to fuck?”

Namjoon chuckled, rich and deep, shutting his book and putting it aside. Probably memorized his page number. Big sexy brain and all that jazz. A fantastic characteristic of his.

He also had a big sexy dick you were asking to see right now.

“You are, but sometimes you offer to buy me a meal or a snack first.”

“I mean, sure, if you want–”

He lifted a hand and cocked a finger towards himself, smiling. When he smiled, his dimples appeared. That was your favorite feature on Namjoon. You bounced over excitedly and sat on the couch, skirt flipping up and exposing your thighs, still holding your phone.

“I’m on a mission.”

He quirked an eyebrow, adjusting his glasses detective-style. “What kind of mission?”

You pointed to your phone. “Do you remember that party we went to, the one with the wet t-shirt contest?” You lifted your arm and flexed your rather defined bicep that made Namjoon raise his eyebrows and mouth a wow under his breath. Consistent handys really did the trick when it came to bicep muscle definition. “You remember, right? You showed off your guns.”

He burst out laughing, waving a hand. “They are not guns.”

“Sure, they are. I could do a lot of social justice with your biceps, Namjoon.”

He shook his head, grinning, dimples on full display. “And what’s with the dress? You don’t usually wear such a cute style.”

You ticked your phone to the apartment front door. “I’m meeting Seokjin later, but he said he’s going to play another round of bowling because Jungkook kicked his ass again. But anyway, back to what I was saying…”

“Ah, yes. I think I remember Jimin mentioning something to me now.”

You brightened, unlocking your phone and holding up the screen. “Right! I’m looking for the owner of this dick.”

His eyes widened and Namjoon leaned forward, readjusting his glasses again. “Wow. That’s quite a clear picture.” Then he coughed and averted his eyes.

You nodded quickly. “Well? Did you take this picture?”

He frowned and sat back against the sofa, sucking in a breath and ticking his head. “Mmm, maybe? I was pretty drunk. I don’t remember what I did…”

“Hah… Does this look like your dick, then?”

“How would I know?” he chuckled. “I don’t see my dick from that angle and I don’t have sober photoshoots with my dick.”

You pursed your lips. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to fuck then. Drop the pants.”

The thing about Namjoon was that he was a very reasonable man. You had a problem and proposed a solution and he, an avid learner who liked searching for answers to the great mysteries of this world, had the means to help you out on your quest, so he did. In addition, he thought you were hot, you thought he was hot, and you’d already fucked a couple times before Journey to the Dick, so the mutual agreement was already there.

Splendid!

The other thing about Namjoon was that he really liked to make you work for it.

Slightly less splendid.

“Are you choking?”

You squinted at him and flipped him the bird. He was well-versed with popular Western hand gestures.

Namjoon nodded sagely. “That’s good.”

And he put his hand back onto the back of your head and shoved your mouth down onto his cock once more.

You had half a second to breathe again before air was forcefully taken from you, Namjoon now holding you there, nose-first into his crotch, sighing contentedly as he expanded in your mouth. You planted your hands onto his strong thighs and pushed, but his hand didn’t budge. The safe signal was three taps and you weren’t tapping out yet. You glared and Namjoon closed his eyes, smirking slowly.

He left his round glasses on.

‘Course he did.

Damn you, Namjoon!

You reached up and pawed at the buttons of his white shirt, making Namjoon open his eyes to see what you were doing as you unbuttoned them rather deftly for someone who had his dick filling up their throat. He looked down at you, cocking an eyebrow. You cheekily cocked one back, poking his pecs with your pinky.

He grinned. “Hm? What’s that?”

You clenched your throat around the head of his cock and he gasped, losing grip for a split second.

In that split second, you threw his shirt open, glorious his tan skin and large muscular pecs now in view, and slapped your hands down onto his thighs, instantly starting a fast, rough pace, curving your neck with every swallow, sandwiching his cock between tongue and top of your mouth, pulsing your wet muscles all over his length, staring at that well-built chest, watching the muscles ripple with his sudden, abrupt inhale.

“Oh, fuck!”

Sometimes you let Namjoon have the reigns, but this time you were on a mission, although it was a little distracting now because presently you had an unobstructed view of Kim Namjoon with his shirt open, head thrown back, midnight blue hair fanning over the sofa, his full lips open and panting, tendons in his neck tensing, broad shoulders flexed, leading down his defined chest and abs, core tight from your intense pace, thighs hard under your hands, cock swollen and thick, pulsating in your mouth. His large hands planted on top of yours, squeezing them with his.

The three taps applied to him too.

Instead, Namjoon moaned your name and gripped your hands.

“T-The picture… f-fuuuuuuuck…”

Shit, that’s right.

You reluctantly slowed, tongue swiping all over the underside of his dick, tracing the veins, moaning hotly around his cock. He lowered his chin, panting hard, dark brown eyes half-open and framed by his lovely silver glasses. It was him who reached for your phone and unlocked it. He remembered your pattern lock and you had only told him once. All your consistent fucks knew how to unlock your phone.

That’s how you had so many pictures of, ahem, good times.

He placed the phone on his hip and his head fell back against the sofa, inhaling deeply as you continued lapping at the base of the head, slowly sucking on it at the same time to keep him hard.

“Mmm, fuck, that’s nice…”

You mashed the tip of your tongue against the slit and coated it with pre-cum.

“Ah, come on, look already and compare,” Namjoon chuckled in his deep voice, raising a hand to pet your head. “Then you can finish me.”

You popped your mouth off reluctantly. “Hmm.” You placed a few fingers on his cock and looked at it, positioning it to the correct angle that matched the photo. “Huh, it’s pretty close. But you have this noticeable vein here, and I think the head of your cock is slightly different…” You squinted and brought your face rather close to his stiff length. “The skin tone seems right, but it’s not exact, and I think you’re bigger…”

Namjoon wrapped his hand around his dick and smacked your cheek with the head.

“Oi!”

You puffed your cheeks, strings of saliva and pre-cum covering your face.

He grinned, dimples on full display. “Oops.”

You jabbed your finger at your phone. “I’m doing an investigation here!”

He shrugged cheekily. “You said it wasn’t exact. Get up.”

You put your phone on top of his book on the side table and glared at him. “Well, yeah, but no need to bop me,” you grumbled, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand, standing up, and removing your panties as Namjoon reached over to his pants and pulled out a condom from the pocket.

You did say you were coming. Namjoon liked to be prepared for you.

“You said you liked it,” he mused as you straddled his lap.

“I do when I’m notin the middle of an important mission,” you huffed, picking up the hem of your dress and revealing your wet pussy, chin cocked in defiance.

“You don’t have to sit on my dick then,” he said, pausing with the condom right over his cock.

You frowned. “Hurry up.”

He cocked an eyebrow, dark brown eyes trapping you in his allure. “Doesn’t seem like you want it.”

You narrowed your eyes.

Growled.

Then you smacked his hands away and rolled down the condom yourself before sliding onto him with one swift motion, clenching your jaw at the sensation of being quickly and solidly filled up, not giving him or you time to adjust. Namjoon tensed his neck, grinning, large hands coming up to firmly grip your hips. Your own came up to grab his biceps and squeeze them, mustering up your most indignant scowl. He chuckled, smirking as you pulsed your walls around him.

“Hold your dress so I can fuck you.”

“Maybe I want to do the moving.”

He clicked his tongue and rammed his hips up into you, making you hiss at the feeling of his cock being driven into your tightness. Your nails dug into his arms, breaths shallowing into rapid gasps as he continued, firmly and roughly fucking you from below, hard thighs flexing and smacking into your inner thighs and ass.

“Hold your dress,” he repeated, voice low and commanding.

“You’re so bossy,” you muttered, reaching down with one hand to yank up your dress, pulling it up high so both you and Namjoon could watch as he very deliberately and very forcefully thrust upwards into your tight hole, smirking wider as he witnessed your expression and the strain of keeping the pleasure off your face.

“Don’t have to give orders if…” He jerked up particularly hard, hitting your sweet spot, causing you to gasp breathlessly. “You…” Smack! You bit you lip, moan trapped in your chest. “Just…” Smack!

“F-Fuck…”

“Listen.”

And then Namjoon seized your hips and fucked you hard and fast with you barely holding on his shoulder with one hand and the other clutching your dress, moaning his name shamelessly to his own face. Namjoon wasn’t a gloater. His face was serious and concentrated, brows furrowed and intent on giving maximum pleasure, maintaining clear control as you rapidly lost it, allowing and trusting him to lead you into carnal desires.

You leaned forward, hot exhale on his neck, changing the angle and letting him hit you deeper, tightening around him. You heard his breath hitch, hissing out your name. Your whispered against his jaw, close to his ear.

“You like it better when I don’t listen, Namjoon.”

So close, so close, so close.

He snickered, dark, devious, sensual.

“I dolove punishing you with my cock.”

You slid your hand into his midnight blue hair and shuddered, pleasure blooming from your core in heated throbs, savoring the intensity of the orgasm he gave you as Namjoon groaned in your ear, slamming you down onto his hard, twitching cock and moaning, spilling his own into the condom, thoroughly enjoying the vicious massage of your spasming pussy. You pressed your lips to his temple, flinching with the shivers that came after, riding out the peak by rocking your hips lightly, enjoying the fullness he gave you.

“Doesn’t seem like a punishment. I’m having a lot of fun,” you taunted, panting and mirthful.

He gave your ass a playful smack and you squeezed his length from top to bottom.

“We have time for round two,” he murmured, nibbling on your ear.

Kim Namjoon was a very reasonable man.

-

kim seokjin.

"Gah, fuck!"

"As a matter of fact, yes, let's."

Kim Seokjin nearly tripped and fell against the doorframe, gawking at you. His expressive brown eyes went wide, mouth open enough for a nice ice lolly to be placed between those plump lips.

"Why are you in my bed? Where are your clothes? Why are you holding Pink Bean like that?!"

You sighed exaggeratedly. Here we go. "I had a nice dress but Namjoon took it and said I can't have it back until after." You squeezed Seokjin's large Pink Bean plush that he usually kept on his bed, a fluffy representation of a boss from his favorite PC game, MapleStory. It had a bubblegum pink head, light purple horns, and a cute :3 face. You squashed it with your breasts and looked up at him, on your knees with your feet tucked under your ass, missing all your articles of clothing thanks to Kim Namjoon.

Such cute clothes only for him? I don’t think so.

Seokjin turned bright red, sputtering.

"D-D-Don't do that to Pink Bean!"

"Why not? You've fucked me from behind and I used Pink Bean as my chest support."

He strode across the room with two steps, his long legs making it easy, looking handsome and summery in his pastel yellow shirt and shorts two-piece set, flapping his hands helplessly.

"That was a special case!"

You started bouncing on Pink Bean, you and your tits. Seokjin's brown eyes nearly bulged out of his head and he actually tripped at the end of his bed, falling face-first with a high-pitched yelp.

"Seokjin, I need to see your dick."

He yanked his head up, chestnut brown hair flying everywhere, shooting you a confused glare.

"Yah! You can't just show up naked and start demanding dick while abusing Pink Bean!"

You reached up and scooped your breasts forward, squashing them between the purple horns, nipples poking out above Pink Bean's head. Seokjin looked like he was about to pass out. Probably from loss of blood to his head.

You balanced your phone in your cleavage, inspirational dick pic between your tits.

"Is this your dick, Seokjinnie?" you asked sweetly.

He started, squinting at the screen between your tits. "The heck? What is that?"

"A dick. Is it yours?"

Seokjin made a disgusted face.

"Are they really that ugly? Mine sure as hell isn't."

"Oh, so it's not? You know for sure?"

Seokjin scoffed. "Come on, there's no way that could be mine, look–"

And he sat up and yanked his shorts and underwear off, slapping them down on the floor and spreading his legs, presenting his very hard and quite pretty dick and balls. He huffed triumphantly, planting his hands in his hips.

"How could that thing compare to–gah!"

You crawled over Pink Bean, shoving the plush against your stomach and placing yourself between Seokjin's long legs, oblivious to his shriek of surprise, holding up his shirt as you compared his cock to the one on your phone.

"What the–where did you g-get that picture?!"

Your hot breath wafted over his twitching length as you held it delicately with your fingertips, ass up in the air, tilting his dick to adjust the angle so he mirrored the photo. "Remember that party with the wet t-shirt contest?” you explained nonchalantly. “The one where I said you'd totally win because of your broad shoulders, but Taehyung got more votes because he had been working out and looking all buff recently?"

Seokjin was gasping as you held up your phone. Hmm, not the same thickness. Plus, he seemed harder, sticking out straighter than this photo dick. But there was a small mole in his dick that seemed to match the picture. The length is pretty spot-on too. You scooted closer, cradling his cock with your palm and coaxing it with your fingertips, ass bouncing on Pink Bean's head.

"Oh, fuck..."

"Anyway, someone snapped this photo and I've been trying to figure out who, but everyone was drunk and, if I recall correctly, you were on a table dancing with a pool noodle and belting Kim Yonja's 'Amor Fati', so I don't think you remember much from that night."

Seokjin's voice was pitched, strained from holding back.

"I remember those... oh, fuck... those shorts you were wearing... ah, with your ass hanging out on the bottom... fuck, wanted to bend you over... but yeah, after that..."

Then you yelped when you felt his hands on your head dragging you forward and pressing your open lips to his cock.

"Ah, yeees..."

"Seokjin, wait–mphf!"

He shoved the head of his cock into your lips and looked down. You narrowed your eyes as he began to gently hump your face, filling your mouth with the hardness. You sucked in your cheeks a little, molding your mouth to him, still giving him your best annoyed face.

"Is it my dick?" he gasped, pushing deeper.

You made a confused noise and Seokjin frowned at you.

"Yes or no?"

Seriously? You held up your hand and hovered it in the air, wiggling your fingers up and down, the universal sign of–

"What do you mean, maybe?! Oh, it's because a phone camera isn't good enough to catch the majesty of my cock, is that it?"

You could had been annoyed, but then you thought about it. He brought up a good point. You hadn't considered that. Still, the shape wasn't exact though. A phone camera couldn't alter dick angle, right?

No time to think about it because Seokjin rammed his entire length into your mouth and down your throat in your moment of contemplation.

"Mmmphf!"

"Just, ah, don't move, let me fuck your face real quick–"

You didn't really expect anything less, so you pushed him down, sliding his shirt up his torso, changing the angle so you weren't straining your neck. Seokjin fell onto his elbows, hands letting go but hips still moving, groaning as you enclosed your mouth around him and rubbed your tongue all over.

"Ah, your ass is so sexy, damn, bounce it for me..."

He seemed to forget that in order to do that, you had to hump Pink Bean like a dog in heat but, hey, when the man who called himself World Wide Handsome (drunk and sober, that was the kind of man Kim Seokjin was) asks you to twerk for him, you do as you are told and give Pink Bean the best hump that plush is ever going to have.

"Fuuuuuuuck, yes, your ass is so perky and juicy, fuck, like a sweet peach..."

You tried not to choke with laughter in his dick, but the action made your throat muscles squeeze and spasm around the head, immediately making it jerk and swell at the added simulation, causing Seokjin to gasp your name and fiercely clutch his sheets.

"Fuck, yes...!"

You looked up, cocking an eyebrow, seeing his brown hair messy and fallen over his forehead, eyelids fluttering, panting as you took over the pace, firmly enveloping him all the way to the base, sandwiching him between your tongue and roof of your mouth, dragging the head over the slick wetness, pulsing expertly around his hardness. His dainty pink tongue flitted over his lips and made them glisten, full, plump, sexy as hell.

"I'm so glad Namjoon took your clothes," he wheezed.

This guy really said whatever thought that popped into his handsome head.

You smirked around his cock and wiggled your eyebrows.

Then you grabbed his hips and really gave it to him, fast and tight, angling your head so he slid into your throat deeply and easily, sending Seokjin into a sputter of curses, prayers, and blessings to who-knew-what, gripping fistfuls of his sheets and throwing his head back, beautiful neck on display and broad shoulders flexed, moaning loudly.

You almost stopped, awed by his perfectly sensual posture.

Then Seokjin thrust his crotch into your lips and gasped your name, shooting down your throat in swift, tense jolts, forcing you to stop staring at him and hurriedly gulp it all down, squeezing your eyes shut so you could concentrate, sucking in a short breath, and making him yelp, flinching to cram more of the head into your constricting throat.

You prodded his stomach sharply and drew an ‘X’, telling him to stop so you could swallow.

“B-But…”

You gave him a bunch of other hand gestures and none of them were nice. It contrasted the way you were lapping at his cock, coaxing him back to full hardness with soft tongue and delicate pushes against the roof of your mouth. He lifted one of his hands and started messing with yours, the one on his stomach making obscene hand signals. You felt him try and grab your fingers, poke at your palm, and, finally, grab your hand and tug it up, shoving your fingers into his mouth.

You popped your mouth off his cock in surprise. “Hey!”

Seokjin looked at you with giant brown eyes like a dog caught with a treat in his mouth. “Mmphf?”

You made a confused face at him.

His tongue started sliding between them, licking your joints and pads of your fingers, wiggling all around, covering you with his saliva and sending shivers over your skin at the strange sensation. You could feel the power in that squirming muscle, his brown eyes watching your reaction, your own eyes fixated on the way it looked, three of your fingers surrounded and crammed into those lush, soft, pillow-like lips, squirming, sensual tongue slipping between them, dripping saliva down your palm and back of your hand.

“H-Hey…”

It was bizarre, feeling an odd juxtaposition of the submissive nature of the act, and yet he was deliberate and forceful about it, staring pointedly as the tip of his tongue snaked out from the side of his lips, licking the side of your pinky.

“S… Seokjin…?”

He reached up and pulled your hand out of his mouth, the pads of your fingers dragging on his lower lip, wet streaks of saliva painted down his chin.

The ghost of a smirk on his open mouth, eyebrow ticking arrogantly.

You blinked at him, unaware that you were clutching Pink Bean with your other hand so hard that your knuckles were white.

Then Seokjin grinned and wrapped your wet hand around his dick and started jacking himself off with it.

“Hey! I want that in me!”

“What? Gah!”

Somehow, you convinced him to fuck you – read: threw Seokjin down on his own bed, put a condom on him, rolled him back on top of you and guided his cock to your pussy before grabbing his ass and yanking down, making you both gasp as he entered you with one smooth stroke, your back on top of Pink Bean.

Pink Bean was really seeing a lot of your naked body today, just like Kim Seokjin.

“F-Fuck– yah!”

That was his noise of protest as you yanked his yellow shirt over his head, throwing it as far as you could, out his still open bedroom door.

“Sorry, needed to get rid of useless things.”

“I like that shirt!”

You grabbed onto his wide shoulders and rolled your hips up into his crotch, wrapping your thighs around his waist and squeezing. He sputtered at the intense feeling of your pussy wrapping around him, arms shaking to hold himself up, brown hair messy and wild over his forehead, brown eyes wide in indignation.

“Sorry, my bad, I’ll pick it up after I get another out of this magnificent dick,” you quipped.

Seokjin turned red, unaccustomed to someone other than himself complimenting him.

“Why are you hanging onto me like a monkey – oh my God…!”

You used his mattress and Pink Bean to bounce up and down on his dick from below, fingers tangled in his hair, wetly smacking your hips into his crotch, panting his name into his ear, your cock feels so fucking good, love the way you fill me, fuck me up, Seokjin, giving him the praise that he wanted and that breathless moan he liked, the one where you added a bit of underlying mischievous depth, pulling back one of your hands and tracing his plush lips, his mouth opening and pink tongue lolling out, puling you into that wetness, locking his gaze with yours.

Soft and tight around two of your fingers as you slapped your hips into his, losing a bit of your power now that a hand was occupied, intense sparks shooting from your fingertips to your core, his tongue sliding sensually between them, your juices leaking out, getting wetter and wetter, head emptying and replaced with sinful pleasure as you stared into those dark brown orbs with blown-out pupils, sparkling eyes smiling at you.

Seokjin took over and started fucking you into his mattress (and Pink Bean).

Both of you completely forgot about the dick pic.

-

min yoongi.

"Ah, fuck, I forgot, I need to see your dick, f-fuck!"

"It's," Smack! "A," Smack! "Little," Smack! "Busy at the moment."

"Yoongi!"

The bed shifted and hit the wall.

"Oh no," came the most unbothered oh no behind you.

"Your damn neighbors are going to complain again," you hissed, planting your hands on the mattress and lifting your upper body up a little to scowl at him. "They're so annoying."

"Yeah, that's why I like fucking you," Min Yoongi snickered, looking back with his curly black mullet in complete disarray, smirking lips dark and swollen from making out. He raised an eyebrow at your displeased expression, dark brown eyes flashing. "Something wrong? Not rough enough for you?"

You narrowed your eyes. "I need to see your dick when it's fully hard."

He raised his eyebrows. "Sure. After this one."

"Yoongi–"

He cut you off. "Hand," he ordered.

You extended your left hand out back to him and he grabbed your forearm, long fingers gripping tightly, before proceeding his railing of your pussy from behind, your ass smacking into his crotch repeatedly.

"Yoongi – ah, oof!"

You slipped and fell face first into his pillows, gasping at the altered depth of each thrust, hard and deliberate, filling you up as you clenched around him, following his rhythm by pushing back with your hips and moaning as Yoongi slowly built up the pace, bottoming out each time.

"Why do you need to see my dick?" he asked nonchalantly as if he wasn't pounding you with it right this very second.

"Because, oh fuck, someone left a, fuck, Yoongi, yes, dick pic on my phone, aaah, right there, fuck, you're so fucking good, that night of the party, the one with the wet t-shirt c-contest, fuck, Yoongi, I love your dick so much, fuck!"

"Why would I do that?" he grunted, spanking your ass with his free hand and making you claw at his sheets, pain seeping into the pleasure and amplifying it, skin prickling hot, causing the excessive dripping between your joined legs. The headboard was now repeatedly smacking the wall.

"I dunno, you were drunk too, do you remember, mmm, yes, harder, yeah, like that, telling Taehyung you loved him and that he was your favorite little alien child?"

Behind you, you heard Yoongi choke slightly in embarrassment.

"No, I do not..."

"See, maybe you jacked off and snapped a memoir on my phone."

Yoongi let go of your arm and firmly gripped your ass with two hands.

"Memoirs are written."

"Maybe if they wrote their name, I wouldn't be on this journey – ah, Yoongi!"

You grabbed fistful of sheets and snapped yourself back up, your hair messy and cascading down your shoulders, meeting every vicious slap of Yoongi's hips to yours, his balls hitting your soaked clit and sending stings of satisfaction from your core to your limbs, so good, moaning his name, his growl of yours punctuated by his nails digging into your ass, give it to me, come on, and you fucked him back, pressing your palms into his sheets and feeling the shuddering ecstasy again and again, deep pulses tightening around his hardness, making him groan with want.

"One more, one more, I'm so fucking close, fuck..."

"You've been close, you're holding back, you're a dick, ow!"

Yoongi smacked your ass particularly hard and you clenched your core so tight that he gasped and probably delayed his orgasm even further.

"You're the one asking to see it," he panted, adjusting the angle to shove you further into his bed even though it wasn't possible, and continued his relentless assault in your pussy.

"If anyone has a nice dick, it's you, you bas... fuuuuuuuck, Yoongi, yes, I'm gonna c-cum, fuck!"

The pleasure shot through you like lightning, waves of tortuous triumph as you clutched his pillow and screamed his name into it, your juices leaking out from around his pumping cock and splattering onto his crotch and inner thighs, drenching his balls, saturating his skin with your sweet scent, Yoongi moaning your name and squeezing your ass as he fully sheathed himself in your shaking walls and exploded into the condom, his whole length twitching and shivering inside your spasming pussy, your ass prickling on pain, both of you gasping for air.

Someone on the other side of the wall was banging it and told you two to shut the fuck up, or at least you assumed that's what that muffled yelling was.

You and Yoongi ignored it.

"Are you... hah... okay?" Yoongi panted, rubbing your ass and kneading it.

"Of course, I am, what do you take me for, an amateur?" you chuckled, lifting your head, your breathing erratic and uneven. "Now let me see your dick, Yoongi."

The other side of the wall kept swearing. Very colorful, very loud, very upsetti in the spaghetti.

Poor thing must not be getting laid regularly.

"Fuck, fine, you know I like staying in there at least for a little while..." he grumbled, holding the condom down as you untangled yourself from his body, sighing exaggeratedly as you turned around and yanked it off. You tossed it into the trashcan that was already beside the bed.

Yoongi had the foresight to be prepared for a night with you.

"I don't have to leave soon. We have plenty of time."

The shouting through the wall seemed to have given up, kicking it once and swearing very heatedly before stomping off.

"You better not. I'm not finished with you."

You picked up your phone and unlocked it, opening your photo gallery, pushing Yoongi down so you could wrap your fingers around his slick, semi-hard cock. It throbbed contentedly in your hand as you began to move it up and down in smooth, tight strokes, flexing your fingers to add variation in the stimulation.

"Mmm, fuck, yeah, faster..."

You pulled the photo up and put your phone on the bed beside his hip and calmly continued your movements, looking down at him, him and fair-skinned cheeks with a slight fluffiness to them, him and his lightly upturned upper lip that gave him a cat-like appearance, him and his lowered lashes over black-brown orbs that held quiet, sensual intelligence. His hair was messy from fucking you so hard, but he was effortlessly sexy regardless, leaning back on his elbows, torso lifted to watch your hand. Yoongi noticed you staring and raised an eyebrow, wispy black strands grazing his dark brow.

“What?”

You smiled.

“Just thinking you’re really hot, Yoongi.”

He cringed slightly, ears turning pink and shifted his eyes away, closing them. Your own roamed down, down his defined shoulders and toned arms and chest, sucking in a breath at the sight, that slim waist and pretty hips, his cock filling up your hand, getting harder and harder, the head getting darker from sensitivity, the slickness of the lube and his own cum making it easier for you and better for him. Your other hand traced his side, running your nails over it and you heard his low moan, raising your head and your eyes found his. He was observing you again, glancing from the photo to you, the corner of his lips tugging upwards, ticking his head to the screen.

“That it?”

You ran your nails over his skin, just the way he liked it, light, pressing in a little when it came to the upper side of his hip, seeing his pupils expand and his breathing shallow, pink tongue licking his lips slowly.

“Yeah,” you replied breathlessly.

You increased the pace, pumping him from base to head, entranced by Yoongi’s expression, desire and cockiness despite becoming unraveled in your hands, his lower body trembling under you, your thighs pressed to his tense ones, tempting you to sit on and rub yourself all over them.

“Pretty dick.”

Slap, slap, slap. Hand on wet cock, sending shivers through you and through him.

“That’s why it could be yours.”

You saw his cheeks flush light pink, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he made piercing eye contact.

“Stop.”

You gasped sharply and ceased all movement, feeling his rigid stiffness pulse against your palm.

“Look,” Yoongi commanded in that low, raspy voice of his.

You bit your lip and removed your hand, strings of fluids snapping between your fingers and his hot, taut skin. His cock was so hard that it was sticking straight up, dark and imposing, twitching slightly. Long pale fingers picked up your phone and held it next to his erection.

“Well?” he chuckled.

You chewed on your lip, squinting at the screen. Reached over and ran your wet fingers over his twitching length, hearing Yoongi hiss and gasp at your touch as you angled his dick to match up with the photo. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that difficult – the position seemed to match up perfectly. He was a little taller and thicker though. The shape of the head was similar, but also a bit off. The skin tone wasn’t quite correct either, the red-purple with subtly differing undertones. Still, lighting might affect that kind of detail. It wasn’t like you knew where this picture was taken.

“Hm… It’s really close, but not an exact match.”

“Well, damn.”

Yoongi tossed your phone aside carelessly, hand reaching out and you bent down, already knowing what he wanted, lips to lips, sliding against his body. You loved the way he kissed. Intense but soft, hand on your jaw and thumb caressing your cheek, nail grazing your earlobe, whispering into your lips, put me between your thighs, and you shifting up, closing your thighs around his wet cock, his lustful sigh and smirk on your lips, slowly thrusting in between your legs.

“Tighter.”

You hooked your ankles, one over the another and squeezed.

“Mmm, fuck yes, you’re so good…”

His words reminded you of the first time, crammed into the backseat of a small car, snuck out of a party to have Min Yoongi pull you into his grasp, tongue and lips all over you, your arms over his shoulders, wondering what you were doing because this kind of guy wasn’t your type, quiet, yes, a music nerd, yes, however he knew what he was doing, light bites on you skin making you gasp and slide down his jean-covered thigh, delicious friction to your soaked panties, tipping your head back to give that decadent mouth more access to your throat.

Your phone vibrated in your back pocket. A certain someone was probably wondering where you were.

“Yoongi, how… fuck, yes, how are you so good… you’re so good…”

His deep voice over your vocal cords, vibrating them with his seductive tone.

“DND your phone,” he purred, drawing a line down your throat with his tongue, coating you with his saliva, his musky, woody cologne transferring to your shivering skin.

“What…?” you panted, unable to think straight.

He plucked it out of your back pocket, tapping it against your arm.

“Put it on do not disturb and I’ll make you cum so hard that you’ll be coming back to me all the time.”

You fumbled with your phone, strong hands scooping out your breasts from your top, those lips sinking into your cleavage and tongue ghosting over your nipples, moaning as you dropped it, ignoring Park Jimin’s text, lost in those skillful hands and that expert mouth that eventually kissed down to your pussy and drove you crazy, but not before setting your skin on fire and making you beg for it.

“Yoongi…”

His lips on yours, his eyes and your eyes both half-open, marveling at the way his lashes adorned those black brown orbs and the way he looked at you, drunk on lust and your body.

“You want me?”

Hands on your hips, grinding you down on his thigh, teasing you. He wasn’t your type, he wasn’t your type, he wasn’t your type… so why, why did that sly, knowing gaze do things to you? Why did it make your heartbeat stutter and your juices seep into the denim of his jeans, so turned on that you didn’t want anything else right now but Min Yoongi?

It just didn’t make any sense.

“Y… Yeah…”

That smirk.

“I know you do.”

You did end up coming back all the time.

He was very good and it wasn’t just his mouth.

Yoongi backed up and smirked, open-mouthed, mischievous, so fucking hot that you felt your pussy throb at the mere sight, his warm, pulsing length still jammed between your soft, closed thighs.

“You wanna ride my dick?”

You grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.”

You completely forgot about the photo and spent the rest of the night on Yoongi’s cock and ignoring the yelling from his neighbors.

-

jung hoseok.

“Hoseokie…”

Teeth on your ear, a dexterous, teasing tongue flicking your earrings, your name coming out of that heart-shaped smile in a low, sultry whisper that contrasted it.

“You can’t come here looking like this and not expect me to want to ruin you,” Jung Hoseok purred into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

Your lips curved into a smile.

You were on your knees, spread out a little, short black minidress hiked up your thighs, facing the mirrors of the dance studio. Hoseok knelt behind you, hands travelling all over your body. Deft fingers, neatly manicured nails, his sharp jaw grazing your shoulder, pulling down the thin straps. Your large hoodie was tossed to the side, scattered onto the hardwood floor in haste. The frosted door of Smile Hoya’s rented dance studio space was locked, hip-hop music blaring loudly, and in the center was you and Hoseok.

You knew he could hear your shuddering exhale well, already attuned to the sounds of your pleasure.

He smirked and kissed the top of your ear, yanking down the top of your dress.

It wasn’t like this the first time.

“Ah, well, I was hoping… wondering, ah… I don’t know how to say…?”

You were in his bedroom at the time, confused. “Yoongi said you wanted to talk to me about something? What is it, Hoseok?”

He had been very nervous, somewhat shaky, staring into your eyes. You reached over and squeezed his hand, tilting your head. He took a moment to speak, hiding his brown eyes under his blond hair.

“Uh, well, I was talking to hyung and I mentioned I… I feel like I have to put up a front sometimes. Because I’m so happy and stuff. Women expect me to be like that… in bed… And he suggested that maybe you could help me… chill out, but, uh, that’s really rude to say, ah, I shouldn’t have–”

He tried to yank his hand out of yours in panic but you held on, tugged forward by his movement. Hoseok squeaked, ears turning red, freezing in place.

“Hey.”

You held his hand and patted it with your free one, smiling gently.

“I absolutely can help you chill out when it comes to sex. What do you want to know? What do you want to do? I’ll teach you.”

You noticed his expression change from panic to worry, chewing on his lip.

“N… No, you misunderstand… It’s not having sex, I…”

He trailed off, suddenly silent. You frowned slightly, nudging him. Hoseok cleared his throat and looked you dead in the eye.

“I’m not nice.”

Now he squeezed your hand tightly, breathing in your scent.

“Or rather, I don’t want to be nice when I fuck. Sometimes I want to let go and just…” He frowned, not seeming to know the word.

You leaned in, whispering in his ear.

“Fuck?”

“Yeah, I just… don’t want to think about an image I have to uphold.”

You grinned. “Yoongi did direct you to the right woman.”

His blond hair was even lighter now, the tips dyed with navy, a soft, sexy contrast to his rich tan skin. This was now many, many fucks later, hooking up at parties, at random times at his apartment, and now at the space he rented to practice dance on his own. Hoseok liked to freestyle and feel the music. When he fucked, he liked to feel the moment.

His hands gripped your breasts and squeezed, sandwiching your nipples between his index and middle finger, tugging hard.

You gasped in his hands, just what he wanted, open-mouthed smirk and all.

“Hoseok… I have to… ah, ask you something…”

He shoved his hips into your back and you gasped at the thinness of his shorts, rubbing his hardening cock against the top of your ass. A brown orb watched you through the mirror and he was smiling that brilliant, heart-shaped smile, contrasting his forceful touch.

“What do you want to ask?” he chirped cheerfully, pinching your nipples and twisting them.

You moaned, savoring the swift, firm pain followed by the pads of his fingers rubbing the tips of your nipples, grinding your ass onto his stiff length. Your phone was in your right hand. You bit your lip, seeing him watch you carefully in the mirror. You raised the phone and unlocked it.

“Is this your dick?”

You noticed Hoseok pause and squint. You turned your phone and held at up so he could get a good look. His hands were still on your tits, although he had paused the moment to view the image, blinking rapidly at it.

“When was this taken?” He tilted his head, looking confused.

“The party with the wet t-shirt contest? The–”

“One where Yoongi grabbed Taehyung and told him he was his favorite alien child?”

“Oh? You do remember?”

Hoseok winced, as if the events of the night haunted him. “I remember… not much after that…”

“Oh…” You faltered. “So you wouldn’t remember if you took this picture on my phone, huh?”

“No, sorry.”

“Then… can I see it?”

He grinned. “You have to earn it.”

Earning it could mean anything.

Today, earning it meant cumming at least three times with Hoseok’s fingers before he even let you take off his shorts.

“H-Hoseok…!”

He always smelled so good, so fucking good, orange and musk complemented with the barely-there vanilla sweetness, a scent that always seemed to linger on your skin afterward. His lips were on your neck, leaving small bites, chuckling darkly. One hand on your nipple, the other between your legs, your dress bunched at the waist and your panties at your knees, not letting you take any of it off, forcing you to watch yourself as he wrecked you, teasing your oversensitive clit with his fingertips, slick and slippery, thighs shaking from the second orgasm and coaxing you to the third, sharp throbs of lust causing your eyes to roll back, head falling against his shoulder.

“Hoseok, p-please…”

He had no trouble holding onto you, flexible and strong, and you were grinding your hips down, lost in the feeling, leaking everywhere because he hadn’t actually put his fingers inside you yet, teasing you and teasing you and teasing you, driving you crazy, please put your fingers inside me, please Hoseok, your name murmured gently in your ear, no, not until the third time, and then I’m going to put my cock in you once you’ve shown me how good of a girl you are, and you were going to lose your mind, shivering in continued ecstasy, squirming in his hands, your own reaching back and fisting his hair and white shirt, moans masked by the loud music, so close, so close, your perfume mixing with his, sex and cologne, shivers and heat, teeth on your ear and circles rubbed onto your aching nerves.

Shallow gasps.

Peaking pleasure.

Seeing nothing but black, eyelids fluttering, wanton moans torn from your throat.

The song ended.

Hoseok removed his hand from your nipple and covered your mouth, muffling your scream as you came, taking your air and your sanity, pleasure rocketing up your core, crying out with need for something, anything, inside you, pushing your hips back into his crotch, feeling his cock swell at your bouncing ass, desperate for him.

The music began again.

Now you were on your hands and knees, suddenly released, gasping for breath, legs shaking from the aftershocks.

“Look.”

Turning around, your shaking hands pulling down his shorts hurriedly, still wearing your black dress and panties around your knees, hardly registering the inconvenience, not caring, completely focused on the semi-hard length in front of your face. No time. Hoseok gave you no time, grabbing your face and dragging your open mouth to him, sliding into your lips, his oversized shirt touching your nose, you whimpering at the hotness and tautness of his velvet skin. The fullness invaded your throat, taking your breath away. He buried himself all the way in before yanking his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside with his vest that was shed earlier, far too hot now, looking down at you through his lashes.

“Don’t choke.”

Hand in your hair, pushing you down, not letting you move as he rolled his hips into your face, the head rubbing against the rood of your mouth and your tongue pushing it up to make it tighter for him, taking him deeper, hazy and intoxicated on orange, musk and vanilla. His other hand held your phone up, unlocking it with ease.

Smirk on those lips, heart-shaped and teasing. “So? Is it mine?”

You whined, not wanting him out of your mouth.

“Your choice,” Hoseok chuckled, tone light and unassuming, the edge of danger only visible in those sparkling brown eyes. “Find out or I’ll cum in your mouth and not in that pretty pussy of yours I’m looking at right now.”

Right, because you were bent over, ass facing the mirror, wetness dripping down your inner thighs.

Fuck.

You backed up, growling, glaring at the picture you knew all too well now.

“Well?”

Fine, fine, fine, you were on this fucking Journey to the Dick, and it was starting to feel more like an annoying side mission than the actual main storyline, but, whatever, you reached up and angled Hoseok’s cock slightly, sucking in a breath with him as you looked from phone screen to the delicious real-life specimen. Hm, okay. Similar in length and color. Not in angle though. Shit. And not in width either, barely a hair slimmer and the vein placement was more prominent on Hoseok’s length than this dick.

“Fuck, it’s really fucking close but I don’t think it’s yours.”

“Shit,” Hoseok sighed, turning your phone off and tossing it onto his discarded shirt. “Oh well.”

You narrowed your eyes, pouting. “What kind of react–gah!”

Hoseok pushed you down onto the ground, pushing his shorts down to his knees and pulling out a condom from the pocket, cocking a brow. You sputtered, trying to untangle yourself from the labyrinth of your own clothes, but only managed to kick off your panties before he got the condom rolled down and pushed your legs up, lifting your ass completely off the floor.

“Can’t have this pretty ass on this dirty floor,” he snickered, lifting himself higher, bending you in half, almost on your upper back, nearly uncomfortable, but Hoseok was stronger than he looked, and when he gave you what you needed, you instantly forgot about the discomfort.

“Oooh, fuck, Hoseok!”

He plunged into you, into hot wet tightness, stretching you out easily from the previous wetness, clit throbbing as he smacked his hips down, his balls slapping against your ass, drawing out another moan as his fingers brushed your clit, making you spasm and clench around his cock as he teased the overstimulated bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, yes, so tight, so wet, so desperate for a cock to fill this hole, aren’t you?” he purred, still so sweet but with such dirty words, so handsome with his blond hair and navy tips, heart-shaped smirk and glittering eyes, and the way he said your name, dainty and serene, slowly thrusting into you, but so hard, he was so hard from being inside you, completely consumed by the physicality of the act and no longer the same man who had been worrying about how you would perceive him.

That seemed ages ago now.

Your hands reached up between your legs, running your fingers through his hair, completely forgetting about the photo of the mysterious dick and focused on the one thrusting between your legs, smiling up at him, those brown eyes and lovely jaw.

“You’re so good, Hoseok, so fucking good to me, fuck, harder, yes, ah…”

Both of you forgot about the music, fucking through the pause between them, hoping that everyone else was too busy with their own choreography to think about the hot gasps and moans exchanged between you and him in the middle of the room, the act reflected in the wall of mirrors, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing off the walls, your name and his name in breathless whispers, tight and full and hot and wet and soaring on sky-high pleasure, climbing altitude and running out of oxygen.

“Fuck, gonna cum, fuck–”

“Ah, Hoseok, yes…”

Tip, free-fall, you clamping a hand over Hoseok’s mouth and his hand over yours, screaming into each other’s palms at the intensity and the force of orgasm, smacking your hips together and holding them there, feeling his cock twitch inside you and your shivering walls clamp around him in rough, intense pulses.

It took a moment to disembark from the euphoric high.

“Hah… we should… probably not fuck here…” he gasped, falling a little, cradling your ass so it didn’t directly touch the floor.

“I’d fuck you anywhere, so that’s your fault. You need to be the voice of reason.”

He laughed, rich and infectious, and you grinned, holding his head against your breasts and hugging him tightly.

-

park jimin.

“I hate you.”

“Come on, Jimin.”

"I was supposed to be first!"

"Oh my God, are we going on about this again?!"

"You were supposed to suck MY dick first!"

"Stop being a fucking brat, Park Jimin!"

"No!"

You tackled him and you both fell to the floor, rolling into a mess of giant t-shirts, fierce kisses and your hands in his now red hair, fiery and hot-headed like he was being right now.

"You little–"

"Don't you dare call me little!"

"I was gonna call you a little shithead but if you wanna be a big shithead, that's fine with me!"

He pinned you down and you grabbed his waist with your legs and rammed your crotch into his black shorts, making him gasp in horny pain and crumple into his laundry that you were supposed to help him fold, but instead you were wrestling and he was complaining about not getting his dick sucked.

It was your turn to pin him down with your arms and your thighs, Jimin seeing stars as he struggled to breathe from your lower belly smacking his erection the wrong way.

"Why, ack, why did you run off saying there's a proper order?" he choked out, choking harder as your panty-covered mound sat down on his length and started rubbing up and down, smirking down at him, his red hair flaring out on his cream rug.

"'Cause there is," you replied, calm and cool.

"Order of what? Order of how you fucked us?"

"Nah, I fucked Yoongi first, remember? At that party, ages ago..." you hummed, extending the expanse of your movement, sliding up and down his thighs, his plush lips open and moaning softly, his grip on your large t-shirt tightening. It was actually his, because neither you nor Jimin knew the meaning of keeping your clothes on.

"Yeah, in my car!"

"Eh, you were drunk and playing pool with Taehyung, which, by the way, he mad cheated and you didn't even notice."

"Fuck!"

You weren't sure if that exclamation was related to your teasing or Taehyung cheating, but Jimin removed one of his hands from your shirt and flipped off the wall, in the direction of Taehyung's room.

Ah, so not you.

"Is it age order? But Namjoon isn't the oldest..." Jimin refuted himself, frowning.

"He’s first because he's kind of like the leader of you guys, isn't he? You all end up listening to his reasoning anyway."

Jimin squinted, pouting. "That's just because his tall and smart and has a fatty IQ."

You grinned. "148."

Jimin looked very annoyed that you remembered the exact number.

“I never thought about it, but other than that, it is age order, huh?” you mused, bouncing on his dick.

He shuddered with satisfaction, rolling his hips into you. “Then why would you…?”

You shrugged. “Your names sound good together like that. Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jungkook…”

Jimin added your name last with an amused smirk. You bit your lower lip, cocking an eyebrow and sporting a devious smile, leaning down. Lips to lips, a soft sigh, remembering that night, stumbling out of Jimin’s car and tangled in Yoongi’s touch, still kissing Yoongi with your ass on the hood of the car. Jimin had been annoyed at you then too, how could you fuck him first and not me, Yoongi laughing in that raspy, sexy way of his, because I asked, dumbass, Jimin grabbing your face and kissing you right in front of Yoongi, the older man clicking his tongue and squeezing your ass tighter, unimpressed.

In some ways, that night started off the chain reaction of hey, why not me?

Okay, maybe you did have some frustrations about your dating life and ended up tumbling into their beds for, ahem, emotional support, but in your defense, they were all great when it came to emotional support.

“Sit on my face.”

“That’s not the angle of the dick pic though.”

“Then just take the pic from that position. That’s how it was taken, right?”

Sometimes, Park Jimin was a damn genius.

He was great at eating pussy too.

“Ah, fuuuck, Jimin…”

A little messy at first, humming approvingly at your taste, thrusting his tongue into you and moaning as your muscles closed in on it, your slick nectar painting those beautiful, soft lips, him pressing them to your heat, lewd kisses, tongue swiping up and down.

“Gotta clean you up so you can dirty me up,” he breathed, tracing sensual patterns in between your thighs with his tongue, small nips to make you whine, his hands on your ass, moaning into your pussy as your kiss came into contact with his rigid cock, dripping saliva and licking it back up, gyrating your tongue at the tip and licking off the pre-cum, savoring the taste, strong and almost sweet.

Everything about Jimin was sweet, even when he was frustrated with you.

“Fuck, give it to me.”

His hands on your ass, pushing you down, setting your pussy flush onto his lips, blocking off his airway and moaning hotly, desperate, needy, wanting your noises as you swallowed him, his length swelling in your mouth at the wet encasement, swirling your tongue all around.

You’re so mean. I can’t believe you wouldn’t ask me first, get on your knees, come on, aren’t you sorry?

You weren’t, not even in the slightest bit sorry for fucking Yoongi in his car, but you had enjoyed his little pout and twinge of jealousy, kisses up his muscular thighs, the same thighs you were clutching right now, one hand tucking your hair behind your ear, remembering his hand on the back of your head, pushing you down on his cock, the same cock you buried all the way into the back of your throat, blocking your own ability to breathe, suffocating on it as Jimin groaned, coming back up for air, rushing exhale washing over your skin before returning to his work on your clit, rapid, intense licks that shimmered pleasure through your veins.

Jimin made you choke on his dick after the Yoongi incident, but you were the one in control of it now, rutting the head against your throat muscles, feeling it get harder and harder. He always felt so good in your mouth, recalling him saying once, I just really like getting my dick sucked, shut up and stop shaming me, tongue and lips and saliva, remembering how much he liked it when you held the base and focused on the tip, his muffled whines getting more intense and vibrating your core, making sure to pop your lips over the bottom of the head every time you came up and then pressing them tightly as you went back down, doing it all at that fast, suffocating pace that made him stop licking you to throw his head back and moan, loud lust radiating off the walls, not caring about disturbing anyone, too absorbed into your pace to be considerate.

“F-Fuck, yeah, just like that, fuck, you’re so good…”

Jimin was part of the reason you were good.

He really liked getting his dick sucked. Your mouth was one of his favorites and usually readily available.

Win-win.

“Faster, fuck, oh, shit, I’m gonna cum, mmmphf!”

He grabbed your ass and smothering himself with your pussy, body trembling under you as his cock jerked and shot into your throat, your lips closing in, sucking hard to drink his cum, his moans filling your wet hole and tongue all over your clit, furiously licking as you rubbed the twitching head into the roof of your mouth, his hips squirming at the overstimulation, but his violent grip and nails digging into your ass was telling you to do it, telling you he loved it, telling you he needed it, begging you to do what you did best, gulping around the head and then jamming it into your throat, cutting off your air.

He sucked on your clit, hard, whining so loud that you could feel it in his chest and racing heartbeat pressed against your lower belly, almost lifting your lower half with his upper body alone, showing off his strength from dancing. You angled your head, taking as much as you could, nose in his balls, whimpering around his cock and the snap of orgasm making your entire body flinch, leaking all over his face and into his mouth, his nose buried into your pussy, tongue soothing your throbbing clit, wave after intense wave, barely breathing, lightheaded with pleasure, clutching his thighs tightly, naked bodies suddenly dirty, surrounded by clean laundry.

Jimin yanked his head out from between your legs, panting in satisfaction, diving back in to shove his tongue on your quivering hole and scoop out your orgasm, sucking it out to drink it, murmuring your name into your slick juices.

“You taste so fucking good, fuck…”

You came up for air, gasping, tongue lolling out, holding his cock and rubbing the slit against your wet muscle. His stiff length twitched, still hard because of your mouth.

“Take the picture, mmm, yes, did you forget?” Jimin gasped into your pussy.

You fumbled with your phone beside his leg, still reeling from orgasm and Jimin’s continued ministrations, putting it in selfie mode and seeing the lower half of your face, chin shiny with saliva, his cum dripping off your lower lip, his cock in front of your face and naked chest, your breasts pressed into his abs.

You thought about licking off the visible cum, but then you decided against it, snapping the photo with your tongue hovering close to his rock-hard erection.

You knew the composition of the inspirational dick pic now, so you brought it up in a photo editing app, putting the two side by side while wrapping your lips around the head of Jimin’s cock, sucking it leisurely like a lollipop. He didn’t ask you to get off.

Instead, he planted your pussy into his face and suffocated himself with it again.

You studied the two photos. Hm. Firstly, yours was much sexier. No offense to white t-shirt, blue jeans, and black boxer briefs guy, but your glistening cum-covered lips and squashed tits in the background of the cock made the photo eons better than his. Jimin would definitely be asking for yours later. Anyway, back to the picture. Hmm. Jimin’s dick was slightly shorter and straighter, with a warmer skin tone to his purple-red tip, although the head shape was spot on. Was that possible to have a different length but almost identical head shapes? Did dicks work that way? Did Jimin have an equally sexy twin brother or doppelganger somewhere?

Hm, a threesome with basically two Jimins would be hot as hell.

He patted your leg and you climbed off him, sighing as you rolled over and pursed your lips, concluding that his wasn’t the mystery dick. Once again, close, but no dick. Wait. That wasn’t the saying. Eh, whatever.

“Fuck, send me that photo later, I’m gonna jack off to it.”

You laughed, feeling him crawl beside you and roll you onto your stomach, pinning you down with his naked body. “You wanna jack it to your own dick?”

He was rubbing said dick into the crevice of your ass cheeks now, using your saliva was lube. “Fuck yeah I wanna jack it to my own dick with your lips covered with my cum and your titties on my stomach, sounds fuckin’ hot.”

“You’re such a pervert, Jimin.”

“And you aren’t?”

The front door slammed shut. There was a loud yell of your name in deep baritone.

“Aw, hell no, I’m getting it in this pussy first, I got time before he comes to collect,” Jimin growled, reaching into his discarded shorts and ripping open a condom, scrambling off you and rolling it down his still-hard length, grabbing one of your legs.

You shifted to your side, glaring at him. “What am I, taxes?”

The deep voice called your name again, asking where you were.

He didn’t have to wait long for an answer though, because Jimin thrust into you and you ended up moaning Kim Taeyang’s name to inform him of your whereabouts, causing Jimin to bend over and fuck you hard and rough.

“I can’t believe you would moan his name like that with my dick inside you,” Jimin growled, looking far too cute to actually be pissed at you. “Gonna fuck you so hard that you’ll be sore for him.”

Everything about Jimin was sweet, even when he was firmly fucking you into his floor and making you yelp as Taehyung burst the door open, sighing at the scene.

“Who would have fucking guessed what you two are doing…”

-

kim taehyung.

"You're so fucking stubborn."

"Wow, that's really rude, I don't make comments about your–"

"Shut up, I'm deleting his number."

You narrowed your eyes and frowned, sitting with one leg bent on Kim Taehyung's bed. He was currently in possession of your phone, clicking his tongue and pressing buttons on the screen.

"When someone tells you to leave them alone, you leave them alone," he scolded.

You cowered slightly, eyes shifting. "I was only asking if he was doing anything this weekend... I didn't have any ulterior motives..."

Taehyung squinted. You deliberately avoided his gaze. He sighed, crossing his arms. You were still wearing Jimin's shirt with nothing underneath so, uh, maybe he had good reason to be suspicious.

"You have a virgin kink."

You choked on nothing. "What, no, I don't–"

Taehyung reached over to his desk and put on the thin, gold-framed glasses he kept there. He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. You abruptly stopped talking and gawked at him, breathless at the way his dark brown orbs were bordered by gold and his long, black-brown hair, the rest tied back in a small ponytail.

"And a glasses kink."

He took them off and you sucked in a tight breath, grimacing.

"That's why you keep going after these kinds of guys," Taehyung tutted, neatly folding the specs and placing them back on his desk. "And why you bonked Namjoon-hyung so fast, only to realize that he is not, in fact, a virgin."

"W-Well, he's still good..."

"Same reason why you got so excited when–"

"Look," you cut in, chopping the air with your hand, not letting Taehyung finish. His eyebrow seemed permanently raised. "I'm off my bullshit for now, no? I've got a mission–" You pointed to your phone and he held it out of your reach. You scowled and bounced back down into the bed. His eyes weren't following your face, but you ignored it. "–and I'll stop okay?"

Taehyung cocked his other eyebrow.

"Serious. You just deleted all the numbers except you and your friends, right?"

He turned the screen, thumb hovering over a certain number. Him and his friends were listed from one to seven, in order.

His thumb was over number seven.

"Don't," you whined. "Please, Tae."

His brows lowered, serious expression on his handsome face.

Then he smirked, dumping your phone on the bed.

"Silly girl," he drawled, crawling onto the bed, advancing towards you, sultry gaze and enchanting eyes making you forget about your device. "Why would I do that? He likes you so much."

You growled slightly, letting him push you down but not relenting. "That's really fucked up."

"That I wanna hear you say please?"

His hand lifted and cupped your chin, mischievous smile, unable to contain his pride for his little trick, sliding his leg between your thighs, tilting his head.

"Not just any please," he murmured, deep voice silky smooth, dark curled stands brushing against your cheeks he leaned in, hot exhale on your lips. "Your needy please when I threaten to take your precious Jungkookie from you."

You tried to close your legs but he stopped you with his knee, tilting his head, highly amused at your narrowed eyes.

"You don't like it?" He was leaning down, feathery kisses on your lips and cheeks. "I know you like it when I tease you." His honey voice was dripping into the fire, turning into fuel that fed the sparks of arousal, your hands coming up to clutch his black shirt, pulling down the center zipper, his deep chuckle in your skin, hand from your chin sliding up to your hair, the other tapping down your front, grazing the thin t-shirt material.

"Don't..." you gasped, his deft touch toying with the hem. “Don't use the others against me. That's not fair...”

“Mmm, yeah?”

Drawing circles on your inner thigh with his nail, nicking the skin.

"You only want to think about me?"

Your phone hummed with a notification. Taehyung chuckled, fingers creeping closer and closer.

"Aw, I wonder who that is? But that's too bad, because you're all mine right now."

You gasped, clutching his open shirt as his fingers slid in, two because you were already wet, shallow breathing and lidded eyes telling him enough, taking your lips with his, pace slow and steady and maddening, spreading your legs with his knees, forcing you to tip your hips up to him in an embarrassing position.

Then again, embarrassment during sex wasn't part of your vocabulary.

You pushed his black shirt down one shoulder and reached in, your fingers snaking to the hem of the white undershirt and stroking his skin, his satisfied exhale hot against your neck, you remembering the way the water drenched the fabric and stuck it to his golden tan skin, playfully flexing his defined chest and biceps, adorable and arousing because Kim Taehyung was both. He separated his digits inside your pussy to create a loud, sharp, wet squelch. You heard him grin, smug at the dirty sound, then begin plunging his fingers in and out, in and out of the tightness, trying to be as noisy as possible. You clenched your core to make him work for it, force him to be rougher with you, his fingers curling in your hair, yanking firmly, lips on your ear.

"See, how can those boys you pick keep up with you, hm? They won't know what to do with your pretty, sexy self," he purred, faster, harder, pushing you to the edge with your heated moan and your hands all over his chest, lifting your hips to meet his touch. "You need us to take care of you, don't you?"

Fuck, the way Taehyung said your name.

Like it was a decadent sweet he was craving, a taste compared to no other.

Your head fell back into the pillows, breathing in his warm scent in shallow puffs, his name pouring out of your lips, yearning and desire.

"Mmmm, Taehyung...."

Melting you into it, sweet bliss and sharp jerks of your hips into his hand, gasping at the flood of euphoria, trying to squeeze your thighs around his hand and stopped by his open legs. Your throbbing pussy gripped his fingers and made him hiss, his devious smirk growing as you lowered your chin again to look into those dark eyes, shivering under his intense gaze.

“Let’s play a little game.”

His tongue slid out, lickings your lips lightly.

“It’s called, how many fingers can I stuff in you before you’re begging for my dick?”

“What kind of – oh, f-fuck!”

One more.

Aching tightness, clenching your jaw, trembling at the ease of it, Taehyung cocking an eyebrow.

“Ah, yeah, three’s too easy, huh? You already warmed up.”

One more.

“Fuck, Tae, fuck!”

His dark eyes glittering, pleased at your reaction.

“That’s better. That’s what I wanna hear.”

Whines in your throat as he picked up the pace, fast and hard, clutching his shirt and his side, your nails digging in, stretched out and stuffed with four, your eyes rolling back and one leg sliding up to hook around his waist, meeting each thrust, so deep, so full, so wet, loud and obvious and uncaring of who was listening – probably Jimin with a huge smirk on his face – panting Taehyung’s name over and over, feeling the strength in his hold and his grip in your hair, pulling lightly, shooting pricks of pain down your head to meet the oppressive pleasure brimming in your core, closer, closer.

“What do you want?” Taehyung growled, that deep voice dangerously low.

“Y-Your c-cock, p-please…” you managed to gasp out, chasing it, chasing the fullness and the depth.

“Can you take it? Can you take it like the good girl you are?”

“A-Ah, yes, please Tae, want it,” you moaned, your fingernails digging into his back, scratching down as your orgasm shattered through you, making your whole body shake and shiver from the intensity, him pulling out. Your moan turned into a hoarse whimper, squirming as he rubbed your clit with his slick fingers, spanking it and teasing it, rocketing you into peaks and valleys of cut-off ecstasy that drove you insane, clawing at his clothes, desperate for his body on yours.

“What’s your magic word?”

“Please.”

He grinned at you despaired tone.

“That’s it.”

It took no time at all, your shirt flung aside, Taehyung losing his clothes that were already half-off, hot body to hot body, heated kisses and rummaging in his nightstand drawer, groaning into his mouth as his cock slapped your thigh, hard and thick and ready, dripping pre-cum on you before he yanked you up on top of him, ripping open the condom.

“Work for it.”

Lacing your fingers in his, sliding down onto that impressive girth and gasping as it twitched inside you, rolling your hips down onto it, better than his fingers, bouncing on it with your tits following your rhythm, squeezing his hands. Taehyung liked this kind of intimacy, the kind where he was grinning like the devil under you but still holding your hands as you railed yourself with his dick, rough and hard with your own smug smile, a little erratic but somehow good that way.

He made you work for it and you were good at working for it.

You found a good rhythm and – ba dum tss – rode it, leaning forward to deepen the angle and make it last longer, pulsing around his length with your tight walls, control and power and endorphins, each smack adding to the lewd melody that mixed with heavy moans and shuddering gasps, bringing Taehyung on your rollercoaster, his hips rising, your name rumbling in his chest, blood thudding in your ears at the baritone depth.

“Yes, such a good girl, gonna make me cum, don’t you want me to cum for you?” he panted, fishing for the magic word, bouncing one of his dark brows, his long hair flared out on his pillows, high cheekbones and strong features no longer hidden by wayward strands.

Your tongue between your teeth, grinning wide.

“Yes, please.”

The right inflection of winded want, maybe a little mischievous, but Taehyung liked that, for there was no fun in someone who was too easy.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy.”

He squeezed your hands and thrust his hips up fiercely, shock bolting from your core to your spine to your head, your head snapping back, gasp torn from your throat, flooding his crotch with your juices, overstimulated clit rubbing on the base of his cock and Taehyung was gone too, husky groan falling from his lips, slamming his hips up and locking his legs, shooting jerks of cum into the condom, aftershocks causing you to lose hold on your knees, moan pitching higher as you slipped down on his throbbing length, trapped on it because Taehyung wasn’t going to lower you until he was done, the head pulsing inside you, squeezed out by your shivering walls.

“T… Tae… the picture…”

“Ah… yeah… hold on… lay down for me…”

He wasn’t going to let you leave without his mark anyway.

“Serious?”

“Deadly.”

You laid back against the pillows, spent, holding your phone, Taehyung straddling your chest and stroking his slick cock, plops of cum and lube falling onto your chest, messy dark hair curling around his handsome face. You could see the purple-red head peek out from between his fingers, hear the steady slapping as he pumped it back to full hardness.

“Alright, let’s see.”

Your chest was rattling but you raised your phone, bringing up the picture as Taehyung gripped the base of his cock, lifting it up slightly to put it in position. You squinted at the screen, looking from the photo dick to the real one. Of course. He was definitely bigger, a little thicker, but strangely, the color was almost the same. Was that lightning or similar skin tone? Or perhaps men with really nice dicks just happened to have Taehyung’s tan complexion?

You wouldn’t question it if it was true.

“You’re bigger,” you sighed, tossing your phone aside.

Taehyung smirked proudly. “What a surprise.”

“We all knew that, even before I saw it.”

He chuckled, going back to fisting his cock. “That’s because Jimin has a big mouth and likes to spread rumors.”

“You like that he spends rumors.”

Taehyung shrugged, but his sly expression wouldn’t be hidden even as he shook his head to cover part of his face with his long brown hair, curtaining half of it with darkness, teasing and effortlessly sexy.

“Ready?”

“Mhm, do it.”

You raised yourself onto your elbows, smiling wide, watching his breathing shallow and his eyes close, losing himself in it, faster and tighter, the wetness audible, strong thighs shuddering at your sides. Then he sucked in a breath, hissing your name and tipping forward, painting viscous white strings onto your collarbones and tits, pushing his shuddering cock up and down to spread it out, your clavicle now sticky and covered in his strong scent.

Taehyung ticked his head, lips in a devil’s smile, chest heaving with exertion.

“Your cum necklace is extra pretty today. Take a selfie for me so I can jack off to your cute face later.”

-

jeon jungkook.

“Jungkook?”

Jeon Jungkook shrieked your name like you were Michael Myers and he was Jamie Lee Curtis, flinging himself onto his computer monitor and mashing the power button to turn it off, his long purple hair flying everywhere, brown orbs like saucers, entire body shaking so bad that even his eyebrow piercing was vibrating.

He froze like that.

You blinked at him from the doorframe of his rented studio room, one hand on the knob and the other holding up your phone like a kitchen knife.

His leather bomber jacket was hung over the back of his rolling chair. The chair was currently slowly sliding across the floor, away from him and his panic. Jungkook was wearing a sleeveless black shirt and loose black jeans.

For a guy scared shitless, his pants were pitching a very impressive tent.

Had he been watching porn?

“Er… I knocked…?” you said slowly, pointing to the door. “Do you not hear me?”

“Um, uh, n-no,” Jungkook sputtered, looking you up and down. “No, I d-didn’t.”

“I said I was coming by today. Via text?”

“Was that today?” he echoed hollowly like a ghost in a shell, the end of his question pitching to a higher octave. He coughed and cleared his throat. “Ah. Sorry. I think I f… forgot…” He was not looking at your face, instead staring at your thighs and your shorts, tight and tiny, shredded black denim paired with a loose, long-sleeved black top that read in bold, white, graphic, letters...

REALITY SUCKS.

You pointed to the turned-off monitor.

"Were you watching porn?" you asked cheerfully.

Jungkook's ears turned red.

"Yes," he blurted.

Silence.

A bird cawed outside.

You nodded, closing the door. You tilted your head and locked it, just in case, before waltzing into Jungkook's film studio space, bouncing on the heels of your large black sneakers. "If you're gonna watch porn, you should lock the door. What were you watching? Is it lesbian porn again? Can I–?"

You reached over to turn the screen back on and Jungkook's tattooed hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, yanking you away from it and to him. You blinked rapidly, confused at his tight grip.

"N-No, you can't see. You can't," he sputtered, pinning you against his hard body.

You frowned, annoyed. "Why not? I like porn." You squirmed against him, but he sandwiched you between his forearms, forcing you to look up and face him, thinning your mouth into a line. He gulped, eyes shifting, holding your body against his. His lower lip trembled, mole underneath bouncing with his uncertainty.

"I... It wasn't porn..."

You stopped struggling, confused. "Huh?"

Those dark chocolate eyes found yours, looking guilty.

"I was looking at your pictures."

You blinked rapidly. "What?"

"You know... the ones I take of you sometimes... You said it was okay..."

Ah, yes. Jungkook liked to take pictures of you. He had mumbled that it was because he needed practice and, later in bed, he admitted it was because he considered you his muse, an inspiration of sorts, so would it be okay if, maybe, you just turned a little and laid in his covers just like... like that, yeah, could he take maybe one photo?

"Sure, knock yourself out, dude."

A bit later, far too late, you had realized that had been maybe too chill of a response, but Jungkook seemed to prefer that and he acted less awkward about it every other time he asked to take a picture. They weren't usually dirty pictures. Although you were naked in some of them, they weren't quite inappropriate, every single one framed with delicate, well-thought-out composition. You always sighed and told him he made you look better than you actually were.

Jungkook always insisted you were consistently beautiful.

You pointed between your bodies.

"Were you gonna get off to them or something?" you cheerily inquired, bumping against his pitched denim tent.

"N-No!"

His ears turned scarlet and he jerked sideways, but you held onto him, hands firmly on his hips, not letting him twist away. He quickly covered his ears and pouted at you.

"I was... I just missed you."

You smiled, squeezing his ass. "I missed you too, Jungkook."

Your tone was soft, gentle. He stilled and lowered his hands, lips parting at your words, slightly surprised, incredibly adorable.

His dick twitched in his pants and jabbed your crotch.

A pause.

Jungkook's eyes shifted to the side, mumbling under his breath. "And, yeah, okay, I got horny, but that's only because it's you..."

"That's great, since I definitely wanted to look at your dick as soon as possible!"

His eyes went wide.

You smiled widely.

Then he said something unexpected.

"Ow."

You looked down and backed up as Jungkook frowned and reached down to shift his rock-hard length in his pants, sighing in relief.

"Zipper was killing me..." he grumbled, running a hand through his purple hair.

"We should just take it off then."

"Pardon, we should wha–ah!"

You grabbed fistfuls of his black top and yanked it up and over his head, causing Jungkook to sputter in confusion, throwing his hands up as you unsheathed his muscular torso, leaning in, breathing on his skin, leaving him to untangle himself as your lips closed onto his dark nipple, tongue teasing the small nub.

"Ah, fuck!"

You lifted your lips, tongue still extended, looking up to see him flinging the shirt aside, his long purple hair messy and wild, tattooed arm and un-inked arm lifting, pushing his hair away from his face, his chest rising to your wet muscle, gasping. You had a clear view of that cute little mole under his lower lip, trembling with pleasure before Jungkook looked down at you, hazy chocolate orbs fanned by black lashes, breathing hard.

You ticked an eyebrow, licking slow circles, lips closing in again, sucking daintily.

He bit his lip and let it slowly tease out while you simultaneously teased him, your name leaving his lips in a low moan. You danced your fingertips up his thigh, nail tracing the seams of his jeans, kissing across his chest, his eyes following you, hips rocking into your touch, following your pace, letting you command it. His head tipped back as you kissed down his abs, whimpering with want, curling his fingers into fists.

Jungkook always made you feel like you were touching him for the first time.

"You're not a virgin?"

"No?" Jungkook had repeated after the first time you had fucked him, sounding confused. "I'm just like this? Is that bad?"

"W... well... no, and now that I think about it, you were suspiciously good..."

"You didn't like it?"

You had turned to look at him and, fuck, the way he looked at you, so cute and innocent, uh oh, and then the slightest hint of an open-mouthed smirk dancing on those shapely pink lips, reminding you of someone else.

"Namjoon-hyung said that's what you were into. Is he wrong?"

Voice so deep and so smooth, gliding over you like butter.

You almost hastily defended yourself but one look into those roguish, yet genuine, chocolate eyes and you couldn't lie.

"But... you should enjoy yourself too..."

Jungkook had grinned, endearing and heart-thuddingly handsome. "I do. I told you, this is how I am. You're just my type."

"And what's that?'"

He had pinned you back onto the bed, leaning in.

"Hot and horny."

Turns out.

Seemed to be a running theme with all eight of you.

Right now, his pants were falling and you were sliding up as your hand was sliding down, shushing him quietly, your other hand dancing up his neck and pulling his head down.

"Someone's gonna hear you," you whispered to his open lips, tone and touch implying you didn't give a shit who was listening, wrapping your fingers around his stiff cock the second he pushed his black boxer briefs down, his shivering moan tickling your cheek. His right hand came up to cradle your head and lean it against his, begging whines for you to move, pairing it with an irresistible, husky hiss of your name.

"Please..."

He liked it tight and he liked it rough, liked the way you could lock your fingers and keep that nearly suffocating pace, closing his eyes with a flutter and moaning into your skin, curtaining you with purple, his grip in your hair tightening as you built that speed, filling the rented studio with his silvery, erotic cries.

"Someone out there is going to think you're watching porn," you teased, nudging him with your nose, looping a finger back to smear the pre-cum over the swollen head. He bucked his hips into your hold, lips pressed to your cheek, intoxicated groan warming your skin.

"Kiss me and breathe into my mouth..."

You couldn't say no, not with his voice so soft and pleading like that, not with that edge of nervousness. Fuck, the way Jungkook succumbed to your kiss, uncontrollable tremors taking over his shoulders, hot taut skin twitching in your palm indicating he was close, and you almost broke away to say that he shouldn't cum like this, it'll be messy and get on the floor, but he grabbed your face and didn't let you go, whimpering in his throat, wordlessly telling you to do it, exhale into his throat and he groaned in his chest, long, drawn-out, consumed by lust, and maybe it was bad, but you loved it, loved the way he wanted it so bad, wanted you to push the air out of his lungs and suffocate his pulsating cock with your grip, pre-cum leaking between your fingers, finally pulling back and gasping, his lashes fluttering helplessly.

"G-Gonna cum, f-fuck!"

You had to think fast, looking down for a moment and feeling his cock jerk in your hand, swiftly switching to cupping the dark red head, thick white cum suddenly spurting your palm, Jungkook burying his face into your hair to muffle his wail, your scalp hot with his released exhale and your hand covered in his heated release.

You breathed in, smirking at the scent of dirty gratification.

"Jungkook..."

He whined softly, hips quivering as you covered his jerking length with your cum-covered hand, spreading it all over and getting him hard again.

"There's this picture..."

"Mmm, yeah, the h-hyungs told me... don't stop..."

You swung your hips from side to side, free hand running down his chest, your eyes roaming his toned body, his tattooed arm still hovering over your head, long fingers tangled in your hair still, squatting down and opening your mouth, tongue dancing out and licking your hand and the side of his purple-red length, wet sloppy kisses, slurping up his cum and moaning on the throbbing head, making sure that he could feel the sinful heat.

"Give me... oooh, fuck, give me your phone..."

Your hand left his abs reluctantly, tugging your phone out of your ass pocket and holding it up for him as your mouth closed around his cock, swallowing it all, eyes closing, cramming all of him until the head hit your inner throat and your lips pressed against his crotch, knees on the tile floor, thighs spread, hands poised in the air, unable to breathe.

Click.

You cracked open one eye to see Jungkook holding your phone above your head, teasing smirk on his shapely lips, mole winking at you.

“For me?” he asked, not quite innocent.

It was the first time Jungkook had taken an actual dirty picture.

You shrugged as if to say, sure, pulling back as he turned the phone around, the dick in question on the screen. You eased off his length, licking it clean, bringing up your wet hand covered in his cum, popping your lips off the engorged tip and sliding your fingers in your wet lips, tongue wriggling between your fingers, inspecting the two dicks. Jungkook was still hard – so hard that his cock was sticking straight out, almost mimicking the photo. You had to crouch a little more, tilting your head and placing your fingertips on his balls, raising his dick a little on the back of your hand, smearing saliva and pre-cum on your skin.

Yon continued to lick, grazing the underside of his length with your tongue and then pulling back, eyes going from the photo to the real thing.

Jungkook moaned above you, clutching your phone tightly, knuckles white under black tattoos.

Hm.

You tilted your head.

One way.

Then the other.

Hmmm?

Hmmmmmmm.

“W… What?” Jungkook stuttered above you.

You pursed your lips at the tip of his cock, swiping your tongue over it and sucking off the pre-cum. He gasped, hips shaking, threatening to shove it into your lips.

“It doesn’t look like your dick at all.”

“What?” He sounded startled.

You pointed with your dry hand. “The shape is a little off, you’re longer and slightly bigger, and the color is different.” You sighed, whooshing hot air over his soaked, taut skin, Jungkook whimpering. You squinted slightly.

“Still…”

You tapped your lips with his cock, thinking.

“I think he wears the same underwear brand as you.”

“He does?” Jungkook squeaked, spinning the phone around and blinking at it.

You shrugged. “And for some reason, the position of his hips reminds me of you. I don’t know why…”

He chewed his lower lip, staring at the phone.

“Oh well.”

You stood up abruptly at your words and plucked the phone out of his hand, putting it on his desk.

“If it’s not you, it’s not you. Let’s fuck.”

Jungkook yelped as you grabbed the bottom of your shirt and began stripping off your clothes.

That was his reaction that one time you lost strip poker to Kim Seokjin and him at that one party, not that your cared because you didn’t bother learning the rules. You had other priorities and they involved getting mostly naked and then pinning Seokjin down to make out with him as Jungkook gawked at the other side of the table, half-clothed, clutching his cards.

“I can… go…?” he had sputtered.

You surfaced from Seokjin’s plush lips, his hands around your bare waist, the taller man gasping for air, reeling from your kiss.

“I still have one more piece of clothing to go, Jungkook.”

Side of your lower lip between your teeth, cocking an eyebrow, swaying your panty-covered ass at those huge brown eyes.

“You can help, you know.”

Fun night.

His eyes were huge now too, your back against the wall and him rolling the condom down, lifting your leg and sliding into you, gasping at your tightness, leaning down to kiss you again, greedy and ravenous, his hips jerking upwards, forcing you on tiptoe. Your hands were on his shoulders, nails digging into that soft skin and strong muscle.

“F-Fuck me, Jungkook, mmm, fuck, yes…”

You didn’t really get to talk during that strip poker night because your mouth was full of Seokjin’s dick as Jungkook’s pounded you from behind, but it would be a crime to complain about such things.

You met your hips to his to deepen his thrust, enjoying his strength, powerful and steady, fucking you against the wall, wet slaps and soft moans filling the room between harsh kisses, lips swelling from the fervor, your ass even rhythmically smacking into the wall, but neither of you cared, your leg around his slim waist and his right arm wrapped around it, his fingers digging into your thigh, black tattoos and tan skin gleaming from sweat, his other hand clutching a fistful of your ass and ramming your drenched pussy down on his stiff cock, grinning at your soft cry of his name, staring into his eyes and not looking away, spellbound by chocolate orbs framed by wispy strands of purple.

“You always feel so fucking good…”

You pulsed around him, feeding the fire, wanton exhales mixing, dick pic forgotten.

-

“Hah…”

You rolled over, sighing loudly.

“Haaaaaaah…”

“You still fixated on that dick?” a deep, unimpressed voice said next to you.

You frowned and planted your phone with the inspirational dick on your face, praying for it to come to life and choke you.

“I never found out who it was…” you mumbled.

“Well, it is Saturday night. We can go crash a party and maybe you can find that dick!” exclaimed a joyful voice, poking your side. Your phone slid off your face and clattered to the floor. A cheerful hand covered in colorful clay rings waved at you and your gaze shifted to Jung Hoseok and his blond and pink hair. He was too cute and you were unable to help yourself as you looked at him, matching his heart-shaped smile.

“Nah,” you tutted. “If it’s not one of you guys… the dick isn’t worth it.”

You closed your eyes and sighed again, long and with longing.

“If it makes you feel better, we don’t know who it is either.”

You laughed hearing Kim Namjoon’s deep, serious voice. “How would you guys find out?”

“I know a lot of things,” Park Jimin’s angelic, light voice chirped.

“Too many things,” Kim Taehyung’s baritone voice remarked coolly.

“Are you gonna eat that slice of pizza, Jungkook?”

“Yeah, hyung, I am, no, stop–”

“Give Seokjinnie-hyung a bite!”

“Over my dead body!”

“Then you’re dead to me, boy! Respect your elders!”

You heard some slapping and flailing about, but didn’t open your eyes.

“He’s probably not a virgin anyway. Virgins don’t snap pics like that on strangers’ phones.”

You cracked an eye open and narrowed it at the form laying on the ground beside you. Min Yoongi was messing with his phone. His head was on a huge pillow that he wasn’t sharing. He seemed to notice your glare and turned his head to raise a lazy eyebrow at you, cat-like eyes shrouded by black hair.

“Isn’t that what you’re into?” he taunted.

Your eye twitched.

You growled, sitting up. “I’m not into virgins, damnnit! I just like listening to people who are knowledgeable about their interests, like how Namjoon goes on about human philosophy, and how Seokjin never shuts up about MapleStory, and like how you talk about music theory. Just because I don’t understand right away doesn’t mean I don’t try,” you snapped, prodding Yoongi’s firm pecs through his t-shirt. He didn’t move, completely unbothered as you continued your tirade. “I don’t know anything about TikTok, but I like listening to Hoseok talk about the latest dance and fashion trends. Jimin’s the only reason I don’t make an ass of myself at parties because he knows everything about everyone so I don’t accidentally sit in a taken person’s lap and cause trouble. Taehyung’s always following that animal rescue Instagram and giving me cool facts about all these different creatures. Jungkook can go on for hours about cameras. I still don’t think I even know how to work the aperture function on DSLRs, but as long as he will continue to explain, I’ll listen.”

You sucked in a deep breath and seethed.

“So what’s the difference?”

“What?” you scowled.

Yoongi shrugged casually.

“Why do you keep chasing dorks with glasses struggling to get stupid graduate degrees when the people you spend the most time with are here with you right now, ready to fuck you at any time?”

“That’s–”

Your words died in your throat, Yoongi’s words finally sinking in.

Silence.

“Hyung, I’m struggling to get a grad degree…” Namjoon cut in, but the black-haired man on the floor lifted a finger and sliced the air, quieting him instantly. Yoongi was watching you carefully, head tilting at your frozen state. Your brain seemed to have ceased function. His lips curved into a slow, open-mouthed smirk.

Yoongi dropped the bomb on you.

“Didn’t you think it was a bit suspicious that the dick had elements from all of ours, but never quite matched up?”

W… What?

Your head whipped to your fallen phone and you scrambled with it, bringing up the dick pic again. The photo showed up at the party with the wet t-shirt contest. Your phone has disappeared for two hours during said party. Everyone was drunk. No. Everyone had gotten drunk after your phone had mysteriously been found and returned to you. You spent the night in various laps doing various naughty things, not bothering to check your phone after retrieving it, leaving it as a later you problem. You filed through your memories, recalling their faces as you showed each and every one of them the photo.

Hold on.

“Didn’t you think it was a bit weird, almost as if…”

They weren’t as weirded out as one might be, seeing some random dick on your phone.

As if…

“As if one of us is good at photo manipulation, perhaps,” Yoongi purred.

As if they had expected to see such a photo.

Click.

You whipped your head to the left and a whirlwind of dark purple hair went flying under the coffee table, hiding behind broad shoulders, chestnut brown hair, and full lips forming an ‘o’. At the same time, the realization hit you like a falling piano from the sky.

“Did you all…” you choked, mechanically jerking from face to face, Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, and lastly, back at Seokjin because Jungkook was cowering behind him, large brown doe eyes behind a massive shoulder. “D-Did you all…?”

No way.

“Did you all take a dick pic and Photoshop them together into one superdick photo and PLANT IT ON MY PHONE?!”

One look at those seven faces and…

YUP.

Taehyung laughed, loud and rich, nudging Namjoon with his elbow. “Told you she wouldn’t check the details of the photo and realize it was from an outside source.”

You started and swiped around. The file name was close enough to your camera photos’ file names, but upon closer inspection…

“Oh my God…”

“She’s very easily distracted by dick,” Hoseok chuckled, infectious grin on his face.

“I am not!”

“Wanna bet?”

“Jimin, do not whip out your dick.”

You heard your name being called softly and looked up, clutching your phone, still stunned and flabbergasted that you had been lusting after a fake dick that was a fuckin’ Megazord of the seven dicks currently surrounding you and those seven were the very dicks that tricked you!

On purpose!

For what?

FOR FUN!

(GG, no re)

They got you good.

Your irritation immediately dissipated when your eyes found those anxious chocolate ones, long purple strands curling around his cheek, curious open mouth with the small mole underneath barely visible.

“Are you mad?” Jungkook asked quietly, pink lips curving into an irresistible pout.

Oh.

Shit.

Before you could quickly say, no, of course not, Jungkook, it was funny, I’m not mad at all, you felt a dark presence by your shoulder, raspy chuckle by your ear, sending shivers down your spine, whispering your name, devious and smokey.

“Whose idea do you think it was?” Yoongi murmured.

You stared into chocolate eyes.

Innocent.

Or…?

Jungkook’s pout disappeared.

His dark eyebrow cocked, mischievous smirk gracing those irresistible lips. No, not just him. Lowered lids and midnight blue hair, smug expression with a dimple. Kim Namjoon. Lifted chin, looking down at you with a sheepish yet wicked smile on full lips. Kim Seokjin. The black head of hair leaning his chin on your shoulder, laugh like a seductive purr. Min Yoongi. Tilted head balanced on long fingers decorated with colorful rings and bracelets, sly heart-shaped smile. Jung Hoseok. Shit-eating grin fanned by red hair, bouncing a perfectly manicured eyebrow. Park Jimin. Long dark brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, spare strands framing a moody, handsome face with a glint of playful cunning. Kim Taehyung.

And then, Jeon Jungkook.

“The hyungs thought it was a great idea,” he drawled, silvery and sweet, looking extremely pleased with himself, running his tattooed hand through his purple hair, unquestionably guilty, but despairingly angelic in appearance.

These fucking…. Seven Kings of Duality!

You were positively fuming.

Silence.

An owl hooted outside the window.

“YOU PUNKS!”

You threw yourself over the coffee table and horny chaos ensued.

-

2021.09.01 - JK birthday drabble 2021.10.02 - Namjoon birthday drabble

--

masterpost

[poptod]

Cyber Security (Elliot Alderson)

Description: An online ad leads him to you, though in reality he has little interest in your ad. What interests him is how you accidentally doxxed yourself and how oblivious you are to that fact.

Notes: idrk what to say about this one its one of those things that i wrote at midnight after almost falling asleep to a fantasy and then realizing it could work as a fic. like i did this same thing with ‘close your eyes’ that one was also a before-bed-to-get-to-sleep fantasy. this is also not a particularly romantic interaction, though it can be read as such WC: 2.2k

+

Sweat drenched his sheets, bathing him in the cold wind that breezed past his only air conditioner lodged in a nearby window. He stared blankly upwards, half shivering and half overheated, as he once again found himself in a familiar predicament—the practice of sleep.

It was no secret he had trouble calming himself down, and that aspect of himself reached into the evening, as well. He already downed three melatonin pills hours earlier, along with smoking a joint that should’ve put him to bed. Unsurprisingly, that did not work.

“Xanax,” he mumbled to himself, hearing it bounce back from empty walls. “Need to get xanax.”

In the meantime he raised himself to his feet, padding across freezing floors to his computer. With a click of a button the white screen buzzed to life, shining bright onto his sleep-heavy eyes, that did their best to acclimatize to the sudden change.

Hypnotization—strange as it might’ve been—had worked a couple times before. Not all the time, but decently enough to give it a try. He had work in the morning and he didn’t need to be more miserable than usual, especially since he hadn’t slept almost the entire weekend.

sleep hypnosis

The blinker flickered for a moment before his fourth finger slammed down on enter, the last step in calculated movements. What popped up first was a video titled [ SLEEP HYPNOSIS ] 8 Hour Loop with a screencap of a spinning black and white screen. Below that, however, was something he hadn’t seen before—a YouTube video titled exactly what he’d typed, lacking the caps just as he had. The title screen appeared to be some sort of poorly-drawn painting.

Curiosity overcame his hazy, aching head, and he clicked, finding a playlist of videos containing what could be the titles of songs, along with several different poorly-drawn title screens.

The first video began to play before he could realize it. What he first noticed was it was bereft of ads—that meant the publisher made no money off the album.

Sat in the presence of God

whose name means filthy old fraud

Captions had been manually added by, he assumed, you. The author. There were three views on the video, no comments, and no likes, leaving few other options.

Maybe it was the melody—maybe the lyrics, who talked of a world plagued by aristocrats. But he found his eyelids heavy, dropping dark eyelashes in his vision that blurred the screen. By the third song, reciting verses of an Islamic poem, he was slouched in his seat.

He slid down to the floor, crawling his way back to flop onto his bed. The music continued to play till the first ad popped up, at which time he opened his eyes, seeing a music video from Katy Perry, at which time he promptly reached over and unplugged his computer. He wasn’t sure which cord he pulled out, but the screen still went black. With that, he just barely sneaked into his covers, dozing until the morning.

It was far too easy to get information on you. Your full name was stated clearly in your youtube bio, alongside several different social media tags leading to instagram, tumblr, and facebook.

Facebook alone provided him the means to your address, and he didn’t even have to go looking for it. Your most recent post was an ad, searching for someone good with computers to aid you in your recording process, which you noted as ‘dismal’.

Are you fucking kidding me? He thought to himself, reading the ad once more.

Your address, your real, physical address was stated as the place you wanted to meet those interested in helping you. On the internet. You had doxxed yourself after less than a year of being online.

Okay, he thought, clicking on your listed email. Someone needs to be taught a lesson.

Three days later—after about two weeks of listening to your echoing voice every night—you replied, sending a cheerful email detailing when you would be available to meet him. After shooting a short message back, the date was organized.

Two more days and he was standing at your doorstep, his neck craned upwards as he scanned your tall, narrow home squished between two other apartments. He just barely knocked before the black door swung open, revealing a familiar face belonging to a stranger. Elliot was dressed in his black hoodie and jeans, a stark difference to your long, colorful robes, coming out of a sort of fantasy world.

“Hi,” he said, his voice grating with how low and quiet he kept it.

“Hello,” you said with a smile that did not match his hunched posture. “Are you Mr. Alderson?”

“Elliot,” he corrected, his chin just barely raising to meet you. “Elliot Alderson. Elliot works.”

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “Come inside? I was just making tea. Do you like tea? Or do you prefer coffee?”

“I... I’m fine, thanks,” he said softly, scooting past you when you opened the door wide enough for him to enter. He sucked in a breath as his chest brushed yours.

Your home was modern—far fancier than Elliot’s own apartment, with large windows flanked by soft grey curtains. A small, upright piano was in the corner of the living room, set upon a reed mat lined with Korean symbols. The couch was clinical, made of a sort of black plastic leather that matched the grey skies beyond the window panes.

He sat down, shifting his feet closer together as his fingers dug into his palms, continuing to scan the room in its’ entirety until you returned with your own tea.

“What kind of experience do you have? School counts,” you said, setting your cup down on a tiny plate whose decorations matched your teacup.

“I’ve been... experimenting, with computers, since I was around 9,” he said, mumbling the words out as his shoulders hunched awkwardly down. “Have a job at a cyber security firm. Started a while back.”

“You still have that job?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small nod. “Jus’ thought this would be... fun.”

The dead look on his face indicated no humor whatsoever, but you took his word as it was.

“How’d you find the ad I put out?”

“I... I listened to your music,” he answered honestly for once. “Helps me fall asleep.”

“Oh,” you said, clearly taken aback. Your face grew warm as you glanced away with wide eyes. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You’re not very good with technology, though,” he said in his usual low, grating voice.

“Not really,” you chuckled sheepishly. “That’s why I put out the ad -“

“No, not that,” he interrupted you. “You put your physical address on the internet. You doxxed yourself. Do you even know how dangerous that is?”

The lyrics of your songs pointed towards a kind of brilliance, balanced against emotions felt thoroughly on pages and screens. It didn’t match your actions at all.

“What’s doxxing?” You asked.

Elliot had to physically stop himself from sighing and leaving.

“You want everyone to know where you, a minor celebrity, live?”

“I’d hardly call myself a -“

“I could’ve been a murderer,” he said, reaching into his bag.

He looked you in the eye as he pulled out a gun, clicking on the safety before he pointed it at you.

“This is how easy it would be to kill you.”

As expected, you stiffened at the sight of the iron barrel, your fingers withdrawing to your chest. Your lips pursed as you met his gaze once more.

“Please put the gun down,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

He did as you said, resting the gun on the table.

“That’s a hell of a way to start an interview, Mr. Alderson,” you said quietly. “Please get out of my house.”

His heart sank. What had he expected? For you to fall to your knees and sing to him as he desired you to do? He threatened you with a gun to teach you a lesson, and you reacted accordingly. Calmer than others would.

Elliot stood on shaky legs, sliding the pistol into his backpack before he zipped it up. Throwing the pack over his shoulder, he swallowed through a tight throat, shuffling as he delayed his departure.

“Keep safe from people like me,” he said in a strained mumble. “Take that ad down. Meet people from the internet only in inhabited, public areas.”

You tapped your fingernails on the table for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip. Suddenly you stood, tugging on his sweatshirt sleeve to get him to face you, instead of staring at his feet.

“Alright. If you’re really so good at the internet -“

He ignored your incorrect grammar.

“- and... if you actually do want to help me with my songs,” your tone softened, “then you’ll be able to find my real name, not my stage name. If you do.. I’ll hire you.”

“Alright,” he said monotone, knowing the battle was already won.

Even though he knew your name already, he turned away and left to his apartment, immediately going to work on figuring out everything he could about you. If you willingly still offered him the job after that, he knew it would take a lot to scare you off. He could impress you.

It was, after all, the only thing he was good at.

Two days later he showed up at your apartment again, quietly thanking you when you let him in. The clean floors and walls remained unchanged since his last visit, and you led him to the same table, sitting him down on the same seat.

“Your name is (Y/N) (L/N),” he started with. You already appeared to be surprise. “You grew up near LA and you’ve had a chronic illness all your life. At eleven you saw your first therapist.. that must’ve been when you first got diagnosed with depression... and anxiety.”

“Killer duo,” you muttered.

“Your parents split when you were thirteen, which came at the same time as your dog, Penelope, died. Or... sometime that year. When was that... 1997?”

“1999,” you said quietly.

“Your mom homeschooled you,” he continued. “That’s probably why you don’t know how computers work. Rather eclectic, in a.. boring way... an ex-Amish, right?”

You nodded and his heartbeat tripled. Everything was right thus far despite a two year difference in his guesstimate of your life’s timeline.

“Then there was your dad... logger in the Redwood forests. Burly guy. Not a great man, from what I saw,” he said.

“He was fine,” you said with a small shrug as you looked away. “Didn’t ever hurt me, or anything.”

“Abuse isn’t always physical,” he said faster than he could think, dizzied by his own memories playing behind his eyes.

“I know,” you murmured.

You went silent, so he continued, hoping to pry more precious words from you.

“Your favorite color is yellow,” he said, leaning closer to you. “On Valentine’s you get chocolate strawberries, and on easter you get kinder eggs.”

Nothing.

“You studied mythology as a kid, and you made paintings of the forest you lived in with your mom. Santa Cruz mountains, I think.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I miss the forests.”

“I know. You want to visit Ireland again because it’s a land of faeries and moss, it’s a breeding ground for your song lyrics.”

“How did you find all this out?” You finally asked.

“You use the same password on everything,” he said, though that was far from the actual answer. “Your web browser tracks all your movements and you don’t try to stop it, or hide ads, or stay away from sketchy websites. Your parents aren’t much better, either.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you brought your hand to massage your brow.

“You’re way too smart to be helping me,” you said with soft laughter, blushing with your smile.

“It’s better than working for E Corp,” he said, huffing out a laugh that was hardly humored.

“E corp?”

“My.. uh, place of work,” he brushed off his slip. “My point is... I’d rather work with you and do easy work than work with my current fucking coworkers.”

You laughed, truly and fully this time, curling into a little ball that shook with the force of it. Your feet tucked into your tiny chair, making you even smaller.

“Bad people or just annoying?”

“Stupid,” he chuckled. “Don’t let me wear my sweatshirt.”

“Ooh, now it’s my turn,” you suddenly interrupted him, earning a strange look. “I’ve noticed things about you, too. I couldn’t learn anything off the computer, but you, you have anxiety too. Probably some childhood trauma.. maybe a dissociative disorder of sorts or a form of PTSD. Your jacket is like your home, and... you have sensory issues. Few types of fabric, don’t like to be touched, if I had to guess I’d say you might be autistic.”

“Blunt,” he said after a full minute’s silence.

“Do you mind?” You asked.

“No, not really.”

“Good. Then you’re hired,” you said with a smile, extending your hand for him to shake. “If you still want the job, of course.”

He watched you with evident apprehension, but took your hand after much thought, shaking with a firm grip.

“When do I start?”

[mirajanefairytailmage]

Rambling About a Show (10/16/2022)

⚠️SPOILER?!⚠️

I finished this drama last night after starting it on Thursday (10/13/2022). I would have rambled about it then but I was suffering from a debilitating migraine. Anyhoo, I can’t remember the exact date that I saw the preview for this one/ What I do remember is being on tiktok and watching edits of the actor Kwak Dong-yeon. I ended up seeing an edit for his character Jerry, which piqued my curiosity, and made me look up what drama the character was from... Then BAM!! 

But it took me awhile to get around to watching the drama. I honestly forgot I wanted to watch this one until I was looking up the title of a different drama on Hulu. I was looking up May It Please the Court so that I could add it to my list. Then I scrolled through the you may also like or whatever list and found Big Mouth. That’s when I remembered that I had been wanting to see it.

So this couple is going to be added to my favorite list.

Their relationship had several hardships that they faced together, which is what made me love them as a couple. Plus I loved the chemistry between the two of them. I laughed during the first episode scene where he told his wife, Ko Mi-ho, ‘congratulations on marrying me, babe’ on the night of their anniversary. (That’s what the Hulu subtitles said). I thought it was cute and funny. I also asked myself ‘who just says that?’ The only problem I had with this couple is the fact they didn’t get to grow old together. I’m mad at the writers for what they did to Ko Mii-ho and  Park Chang-ho. Seriously, what the hell was the point of giving her a terminal illness and then killing her off like that?! The scene where she dies was so heartbreaking to me, I cried so much. In a previous episode she mentions how when the time came she’d like to fall asleep while holding his hand. That’s exactly what happened. I don’t feel like her death did anything for the plot. That’s just my honest opinion though. I mean, he does keep the promise of being a good Big Mouse. That was all she asked of him. I think Im Yoon-ah and Lee Jong-suk did a fantastic job portraying their characters. The way Lee Jong-suk was able to switch from soft Park Chang-ho to extreme Big Mouse was pretty impressive to me.

Then there’s this couple...

This couple is my least favorite. Both are horrible people, which makes sense why they’re together. I’ve told my friend that this is the villain couple. Choi Do-ha as individual, is vile. This is only my opinion of his character. I was wary of the character from the moment he asked Park Chang-ho to be the lawyer for his “buddies”. Honestly, I thought he was Big Mouse for a few moments. Hyun Joo-hee.. I honestly don’t have a lot to say about her. Aside from I found her to a bit annoying and I don’t like her. I think Ok Ja-Yeon and Kim Joo-hun did a fantastic job portraying these two. They did so well that they are the most hate-able characters to me. 

This character ended up on my most annoying list...

I remember seeing Yang Kyung-won in Vincenzo as Lee Cheol-wook. I loved his character in Vincenzo. I didn’t like Kong Ji-hoon all that much. I found him to be annoying. I do think Yang Kyung-won did a fantastic job portraying this character.

So, the real Big Mouse isn’t revealed for awhile. Park Chang-ho has to survive under the guise that he IS Big Mouse. However, before the reveal, I thought I wouldn’t be surprised if Jerry or Warden Park Yoon-gab ended up being Big Mouse. I also thought at one point that it would be Mayor Do-ha. I was surprised, even though I shouldn’t have been, when it turned out to be No Park. I feel like I should have seen that coming. This show was interesting and kept me on the edge of my seat from pilot to finale. I should mention that Jerry ended up being one of my favorites and I honestly found him to be adorable. This series had a lot of unlikable characters, characters that were difficult to trust, and likeable characters. Though one question I have is why mention the serial killer son? I understand that his story ties into inmate Tak Kwang-yeon’s imprisonment. But like, they didn’t bring the serial killer into the show. They only name drop him, say his last known location, and mention that he is the son of  Chairman Kang Sung-Geun. In my opinion that would be a great plot for season two, hunt down the son to clear Tak Kwang-yeon’s name. In my opinion that would be a great plot. Of course there would need to be more than that to make an entire season two, so that’s just one major plot point. 

[uzu-hime]

Akayona band au I've had in my head for years:

-Kouka is a major record label that has gone downhill since the younger son of its previous owner inherited the title

-Yu hon was a prominent rock star known for his brutal management and hardcore music. Il was a classical musician known for being timid in the spotlight

-Princess Yona was an internet popstar known for her bubbly songs and "spoiled" personality, since she never performed in public and her dad ran her media. In reality, he forbade her from doing public performances and trying different genres of music.

-su won graduated high school early and went to university to study business. When he comes back...

-il ran kouka poorly, let many of their smaller artists go, neglected most of its staff, and focused on making yona the face of the agency

-now he's dead (a heart attack or something, the police said), his selfish policies have been made officially public, and princess yona is a laughing stock

-she runs to her other childhood friend hak, a talented musician and frontman of the wind tribe, a group formed by mundeok who used to work for il. He's known as the thunder beast for his insane guitar playing

-yona learns about the music industry and how il hurt so many people by favoring her and it makes her sad. It makes her angry. She's been betrayed and people are suffering and most of all she wants to find herself again

-so she meets Yoon and the four dragons and they form a band. Yona is the lead singer cause she's amazing. She draws people in. Hak is lead guitar since he's the lead male and it fits his role at yona's side. Kija plays bass, cause big hands lol but also cause bass is an incredibly important support instrument like kija is an invaluable support to the team. Shin ah on drums since they take amazing talent but don't necessarily get a lot of spotlight. Jae ha plays rhythm guitar and any specialized instruments they need for a song, cause he's always supporting hak and he's so adaptable. Zeno on keyboard cause. My brain quit working but yeah. Yoon is a producing prodigy and does sound coordinating and management.

-they settle on a rock sound and they're good as hell

-their first live performance happens at a contest and su won is there for one of his own talents

-yona comes on stage in her Princess Yona attire and no one is impressed, but as they play and the music gets intense and the lyrics get emotional, she sheds the costume and is left as Yona: hair cut short, dresses and frills tossed aside, voice sharpened to sword point potency

-su won is shook

Bonus:

-lili, ayura, and tetora are a badass girl group

-yes yona's band is The Happy Hungry Bunch no I don't take criticism

when I made this au I was listening to this song:

[writingsfromstarfleet]

Spock - The One With The Beds

♫ - Let Me Love the Lonely - James Arthur 

For a lovely Anon, enjoy! Two Spock fics in a row, you guys love him, and rightly so! I couldn’t think of a title so if we all ignore that, that’ll be great haha. Thank you all for reading! Hugs! ♡

When people met Spock, they usually had the same conclusion. Often, people found him to be reserved, quiet, stern. It was understandable, Vulcans were not known for their emotions or their hospitality, that much was true. Though, you had come to quite the opposite opinion.

From the moment you met Spock aboard the Enterprise, your primary mission was to get him to emotion. Any emotion. You played every game you could, tried everything you could, and yet the Vulcan simply would not do it. Spock showed you no emotion. It was frustrating you, and annoying you, but still you were determined. However, your primary mission was certainly not to fall in love with Spock, but that was exactly what you did.

All the months of annoying him and hanging around him had taken a toll on you, for the better depending on who you asked. You came to actually enjoy his company, even occasionally not arguing and actually getting along. In those conversations, you came to see him in a different light, and Spock had also done the same.

All along he knew you were simply trying to elicit an emotion from him, so he was determined not to show any to you. Though, the more he got to know you and the more you hung around him, Spock began to realise you were far from an annoyance; you were brilliant. Your intelligence drew him in first and foremost, your knowledge on history impressing him. Your conversation was easy to hold, and often Spock found himself listening intently to your stories or anecdotes, whatever they were. He felt an emotion, sure enough, and it was love.

Fast forward and you had been with Spock for six months. Six months that had gone by so quickly. Spock had been nothing but amazing with you, respectful and kind; you in turn showing him such actions back. Between the two of you, you had successfully managed to keep your relationship a secret from fellow crewmates, though they did often wonder just what your relationship was. Friends, thought most, but little did they know how far from the truth they were.

An away mission was scheduled and you were among those beaming down. Very rare was it that you were sent on one, but the captain had insisted that you accompanied them, believing your knowledge of varying species' history would prove useful to the team. Said team consisted of the captain, Bones, Spock and yourself. You were to rendezvous with the government of the planet to exchange supplies, but should anything else be mentioned had warranted you being there. Spock, naturally was worried.

"I would prefer you to stay aboard Enterprise, however I cannot argue with the captain. Therefore, please stay safe." Spock placed a kiss on your forehead and you took his hand in yours.

"Of course. You aren't getting rid of me so easily." Your tone made him smile slightly. In the time you had been together you hadn't lost your bite.

Entering the transporter room, you beamed down outside of a large building, covered in engraved stones. It looked like a language. A man was there to greet you, and he informed you that your meeting was not scheduled until the next morning, but the minister would like you all to stay the night and experience their food and culture. Jim had agreed, such an opportunity could not be turned down, most definitely.

The man showed you to the guest quarters, and with a curt nod, he left you four be.

"This is really something" Bones spoke, looking out of the window at the view down below.

"Sure is, hospitable people. There's just one problem."

Jim nodded to the sleeping area, in which there sat three beds. Lovely beds, that much was true, but one short for your party. You turned your had to Spock and gave him a look, in which he told you silently with his own expression that the following couple of minutes would be entertaining. And so, the argument of where you would sleep began, Jim speaking first.

"Well, I'll take the floor."

"No," Bones interrupted. "That's not necessary, there'll just have to be two people in one bed, use your brain."

"But who? Spock's out of the question, he likes his space, and Vulcans don't like the smell of humans anyway. So that leaves the three of us."

"No way in hell I'm sleeping next to you" Bones used his most adamant voice, you now stifling a giggle at the two men.

"Nobody said you had to, Bones! Why not though, what'd I do?" Jim looked outright offended at the mere fact Leonard would choose not to sleep with him.

"Not used to rejection are we?" Bones asked, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow.

"Might I suggest you two cease bickering before you summon security?" Spock had interjected, silencing the two men in their tracks. Had they not been so absorbed in their defences, they would have been able to put two and two together and noticed Spock's arm had taken place around your waist.

"Why don't we just ask Y/N?" Jim said, sounding a little defeated, throwing his hands up.

Jim and Bones turned to you, and you hadn't quite managed to keep the smile off your face, though your laughter had ceased. Spock's arm had fallen, though he remained close to you.

"There's no need for you two to share a bed, boys," you walked to the captain and patted his shoulder, in which he turned to Bones with a smirk, almost conveying winner's confidence. "I'm staying with Spock."

Jim's smirk was gone. Very quickly. Completely vanished. Spock had walked back up behind you, taking your hand in his own. Bones looked down at your intertwined hands and couldn't keep his own smile from appearing. It was a smile of shock, but also partially because Jim had not won. You walked off with Spock, leaving the captain and the doctor to themselves.

Bones breathed out a laugh in disbelief; Jim still hadn't processed the past three minutes.

"Well I never, that pointy-eared bastard."

"Wait.. WHAT?"

[lilyharvord]

Do you in red queen univeres is like harry potter. The silvers are like the pureblood family. Mare is a newblood like being a muggles born witch and Julian is more like Dumbledor or the Weasley what do you think?

I'm gonna say the universe itself does seem to lend itself to those categories! Or sub-catagories! It also very easily lends itself to a Hogwarts AU! PREPARE FOR AN AU UNDER THE READ MORE

I mean, Mare seeing her favorite big brother Shade receive a super pretty envelope from this strange school saying he is a wizard and is being offered a position in that school? Going to Diagon Alley with her family and Shade picking out a owl, and old faded robes cause he family really can't afford anything else. Then her hugging him tightly as he has one foot on this strange train and one foot on the strange platform that they had to run through a brick wall to get to?! Holding his hand through the window and running along side the train as he promises to write her every week before she runs out of platform and has to stop as the train pulls away and he is waving and smiling wildly at her. Her little hand slowly falling from her wave to be by her side and she wishes desperately to be on that train with him? ONLY TO RECEIVE HER VERY OWN PRETTY LETTER THE NEXT SUMMER? She gets to do the whole process! And she has all these fantasies about what it will be like based on the letters Shade sent her all last year. She wants an owl, or a salamander, or something like that. And she want to play the strange quidditch game he mentions. She wants to run up and down staircases that change. When she gets on the train with him, she practically pulling out of her mom's arms, and almost forgets to hug a very upset Gisa goodbye.

On the train, Shade tells her all the details, introduces her to his friends: ketha (a second year like him), Ada (a sixth year), and Farley (a second year that Mare is incredibly intimidated by until she sees Shade heart eyeing her every two seconds).

They tell her about the houses. Shade is more than proud to be sorted into Hufflepuff even though Farley teases him about it and Ada only smiles at the whole thing. But they all get quiet about Slytherin. It's not a house you want to be in, Shade says quietly. Mare doesn't quite understand. Cunning? what's so bad about being that? Smart and quick witted? Hell, there's nothing wrong with it.

Then she meets them. The Slytherins. And she sees why she shouldn't be a part of that House. But then she meets the strange, dark haired, blue eyed boy at the back of the group with her, who tries to sit in a boat alone until Mare clambers in behind him, cursing the fact that her socks got wet and they're going to be gross and her shoes will squelch while she walks. He seems a little uncomfortable around her big personality until she introduces herself, and he smiles and shakes her hand, quietly introducing himself as Maven. Nothing more. Mare doesn't mind, loads of people don't give their last names.

Then she's in the Great Hall, underneath the Sorting Hat, Shade smiling at her like a fiend from the Hufflepuff table while Maven is already sitting at the Slytherin one, slouched and looking just a bit upset. (It's not what you think y'all. it's because CAL's a Gryfindor, and their dad was too and he still wants to get his fathers love, and he pretty much just CEMENTED the fact that he won't get it now.) Mare sees him, and the Sorting Hat huffs and says, making friends already? Mare frowns and then thinks back it: he's lonely. And the hat laughs before saying: loyal then, hufflepuff might do you well. She makes a face and it laughs once again when she thinks: I can do better than that. And it seems to nod in understanding before standing upright and announcing SLYTHERIN. Maven sits up taller as Mare leaps down from the stool and runs to him with a big, shit eating grin on her face. Shade goes a little pale in the face but smiles at her nonetheless. It's his baby sister, and if she's happy, he is too.

She's very happy. Slytherin isn't all that bad. Maven's her friend and he's a very good one. He's smart as a tack, and knows all these neat tricks to get through work. But its when they go out to fly on the brooms where they differ finally. Maven is... not a fan of being off the ground. Mare... she could live up there. She tries to get him interested but he jut won't have it, preferring to bury his nose in books and study. (Mare wonders why he wasn't sorted into Ravenclaw like Ada, but she shrugs it off).

It's one day when they're all out walking and that girl Evangeline starts teasing some kid and throws his whatever in the air that things finally get interesting for Mare. In a very impressive showing of skill, she catches this tiny object while flying. IMMEDIATELY, the captain of the Slytherin team wants her as his Seeker. Its UNHEARD OF everyone argues. NO FIRST YEARS allowed! But it's vetoed, and Mare is allowed to play. Shade is more than proud, puffing out his chest, and forcing her to walk around with him so he can introduce her to his class and everyone as the youngest Seeker in years.

It's after she is sneaking out of the Gryffindor tower one night, having stayed to talk with Shade and Farley who is finally losing some of her Ice Queen exterior and even cracked a smile at one of Mare's jokes, that she almost gets in trouble. She is sprinting down the stairs of the tower when she runs smack into someone so they both end up tumbling down the stairs and hitting the back of the Fat Lady's portrait when they land. She stumbles over apologies, trying to grab her things in the dark (and pocketing one or two of his by accident), when she looks up. She's seen him before, she know she has, but can't remember from where. Plus, it's a little dark and she can't see him all that clearly. He's sitting there, tie undone, and shirt all messed up from falling, and rubbing the back of his head where it hit the back of the portrait when he looks at her. HE knows her. This the girl who is the youngest Seeker in years! They blink at each other, and she tries to take off, but he grabs her wrist, keeping ahold of her as he says: Thief! when he realizes she grabbed a few of his things. She looks down at the mess of things in her arms, and then frowns at him before saying, No! These are my things! he pulls out his wand and book from her hands and she's like: okay, well, those aren't mine, but whatever. And he smiles at her as he stands and she's suddenly craning her neck to look up at him, and LORD ABOVE what did he eat as a child?! She squints up at him, still trying to place him when he shifts his things to his other arm and holds out a hand for her to shake. She looks at it, and then takes it slowly. His grip is so warm and comforting, but not sweaty like some of the other boys her age. He shakes her hand and introduces himself as Cal, and THEN Mare knows who he is. This is Maven's brother. The older one, the perfect spitting image of his father who is the "Perfect Son." Maven always sneers just slightly when he says that, and now that she has met this Cal, she knows Maven is right. Turning up her nose at him, she spins on her heel and leaves, completely uninterested.

Okay she lied, she was a little more interested than she let on. She sees him EVERYWHERE after that. He raises his brows at her in the Great Hall, and even smiled and said good morning Mare when she walked by with Maven to Charms one day. After that day, Maven gets really sullen, and tells her that she shouldn't talk to him, that he's trouble. He's a third year, in line to be Prefect and Headboy at some point. She doesn't want to get mixed up with wet blanket like that. She agrees, but something about him, his eyes, the gentle smile, and way he'd looked at her the first time he saw her makes her heart do a little jig every time she thinks about him.

Before she knows it, its the first Quidditch match, and she's set to play. She steps out in her beautiful green and black uniform, and while she's in the tunnel adjusting the straps on her wrist guard with her teeth, someone laughs behind her and says: there is a better way to do that. She looks up, the laces half in her mouth, and a tiny bit of drool running down her chin to see Cal leaning against his broom. Of course he plays Quidditch, she thinks with a scowl. What perfect son wouldn't? He takes her wrist though and ties the guard gently, pulling the laces perfectly through the loops. Maven tried to help her with it this morning but gave up when he couldn't do it. Her face burns with embarrassment but he doesn't notice, or at least, he pretends not to notice. When he finished both wrist guards, he shoulders his broom and with a wink says, "eyes up and head up, dont want to take a Blunger to face on your first day." He strolls away after that, and Mare stands there, watching his shoulders as he leaves. How does a thirteen year old boy manage to look like that?! Shaking it off she steps on the pitch but... that's all she remembers. She takes a nasty blunger to side of the head and falls to the pitch floor. When she wakes up, the entire Slytherin team is around her and so is half the Gryfinddor team, Farley is grimacing as she takes in the situation, and Cal is leaning over her, shielding her from the son. She frowns up at him before saying, "you didn't say they moved that fast." He snorts to hide a laugh as the medics take her off the pitch. Good news? She learns later in the Infirmary, they won! When she went down, Cal, the Keeper moved as if to go to her and they were able to put the Quaffle in to get the final point! Her captain claps her on the back, and she tries not to puke when the movement jars her head.

The year ends uneventfully, and she waves goodbye to Maven as she disembarks and he leaves with Cal. A woman with matching icy blue eyes and stark, ash blonde hair frowns at her as Maven smiles and waves his own goodbye. She pointedly ignores Cal's title wave goodbye.

The next year is much of the same but there is a... current in the air, a charge that wasn't there before. Something is happening, something dark in the world. Shade and Farley go to Hogsmead and talk about it, but Mare can't go yet. She sits in a hidden alcove of the Astronomy tower, watching the world outside with her books open before her. Maven is quieter this year, but there is a strange new confidence and glint in his eye. It worries her. He is not the boy she waved goodbye to at the beginning of the summer.

One day while studying, she hears footsteps and looks up to see Cal pausing along side her. Her stomach flip flops when she sees him. The summer did wonders for him. Somehow, he is more attractive. She didn't even realize that was possible. And she REFUSED to admit that she thought about him a few times... well more than a few times... over the break. He smiles at her and before she knows it, she's leaning toward him to talk. She asks why he's not at Hogsmead and he grimaces before saying he is struggling with Diviniation and has to take an extra class on it every week. She laughs, and the smile he gives her when she does laugh turns her stomach to molten lava. He helps her out of the windowsill and they walk to the Great Hall together. Maven intercepts them before then, his eyes narrowing and darkening when Cal waves goodbye and heads on his way. Mare nudges Maven with her shoulder and teases him saying: are you worried I might like him more than you? Maven glowers at her, and she softens before taking his hand and promising him that Cal is "a complete and utter moron, who she could never like." It seems to relax him, but not completely. Again, Mare worries. He was never concerned about Cal or any of this before.

The year works that way though. She slowly get closer to Cal. They have this strange unspoken agreement to meet at HER windowsill once a week and then walk along the ground by the lake. One day, in the winter, she forgets a thick enough coat, and is shivering in her sweater until he shrugs off his cloak and drapes it around her shoulders. She blinks in surprise, before smiling and thanking him. It's far too big on her and drags on the ground a bit, but its warm and it smells like him. Which she is terrified to realize she kind of likes.

She starts spending time in the Gryffindor tower too, getting closer with Shade's friends, and sometimes, Cal is there too. He's not really a staple (he and Farley don't really get along, something about her calling him a Pure Blooded Hypocrite), but Mare finds she likes when he is around.

That summer is terrible. Maven doesn't write her as much as he promised. And the world is getting Dark™️. There are strange disappearances on the TV. Things are getting weird. Shade gets secret letters from Farley that he hides from her. When they go back to Hogwarts, things are... different. There are guards, there weren't Guards before. Maven looks more gaunt and haunted. Even Cal doesn't seem as cheery anymore. They're walks around the lake go from once to twice to three times a week. He tells her about his side of the Wizarding World, and she learns about a group that is known as the Death Eaters (who serve a mysterious Dark One that wants to eliminate the muggle population and the mud bloods). Mare frowns when he says that word. He says it quietly, like its something bad. She's not sure why, it's a word. When she asks Farley about it, her friend's face hardens and she tells her it's a nasty term that Pure Bloods use to describe the people like them. The ones who come from non magic families.

She finds solace in Quidditch, she even goes out when Cal offers to show her a few tricks, and that time... it is strangely magical. She finally gets to go to Hogsmead, and spend time with Shade and Farley there. They have a new little group, a taller fifth year named Tristan is added, Ada is with them, Ketha, and a couple of others. Shade tells her to go off and find something to do one time and she ends up spying on them. When she does, she overhears them talking about the Dark One, that they are back and that is the reason so many Muggles are dying and disappearing strangely. That Hogwarts might not be safe anymore. She confronts Cal about it one day, and he stops dead in the snow, spins on her and says never to talk about it. That the Dark One is dead, has been dead for year and that she should never mention them. She is taken aback, he's never seemed so concerned to desperate before. So she drops it. But things get worse over christmas break.

When she returns, Maven is almost cold with her. She tries to tease him like she used to, but he just isn't having it. She clings tighter to him, worried that things are not going well at home. She knows his mother isn't great, knows his father is an asshole. She can't understand how two people like that managed to make someone like Maven, and someone like Cal. But she tries her best to be a friend for Maven. She can't help but get closer with Cal. Something about him draws her in, and keeps her.

One day at Hogsmead, she runs into him (literally, again). She slips on the ice and he catches her, his hands grabbing her hips and pulling her close so she has to grab the front of his coat and cloak to keep herself upright too. They look at each other for a long time, confused and full of butterflies before she spots Maven at the other end of the bridge. She was supposed to meet him at the sweet shop but was running late. His eyes narrow ever so slightly at what he sees, and Mare pulls away from Cal glaring at him and adjusting her hair when he blinks in confusion. She turns on her heel and leaves without a word, taking Maven's hand in her own as she passes him and dragging him along.

That summer, something changes fundamentally in the world. The world actually gets even Darker. Shade gets more worried, and Farley starts showing up at thier house. Mare know they are seeing each other. But she keeps it to herself. When they go back to Hogwarts... there are Guards on the train. She walks down the hallway and runs into Cal on his way to his compartment. The train rocks as she is trying to pass him and she ends up in his arms again. She's fifteen, and he's seventeen, old for a sixth year. But in his Prefect uniform, he looks quiet attractive, and somehow he got MORE attractive over the summer. The flutters that had once been nothing but tummy flutters when she was elven/twelve are now full blown butterflies in her stomach. She would never admit it, but she had a dream about him over the summer. About his hands on her hips and the stone wall of the Gryffindor common room rubbing against her back as she pinned her to it. She doesn't pull herself out of his arms right now though, there is something comforting about being in his embrace right now, when the world seems to slowly falling apart around them. He lets her go, a falsh of something in his eyes before he smiles at her and says, safe travels.

When they get to Hogwarts, she knows there is something wrong with Maven. He looks like a corpse, his eyes are dark and his features are sharper than usual. She tries to get him to smile for her, but he can't seem to muster much. So one day, out of desperation, she kisses him. He melts finally, and she melts with him, burning like Icarus when he got to close to the sun. They become... a thing for lack of a better term. He clings tightly to her, pulls her away from Farley and Shade and her friends, pointedly makes sure she doesn't spend time with Cal to the point where he actually seeks her out one day, and Maven jeers at him until he leaves. It scares her, he was never hostile, never a person like this. When she talks to him about it, he raves about things she doesn't understand. An In fact, he seems almost angry with her. She can't understand, she tries to get it out of him halfway through the fall, and he turns around and calls her a nasty Mudblood, jeering at her about the fact that is lucky he even considers her a friend. It breaks her heart, shatters it into a thousand pieces. She didn't kiss him just because it might make him feel better. She kissed him because she wanted to, because she thought it felt right (she also did it because a secret part of her hoped that kissing him would make the dreams about Cal stop.)

She stops hanging around him, the other kids like him and the other Slytherins embrace him instead, folding him into their group, while she starts to gravitate to Shade and Farley again.

they go home for Christmas, and the world tilts completely on its access. There is horrible accident that kills a number of families, and Shade immediately packs a backpack that night to go see Farley. Mare forces him to take her with him. When they get to Farley's, everyone is there, all the people Shade has been friends with. She learns they are forming a group, the Scarlet Guard, to defend themselves. The Dark One is coming back, and they will be ready.

When they return in the spring, the teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts does not prepare them right. Mare feels like a child being handed a pair of children scissors to solve a grown up problem. She talks to Shade about it, and the group agrees. They need training. It's then that Mare does what cements her fate with Maven. She seeks out Cal. He is not looking too great either, there is something haunting his face and when she finally walks up to him one morning on the lawn near the lake, he looks at her suspiciously. She doesn't know why but she ends up curled against his side, sobbing. He's taken aback at first, and then soften, wrapping an arm around her while she tells him everything. With a tight jaw, and a nod, he agrees to help them training.

They form a secret group, and they start training. It's then that Mare starts to realize that perhaps she likes Cal more than she lets on. he's a good teacher, a very good one, and whenever he holds her hand and guides her wrist through a complex spell movement, she feels her face heat up. He's a sixth year, seventeen and on the cusp of greatness it seems. His OWLs were outstanding, he is set on the path she knows he wants. They train together privately. On a nondescript day like any other, she stays after to talk to him, and when she does, he kisses her. It turns her into a pool of liquid mercury, and when he breaks it off and gently caresses her cheek with his thumb she knows she is doomed.

They leave for the summer, and she writes him daily. He writes back, telling her about things happening at home. There are issues, his father is stressed, his step mother is being cagey, and Maven... he's not himself. She worries, Shade is a sixth year and she's just a fifth year, but the world feels like it is resting on their shoulders.

When they come back to school in the fall, Maven confronts her. He found the letters she wrote to Cal. He accuses her of a number of things she is horrified by. Cal steps in to push him back, and in a horrible moment, Maven draws his wand and puts to Cal's throat. The brothers stand like that for a moment, and Mare with her hand on her wand fears who she will have to point her own wand at. But Maven drops the wand, and that is that when he storms off.

The Scarlet Guard grows in number. And then it happens right before they leave for Winter Break. The earth shattering, horrible truth. The Dark One returns, and no where is safe. Hogwarts is under attack before anyone knows what is happening. Mare is fighting through the halls, throwing out hexes and charms she never thought she would have to use. She battles her way to Cal, who takes her hand and pulls her close. The Aurors arrive but they are not enough. Shade, Farley, Mare and Cal storm the upper tower. Cal makes them stay below in the hidden crawl space because Maven is up there and he can hear his father. When he gets up there, it is not what he thinks. Mare and Farley and Shade watch from below in horror as Elara uses the Imperius Curse to actually turn Cal on his father so he kills him. When that happens, the truth is revealed. Elara is the Dark One, or the new chosen Dark One among the Death Eaters. Mare storms up the steps before Elara can kill Cal, using the one spell she knows might end the duel. But Maven steps in and they end up dueling. With tears steaming down her cheeks, she tries to fight him off. But he is not fighting to stun her, he is fighting to kill her, to put her out of commission. She is disarmed, and in a horrible moment, thinks he will kill her. Elara is cooing at him to do it, to punish her for loving his brother instead of him. She pleads with him silently, begging him with her eyes not to. His lips twist as he struggles with the decision. It's too long, Shade and Farley get up the steps and force Elara and Maven to appirate away.

The world cracks open like an egg as war spills out after that.

HOLY SHIT THAT WAS LONG. ANYWAY, ENJOY EVERYONE. I'm not going back and rereading this so whatever you see is what you get XD

[soulmate-game]

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Day 5: Overprotection

Disclaimer: Dick was adopted when he was 12 in this fic. Just for math’s sake.

—*—*—*—*—*

“What.”

Damian stared at his father, face carefully blank. Bruce grimaced, shifting.

“I said, you have a half sister. Biological.”

Four sets of eyes bored into him, from all of his sons. They were gathered not in the Batcave for once, but just one of the sitting rooms in the Manor.

“... and what, Father, does that have to do with the French class visiting Gotham?” Damian asked again, posture steadily growing stiffer and more and more stone like. He was trying hard to suppress emotions, but not even he was quite sure what those emotions were yet. Anger? Fear? Resentment? Probably. He might have detected some excitement there too, deep, deep down. Bruce took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for this.

“Well. I’ve kept up with her life, but last time I checked she had no idea that she was adopted. When her birth mother died, it was right around the time I adopted Dick. She was still an infant, and I knew I was not equipped to handle taking care of a baby—“

“Father,” Damian interrupted again. “You sent her off. Have her up for adoption,” he said slowly, as if realizing that that would have been his fate had his father known about his existence earlier, as well. It was almost ironic, considering how Bruce seemed to have a problem with adopting other children nowadays. Bruce nodded.

“She was adopted by a couple in France. Paris, to be exact. I’ve kept up to date, asking them to just send me a letter or email once or twice a year about the general stuff she’s been up to. Nothing too invasive. A few pictures. And last time I asked them, they said that she had no idea about being adopted or that I was her father,” Bruce sighed again, running a hand over his face. “But I think she does.”

“Why?” Jason asked, confused as everyone else to the change in subject. Except Tim and Damian, who seemed to be quickly connecting the dots.

“Oh boy,” Tim breathed. Bruce just nodded.

“Her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She is the one who organized the trip for her class to come here, to Gotham. She is the one who entered and won our international internship competition, and turned that into an excuse to get her entire class to come here for two weeks. To get to know the place she will be living for her internship next year, after she graduates Lycee, France’s version of highschool essentially.”

Tim winced. He had been in charge of the internship competition, and Bruce had given him free reign. He had chosen the winner without even thinking to run it by his adoptive father.

“Bruce—“ Tim tried, but the man just held up a hand.

“I don’t blame you. I haven’t been paying too much attention to her life, and I didn’t expect her to do something like this. But we know now that, if she does know and this isn’t a giant coincidence,”

“Unlikely,” Dick agreed, wincing. “Possible, but unlikely.”

Bruce huffed in agreement. “Then, we know she is very resourceful, determined, and has skills that impressed Tim enough to choose her out of tens of thousands of contest participants worldwide.”

“The minimum requirement for a Wayne,” Damian finally managed to bite out, still coping with this proverbial slap in the face but doing his best to handle it. He was seventeen damn it, and had come a long way from who he used to be. He could handle this. He could. He would.

Bruce rolled his eyes, and then leaned forward with his hands braced on the table. “Okay. So now we need to make plans.”

“Plans?” Jason asked, frowning. “For how you’re gonna tell her without getting your faces plastered over every tabloid in the city right?”

“No,” the older man shook his head. “Plans to keep her alive, unharmed, and unaffiliated with us until she leaves. I will not be making any public appearances unless absolutely necessary, so trips to the Tower are out of the question—“

“Are you…” Jason’s eyes were wide. “Trying to keep her out of our Shitshow? Because yeah, kudos to you even if it took you way too long to learn, but if she went through all this trouble to come here then it's probably too late.”

Dick nodded. “If she’s anything like you and Damian, there’s no way she’ll back off easy. Avoiding her will only make it worse on you, and probably the rest of us too.”

Damian stared straight into his father's eyes, glare sharp and searching. “What is this about, Father? You have not worried this much about any of us—“

“Because none of you were as naive!” He barked, quickly catching himself and taking a breath. “You all had a way you could benefit from this life. A way I could help you. But Marinette has both of the parents she has known her whole life, they treat her wonderfully. They care. She’s never had to worry about constantly moving, or fighting, or going hungry. The only deaths she has ever experienced have been from afar and due to natural causes. She designs as a hobby and has no problem with socializing or handling emotions in a healthy way— introducing her to our life holds no benefit for her. The only thing it can give her is unnecessary danger and risk and secrets.”

“Yeah, well. I guess Batman doesn’t know everything, does he?” A new voice startled them all from the doorway, making everyone's head whip over to see who had managed the near-impossible and snuck up on all of them.

Standing there, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, was a short part-Asian woman in her late teens. Her midnight black hair was cascading down her back in one thick braid, tied off at the end with an indigo ribbon. Her eyes were a piercing cobalt blue, matching those of Bruce perfectly. Her jaw was clenched, and the infamous Bat-glare coming from her was directed right at the person who made the expression infamous in the first place.

“Marinette,” Bruce breathed, shoulders squaring. “Your plane isn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow.”

“It won’t,” she agreed. “I took a portal here. You see, my extensive research into Batman’s known habits and tactics, which I started after I figured out about your alter ego last year, informed me that you tend to go to the extremes to protect people you deem incapable of protecting themselves, and are also prone to idiotic self-sacrificing behavior in the form of purposely making yourself look like an ass.”

Jason chuckled. “She’s got you down to a T, B,” he quipped with a grin despite the caution still in his eyes. “But let’s back up a bit, little Spitfire. What’s this about a portal?”

Marinette pushed off the doorframe, walking closer to the scattered group. Tim and Jason were spread across one sofa, Damian on the other with Dick, and Bruce was occupying an armchair. Marinette just walked until she stood where she could easily be seen by everyone, but also had nobody at her back.

“The portal is part of a bigger story. Like, the fact that father dearest wanted to protect me so badly that he placed the JLE in Paris, but didn’t realize that relations with that branch were so bad that the JLE never informed him or the JLA about getting kicked out of France and reassigning themselves to Italy. Bruce never kept a close enough eye on the city, because he wanted to keep emotional distance, and therefore was completely blind to when a supervillain showed up and terrorized Paris for almost five years,” she continued, her glare never leaving Bruce’s face.

“I found out about being adopted when I was eight. I found out who my biological father was when I was thirteen. Last year, I finally put in the work to connect Bruce Wayne to Batman. And yeah, I never told Maman and Papan, because they have never completely understood me. They wouldn’t have understood that I was fine with having no contact with you, back then. That my snooping had nothing to do with being unhappy with them as my parents. They would have immediately assumed they were inadequate when I am merely curious by nature. But then I ended up being chosen to be one of the child heroes that fought said domestic terrorist that showed up five years ago. And I sure as hell couldn't tell them that a magical artifact showed up on my desk one day and that the god inhabiting it told me to fight the monsters the villain made and just, just go with it. I couldn’t tell them when I went from being one of two Parisian heroes to being the leader of a team. I couldn’t tell them when my elderly mentor, unable to fight by our side but who had at least provided emotional support and knowledge, passed away and gave me his title and responsibilities. I’m sick and tired of being protected, Monsieur Wayne,” Marinette didn’t seem to notice the tears that had begun to fall.

“I’m sick of it. I know you were trying to keep me safe, but I fought a war I wasn’t prepared for. I died, thousands of times. But my own powers and the powers I have my partners brought me back to life. Over and over. I don’t need protection, damn it. I don’t need you to distance yourself, because you're the only fucking person I can call a parent who might understand,” she held out a hand, her scowl turning into a gentle smile. “I have so much I need to talk about. Before I drown under all these secrets. Please. I’ll go back through another portal before my parents notice I’m gone, but I’ll be back in town tomorrow when my plane lands. Just. Please, don’t push me away. That’s all I ask. I want to get to know you, all of you. I… I need family who understands.”

“Thousands.” Bruce repeated, all of them still recovering from Marinette’s very sudden, info-dumping speech. “You died… thousands of times?”

Marinette laughed, but it was a sad sound. No mirth there. “I gave my friend a magical artifact that reverses time, and the artifact that gives me my own powers can reverse any damage from a fight I use it in. Even death. Sending untrained teenagers to fight a villain three times their age makes some kind of failsafe like that kind of necessary.”

“Fuck,” Jason cursed under his breath. “Well. You’re welcome to join the living Zombie club,” he offered. The girl snorted, giving him a watery grin in thanks.

“I’m sure you know about my stance on powers and metas,” Bruce decided to say, wincing immediately after. That wasn’t what he meant to say. At all. He earned another brief glare for it.

“I’m not a meta, and I only have powers when I use the artifact to transform, thereby borrowing powers from the miniature god that the artifact houses. Think of it like doctor fate, but my gods are actually not parasites and my powers are much more… specialized. I had to learn combat on my own, and I was able to train in my sleep with the past users of this artifact. That includes people like Fa Mulan, Joan of Arc, and someone you actually know— Hippolyta. I’ve mastered more fighting styles by now than I care to remember, and I’ve done gymnastics since I was three. I don’t know if my parents told you that in their letters. I even won the gold in the nationwide France gymnastics competition two years ago. I assure you, I don’t rely on my powers nearly as much as you might think.”

Bruce swallowed. “I can… greet you when your class arrives.”

Marinette grinned. “Well, that’s a start.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Idk what happened, I don’t know if I like this at all but oh well. I’m posting it anyway. Maybe one of you will like it. I… couldn’t really find any other way to do this so oh well. Also, I think Mulan was a past Dragon..? But I put her as a Ladybug because I Can.

@momothefemur @ladybug-182 @starlightshield @trippingovermyfeet @greatcatblaze @sam-i-am-0222 @bluesimani @ruelukas22 @acoolspacegirl @iamablinkmarvelarmy @meme991001

[airi-p4]

Love in the sky

I wrote this for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers LBSC Sprint challenge - Meet cute week event and, once again, I got carried away and broke all the rules. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Prompt: Sitting next to each other on the plane.

Summary: Marinette is going to NY on an international flight for the first time. What she doesn’t know is that the one seated next to her is the popular new band Kitty Section’s guitarist: Luka Couffaine.

Thank you @livrever for checking it for me 💙

AO3

______________________________________

Marinette rushed through the aisle of the plane. She couldn’t believe she almost missed it! her first international trip to the US! Stupid alarm! Of course she was tired. She was so nervous she couldn’t sleep all night… until 5AM… and the plane departed at 10AM… and obviously she had to oversleep. *sigh*

Running, tripping and spinning on her feet, she finally searched for her seat. 38B - aisle seat. Her pink polka dotted suitcase was heavy, but thanks to the cabin attendant she could finally put it inside the overhead bin, while her backpack rested under the seat in front of her. All set, she let her weight fall on the seat at last and let out a deep breath as she fastened her seatbelt.

The doors of the plane closed, and the PA message started: Welcome on board… Security instructions… Marinette wasn’t listening. Her legs were uncontrollably shaking, and her fingers were fidgeting with the laces of her hoodie.

Those nerves and stress couldn’t be healthy.

She examined her surroundings, and, next to her, someone was sleeping. Someone, who appeared to be a young man, with a sleeping eye mask and a face mask on, messy blue hair showing under a knit hat and a blanket covering his body. Overall, it didn't give much more information about her plane's seat neighbor. Not wanting to wake him up, she focused on the rest of the passengers instead. Why were all of them so quiet when she felt her heart could burst out of her chest anytime?

The plane started its runaway and Marinette closed her eyes tightly when it raised from the lane. Once in the air, she started breathing again, but her heart was still beating fast.

"First time on a plane?" a masculine voice beside her asked.

She turned to her side, and looked at the person seated next to her. His eye mask was over his head now, and she could see his blue eyes clearly, while his blue bangs partly covered his eyebrows.

“Y- yes!” she squeaked.

“You’re making me nervous too. Calm down, it’s going to be ok” he assured.

“I- I know!" She said, but her body wasn’t obeying. “I’m sorry...”

The young man sighed. “Look, I’ve been on a plane many times. It’s safe. Why don’t you try to sleep? It’s going to be a long flight.”

“I- I can’t! I’m too nervous! I’ve never traveled alone before, plus my career depends on this trip! I can’t stay calm!”

“Why don’t you try listening to some music, then? It always helps me relax” the young man offered her a sympathetic look.

“Music…?” she blinked. ‘It could work’.

She plugged the earphones and put them in her ears. Then, she scrolled through the music programs on the touch screen in front of her. Classical music? For some reason, it only made it worse. Country music? Not her style. XY? Hell, no. Her eyes stopped at the name of a fairly new band: “Kitty Section”. She played the video called: “Kitty Section's Paris Live Concert”.

“Good choice” the man next to her said when the title started showing on the screen.

Marinette had heard about the band called Kitty Section. They had featured in most of her favorite magazines after they won Eurovision several months ago, but she wasn't familiar with their music. In less than a minute, she was hooked and forgot completely about her surroundings or her nerves.

“Wow!” she mumbled, mesmerized, and the man next to her let out a snicker.

The music was amazing- the rock vibes, their stage presence, the vocalists’ cuteness and high ranged voice, the accurate and insane drums, the gorgeous purple haired bassist… all of them sounded incredible. But the guitarist… the blue haired guitarist was extraordinary- unbelievably good. Not only talented, but also powerful, charismatic and incredibly handsome.

“They’re good, huh?” The man beside her commented and she nodded. She could tell he was smiling under his face mask. She nodded in agreement.

“I had never heard them properly before but damn- they are incredible” Marinette answered, and he laughed. Her fingers tapped rhythmically, following the beat of the song.  “But…" she continued, observing. "I think they could do better. There’s a margin of improvement,” she said with judging eyes.

“Oh, really? How?” The blue-eyed man asked, curious, resting his elbow on the arm rest to get a closer look.

“The costumes,” Marinette pointed out. Then, she reached her backpack under her feet and took out a sketchbook and a pen and started drawing. “The outfits could be improved if they added this, and this” she signaled. “And this-” She kept scribbling while the blue-haired man observed and listened to her suggestions. “And ta-da! Wouldn’t they look even better if they were like this?” She proudly showed him her designs, only to realize she was being embarrassing towards a stranger. “Ah, sorry- I got carried away…” She apologized. But the man took the sketchbook in his hands.

“Let me see,” he said, and she saw how his eyes examined every detail of her drawings. She gulped nervously. It felt like her skills were being tested. But the man took his face mask off and smiled. “Wow, that’s impressive. Fresh, charismatic, unique- and perfectly according to the band's style. I love them" he returned her the sketchbook. "You’re very talented. Are you famous? Do you take commissions?” He asked, and she looked at him speechless.

“I- I’m still a no-one… Is it really impressive?” She looked at him and blushed at the compliment.

“Yes, I think so. What would you do with this outfit?” He asked, showing him a photo of the same band on his smartphone. Her inspiration overflowed as she kept drawing and explaining her ideas. They kept discussing costumes and visual aspects of the band and chatted comfortably for a long time.

"I think Rose should go with something more… daring, bolder. She looks innocent but she's fierce inside. Of course, cuteness is her main trait, so I think she should combine both" she explained, coloring her design with colored pencils. "I think something like this would be perfect for her" she showed him her sketchbook and he was impressed. “As for Juleka-” She continued, turning to a blank page. “She’s so beautiful. I wish she didn’t cover her face so much, even if the mystery look is really attractive too…" She stopped drawing for a moment to admire the bassist on the screen. "Gosh- She's so gorgeous! I wish I was that beautiful” she commented.

“I think you’re even more beautiful than her, you know?” The blue-haired man casually said, and she shyly blushed with a 'no way' frantic arms movements. “What about the guitarist?” he asked, raising an eyebrow with a smug smile.

“Luka Couffaine? OH LORD SHOW MERCY- Have you seen him? And his eyeliner? It should be ILLEGAL to be this HOT” She said, convinced.

“Hmmm… So you like him, huh?” He teased, his smile widening.

“Who doesn’t, really?” She shrugged. “He’s literally the SEXIEST man alive. His eye contact with the camera could kill! Oh, and whenever he gets shirtless on stage or photoshoots? GOD- I almost get a nosebleed EVERY FREAKING TIME! He's TOO DAMN HOT" She fanned herself at the image. "Don’t you agree?" She asked and he blinked twice. "You like him too, right? You have so many photos of them in your phone! I bet he’s making you question your sexuality too, like he does with all my friends! How could anyone resist those blue eyes and his manly features, his soft looking blue hair and- his tattoos..." She looked away from her seat neighbor's blue piercing eyes, and focused at the smartphone screen again, to a close-up photo of Kitty Section’s guitarist. "How did you get these close-up casual photos...?” she asked, and then she noticed the tattoo on his neck. She looked back and forth at the man seated next to her and the one in the picture. ‘It couldn't be, right…?’ And at that moment, when he had a knowing smile on his face- one she knew too well-, she realized who he was seated next to on the plane. Her eyes opened as big as plates and she overheated. He was smirking amusingly at her reaction. “You- You- You are-? Lu-Lu-Luk- It can’t be…”

He nodded to confirm her suspicions and her jaw fell to the floor. “Hi. I think I haven't introduced myself yet. My name is Luka. But I think you already know that. It’s nice to meet you.” He chuckled, straightening his hand for a handshake.

“Oh God, kill me now...” She mumbled, sinking on the table. Luka snickered.

“What’s your name?”

“Ma-Ma-Marinette… I mean- Marinette!” She felt his eyes on her and panicked. “Excuse me- I- I need a moment... This- This is too much- Oh My God...” She stood up and rushed to the end of the plane, not without tripping twice on her way there.

________________________

While Marinette was gone, the two ladies in front of Luka and Marinette’s seats turned to Luka. “Having fun?” They smirked, knowingly. He was chuckling, having real trouble to keep his laugh from escaping.

“Oh, God, Yes. This is so much fun." He wiped the tears that were forming on his eyes. "I think I’ve found our potential new costume designer” he continued laughing under his nose.

“Only that? I think there’s more...” Juleka smirked, and Rose giggled in agreement by her side. He couldn't deny it: his sister was totally right.

Behind Luka's seat, Kitty Section's drummer, Ivan and his girlfriend Mylene had been enjoying the show the blue-eyed pair had been giving. It was definitely more entertaining than any movie. It would have been perfect if they had popcorn to accompany their fortunate first row seats to the hilarious show. They also approved Marinette's designs.

Luka took the chance Marinette wasn't there to freely stand up, go talk to their managers and stretch his legs for a bit.

_________________________

Back at the end of the plane, Marinette drank some juice and moved to the bathroom. She was panicking in front of the mirror, talking to herself.

“OH. MY. GOD. I’m seated next to Luka Couffaine! For at least… 5 hours more!? And I just called him hot! And- And- he said I’m beautiful and talented! And- Oh my God, he asked me for commissions, right? This can’t be real- I-" her feet wiggled uncontrollably and she let out a long squeak. "Ahh… Calm down, Marinette! He’s human- A sexy human, but still human! He’s famous but very friendly, kind and nice. And fun! It’s going to be alright. Just- Avoid his eyes. That’s it. It’s dangerous. Don’t fall in love. You’re not a teenager anymore, you’re over that stage, right? Only a few hours more. You can do it. I CAN DO IT!” She convinced herself with a confident nod and returned to her seat, only to find Luka was gone.

She looked for him from her seat, at her surroundings, but he was nowhere to be found. She sighed in both relief and sadness as she seated.

For some reason, she was missing him. Which was stupid, considering they had just met! But his company was certainly enjoyable... And, moreover, it was FUN. More than she ever remembered having. And not only because she was passionate about fashion or music. It had to do with his aura, his personality, his gentle manners- just... Luka.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be back in a moment” A voice said from in front of her. “My brother is stupid, but he’s a decent person. Treat him well” The purple haired lady winked, beside a petit blond lady.

“Jul-!” She covered her mouth with her hands to stop herself from yelling her name. “And Rose-!?” 'Oh, no! They might have heard what I said too!' She panicked again and the ladies giggled amused.

“Ignore my sister and her girlfriend” Luka returned, and her face flustered when she noticed how tall and well built he was (not that she didn't know that, but it hit differently in first person). “Can I get back to my seat?” He politely asked, pointing at the window seat.

“Ah-! Yes! Of course!” She stood up so suddenly she tripped and fell on Luka’s chest. She immediately moved away in embarrassment, falling back instead, and Luka had to hold her again to avoid her imminent fall. “I’m sorry!”

“Are you ok?” He asked in concern, and she shyly nodded. Luka reluctantly let go of her and returned to his seat and Marinette settled back to hers.

Wait- Was that a blush on his face?

“Here” Luka offered her an envelope. “I don’t know what your plans in NY are but, here’s a VIP pass to our concert next Sunday. There’s also our contact card inside. I want you to consider the idea of working for us. Your costumes are impressive. We discussed it, and we want you in our team” Marinette had no words- totally speechless. Could she be this lucky? “What do you say?” Luka asked with a hopeful tender smile that made her weak.

“I- I’ll think about it. And- Oh God- I’ll totally be there for your concert” She blushed and Luka smiled kindly at her. Suddenly, she started searching inside her backpack, and took out a business card she offered him. “This is my contact. I- I have a fashion event next Monday. I would love you to come, if you can make it. Send me an email and I’ll get you some passes”

“Wow! That's impressive. I'll try to make it. Thank you, Marinette”

Marinette could hear her heart beating faster. No looking in his eyes, dammit. They kept talking for a while, enjoying their time together until they fell asleep out of exhaustion, Marinette’s head resting on Luka’s shoulder. He woke up earlier than her, but didn’t have the heart to wake her up until lunchtime. She looked like she really needed that rest.

When he left half of his lunch untouched, Marinette scolded him. “You have to eat! You’re too thin! Those abs and arms need consistency! Proteins!” She pointed at a photo of him shirtless and flustered again in embarrassment in realization. “Ah-”

Gosh- it really was fun, Luka thought, chucking. It was hard not to laugh out loud. Everything flowed so naturally it was unbelievable.

Damn. He didn’t want the plane to ever land.

“Marinette” he called, during their coffee time, and she looked back at him, redness still on her cheeks. “The plane will land soon but- Even if you don’t accept our offer… Is it possible for us to meet again? Out of business? Like this?”

Marinette flustered at his implications. “Do- Do you mean-?”

“A date. Would you go on a date with me, Marinette? Or just as friends, if you prefer. I like you, and I don’t think I’ve ever had this much fun with anyone else” He took Marinette’s pen and one of his ‘Kitty Section’ contact cards and wrote something behind it. “These are my personal telephone number and email. We'll be in NY until Friday next week. It would make me very happy if you contact me, whenever you prefer, anytime” He said, securing the card in her hands.

Marinette blushed, looked at the card with glowing eyes, and then at his honest loving stare. Was it even possible that the man everyone was gushing about was asking her out? But this had nothing to do with his stage persona. Luka was someone she more than enjoyed spending time with. Naturally, quietly, assuring… She had no doubts about her answer.  

“I want to meet you again, too” she stated, and wrote her personal number under his wristband. “I’m free on Wednesday” she shyly smiled, and his smile widened.

“Wednesday is it, then. I'll manage to find the time. Just for you." He smiled happily and only then she realized how deep she had fallen.

Ah- she hadn't wanted to fall in love. What a way to fail her own determination… But she couldn't complain, not at all.

And he felt the same way.

Luka and Marinette's hands locked together, and they lost themselves in each other’s eyes, smiling at each other.

“Why don’t you kiss her already, dumbass?” Juleka called, and Marinette blushed. “He won’t kiss you if you don’t give him proper permission, you know? He’s very considerate despite his looks. Tell him already”

“Jules… Why don’t you mind your business and make out with Rose instead?” He shushed his sister and Rose giggled, embracing Juleka. Luka returned his attention to Marinette. “Sorry about that”

“It’s ok… I-” She started, looking at his thin lips. “Will you kiss me if I want to? Because I think I do...”

“You do?” he asked, and she shyly nodded and he smiled softly, making her heart flutter.

She closed her eyes and he leaned closer to give her a sweet kiss on her cheek. She pouted a little, in disappointment, but he told her that, if she really wanted to kiss him, that would be the perfect excuse to meet him again and make it more special, like a beautiful lady like her deserved. Marinette understood his reasoning and agreed with it, despite the slight disappointment she felt she would have to wait a few days to get the chance to kiss him. Nevertheless, both of them happily smiled while their fingers remained interlaced, chatting and enjoying their time together the rest of the flight, until the plane landed and they had to unavoidably say their farewells.

“Thank you for everything, Luka. I forgot how scared I was of planes thanks to you and- I’ll see you soon?”

“I really hope so. I still owe you something, right?" He winked and she blushed happily. Luka gave her a final discreet and quick kiss on her knuckles. "Gosh- I miss you already...” He added, and Marinette felt the urge to cry. She dropped her bag to hold him in a needed embrace. He gladly reciprocated her gesture. Despite neither wanting to separate, they forced themselves to. "I hope I see you soon, Marinette"

"Me too, Luka…" she wiped her tears and waved, as the band started walking away.

When the arrivals doors opened and all the camera flashes blinded her, she understood why Kitty Section members always wore sunglasses in airports. They were more popular than she could have expected. She understood why he had refused to kiss her outside of the plane, but he still saluted her before disappearing in the multitude of fans and paparazzis.

On the other side, Sabrina, Audrey Bourgeois’ assistant, waited for her. She had almost forgotten about her own business. But now, she found the motivation she had lacked. If she was willing to be with Luka, she had to become the best. She wanted to make a name of herself, more than ever. And her meeting with Luka certainly boosted her confidence.

Unexpectedly, her trip to NY had already become one of her most memorable experiences yet. And it had just started! She couldn't wait to spend the rest of the week in the city.

[kuiinncedes]

relight that spark

jatp au - chapter 1 - part 2/15? - 9,385 words

the prologue/part 1 (tumblr link) if you missed it!! (ao3 link) :D

so obviously this is pretty slowly updating already and it probably willll get worse 🤪 i might post the next part in like a week tho, it's not a full "episode" chapter and i already have it fully written and i'm pretty happy with it 😗✌️

this chapter is pretty long and i apologize for that bc i know i get annoyed when i have to stop in the middle of a long chapter and then my phone like loses my spot or whatever lakdshgjfs but idk how else to do it so .. just have my apology lol sorryyy <3 the next "episode" chapter is looking to be longer tho sdlkhglsj

LASTLY BUT NOT LEASTLY A HUGE MASSIVE FUCKING THANK YOU TO MEG @neversatisfiedwithlife FOR BETA READING THIS FOR MEEEE AND BEING SO SUPPORTIVE AND WONDERFUL LOVE YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU SM 💞💖💓💗💕

chapter title and lyrics in this part from "wake up" from the julie and the phantoms soundtrack (whichhh if you haven't heard it... you should listen to it after reading maybe 👀)

plot and a lot of the dialogue from julie and the phantoms so like credit to all those creators and writers 🤪

warnings for this chapter: grief, mentioned character death (regarding kurt's mom)

read below the cut or here on ao3!! <3

--

2020

There’s a deep-seated weight of dread in Kurt’s stomach that he’s unable to ignore for the entire morning.

His last chance at the music program -- he needs to play again today, for the first time in over a year, or he’s done.

It’s all he can think about all day. He makes it through his first few classes, somehow, walking through the halls almost mindlessly, thoughts far away and only worrying about what he’s going to do, barely paying attention to who he’s almost running into, because he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

It almost feels like last year again, when school started and everyone knew and everyone was staring at him in the hallways, even though he knows that they’re not right now and he knows most of these people couldn’t care less about him not being able to play at this point, but in his head it feels like they all know, like they’re all waiting, waiting and watching for him to play again and sing again.

He has been, too, for over a year.

He stops at his locker to wait for Mercedes before going to class.

“We’re gonna get tattoos together,” comes her familiar voice out of nowhere.

Involuntarily, Kurt smiles a little, turning to Mercedes. “Umm…?”

She shrugs and smiles back at him. “You know, when we’re adults and out in New York together or something. Just -- you know, at some point.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow, silently saying, where the hell did this come from. Mercedes raises both of hers as if to say, answer the question. “Just curious,” she adds out loud. “Could start planning them now.”

He chuckles. “Of course. I’ll get all the matching tattoos with you.”

Grins and silent agreement pass between them and they both turn toward the lockers, a welcome break in the slowest part of the day, the voices and noises of other students filling the air.

“I know you don’t want me to ask, but…” Mercedes starts slowly after a moment, and Kurt nods his head in acknowledgement; he knows what she’s going to say. “Do you know what you’re going to do today?”

He puts some books in his backpack, mainly for something to do. “I’ll know in the moment,” he says, somewhat truthfully. He could just say what he thinks will happen, which is nothing. But Mercedes can see right through him anyway, so might as well stay somewhat positive until it happens. Or rather, doesn’t happen.

Mercedes sighs a little. “Mrs. Harrison said today is your last chance,” she tries, leaning on her side against the lockers.

“I know, I was there,” Kurt says lightly, letting his eyes scan the contents of his locker a tenth time. Mercedes reaches over and squeezes his hand lightly. Her eyes tell him that she’ll stop talking about it for now, and he squeezes back gratefully.

The conversation with Mercedes has really helped, though; it always does. If he’s going to spectacularly embarrass himself in front of his music class, and probably for the last time, at least he’ll have Mercedes there.

She sees it in his smile, and she sends it back. You always will, is her silent whisper.

A sharp, cheery voice pierces the air and makes them both turn their heads, and the uplifted mood from the conversation with Mercedes disappears when Kurt sees none other than Quinn Fabray, in her Cheerios! uniform, complete with a tight ponytail and perfect smile as she hands out what appears to be flyers to passing students, who are immediately won over by her status, closeness, sweetness. Finn Hudson lingers behind her with his guitar case and his own stack of flyers that he’s not handing out nearly as enthusiastically.

“Spirit rally Friday!” Quinn’s saying as she all but shoves another flyer into the face of a nervous freshman who takes it and scurries away, doing a double-take once they pass her. “Come see the Cheerios! do their new routine, and my group, the Unholy Trinity, perform our brand new original song!”

“What’s she handing out?” Kurt whispers to Mercedes. A corner of his lip quirks up despite the general unpleasantness of seeing Quinn.

“Desperation?” she answers with a small smirk. When Kurt turns back, Quinn is in front of him. He holds back a grimace at her fake smile and cheeriness.

“Hey, guys!” she chirps, as if they’re just any two other students at this school. “Here you go, my group’s performing at the spirit assembly on Friday!”

Kurt flinches back a little as a flyer appears much too close to his face and he takes it instinctively, holding it lightly in his fingertips. It truly looks like something Quinn designed -- perfectly professional, impressive, eye-catching -- and he can’t say it looks bad, as much as he might want to. He eyes Quinn over the top of the flyer.

“I’m sure you guys have nothing better to do,” Quinn continues, that smile still on her face, and there are the claws, Kurt thinks as he resists the urge to rip up the flyer right in front of her.

“Oh, my gosh, Quinn, thank you!” Mercedes says in an exaggeratedly sweet voice, clearly -- or at least clearly to Kurt, and likely Quinn as well -- imitating the specific tone of voice that Quinn takes, and Kurt stifles a laugh.

“Oh my gosh, Cedes, don’t bother coming!” Quinn says with a wide smile, turning away with a whip of her ponytail to continue pushing her flyers.

Kurt looks back at Mercedes, mumbling, “She did not just call you Cedes,” while Mercedes crumples up the flyer in her hands.

“Well, she did,” Mercedes says. Kurt can see the anger behind her eyes and he raises a concerned eyebrow. “I’m fine. She just… you know.” She dismisses his silent question.

“Yeah.” He loops his arm through Mercedes’ and they head down the hallway, almost running into Finn not three steps from Kurt’s locker.

“Oh, hey, sorry guys!” he says with a sheepish but genuine smile that contains all the warmth missing from Quinn’s. “Did you -- I guess Quinn already got -- ”

“Yep, she got to us,” Cedes says quickly, steering Kurt around Finn. “Thanks, Finn, bye!”

“Please tell me you are over him,” Mercedes says when they’re in a quieter area at the end of the row of lockers. Kurt realizes he’s staring and quickly looks away.

“Yeah, I am.” Mercedes looks at him skeptically and he insists, “I am, promise! You just… don’t find a nice jock like him around here that much.”

She nods, satisfied, and raises her eyebrows meaningfully. “You know they’re going to get married and have a bunch of demon babies.”

Kurt’s jaw drops open slightly and he laughs. “You can’t say Finn isn’t a sweetheart.”

“Only one of them has to be a demon to make a demon baby,” Mercedes says matter-of-factly.

“What… it’s a dominant gene?”

“Of course.” Mercedes turns back toward Quinn and raises her voice. “Demon!”

The two of them push against the wall, hiding behind the end of the lockers, when Quinn snaps her gaze back. Kurt can’t hold his laughs in this time, and he feels a little bad about it, but… considering what Quinn’s done to them, he can let himself and Cedes get away with it.

“There’s that smile,” Mercedes says gently as they gather themselves. “Now let’s go prove everybody wrong.” She pulls him toward the music room and slowly but surely, the sickening feeling in his stomach returns. He sits down next to Mercedes and just breathes. She squeezes his hand again.

Mrs. Harrison starts class soon after they arrive, getting into the last of the progress performances which are both a chance for the students to show off to their classmates, and also a checkpoint for participation in the music program, which is the part Kurt’s concerned about.

He barely hears as Finn finishes his drum solo and everyone claps and then Mrs. Harrison is calling his name and he’s standing and walking to the piano and oh god.

“Take your time,” Mrs. Harrison says gently.

That’s all he’s been doing for almost a year, just taking his time, but nothing has come of it. He sits down slowly, opening his music in front of him but it’s like his eyes don’t see the notes and just gloss over the page. He looks down at the keys, sets his fingers in place reluctantly.

It’s been so long that the keys almost feel foreign under his fingers when they once were the most familiar thing in the world. It’s been so long that he barely remembers how the song should go and why did he think he could just do this, it doesn’t matter how good at sightreading he’s always been. It’s been so long of him locking the memories in a chained and padlocked safe in the back of his mind and he’s terrified of playing again being what opens it because playing and singing and music has always always meant Mom, and she’s gone which he still sometimes forgets and it always hurts like hell to remember again, so letting himself remember so much more will only make reality that much worse. It’s been so long and what if he’s forgotten, what if he opens himself to the memories just to find that they don’t exist anymore?

It’s been so long; it’s been over a year, but doesn’t that mean he should be fine by now?

He knows avoiding the memories hasn’t been the best idea, but right now he can’t think of anything he could have done differently, can’t linger and regret his choices because he feels so vulnerable and exposed finally sitting at the piano in front of his whole class for the first time in a year, and the choice is right there and maybe he could do it but not in front of everyone his brain screams, and he can almost feel Quinn’s sharp, judging, so far from friendly gaze fixed on him and that is what breaks it, that is something he definitely can’t take and he pulls his hands back with a short inhale and the whirlwind in his mind stops and he can mostly breathe again.

It’s been so long.

Heart still pounding, he gets up and apologizes to Mrs. Harrison because she really has tried to help him and he appreciates it but he still can’t, and Quinn makes some comment and Mercedes fires something back but he doesn’t hear any of it, he just has to leave.

He knows Mercedes follows him out and she calls out his name when he’s halfway down the stairs. He’s started crying at some point and he doesn’t know when. All of it is just such a mess and so present in his mind; he was so close to music again, to Mom, but he’s not ready. He’s scared.

“Kurt,” Cedes calls again, quieter, her voice soft and choked, pleading. “Come on, please. Come back… and show them you can sing .”

He turns to look at her at the top of the stairs. “I can’t,” he says, voice rough with tears. “I’ve tried, for over a year I’ve tried…. I’ve tried for Dad, I’ve tried for Mrs. Harrison, fuck, I’ve even tried for Quinn.” He gives a short, bitter laugh as more tears spill down his cheeks.

“I’ve tried so hard for you.” He gestures up to her, voice breaking. “I’ve tried for Mom.” He closes his eyes for a moment, takes a breath. “And I’ve tried for myself.” Mercedes is also crying a little now.

“For over a year, I’ve tried,” Kurt continues weakly. “But I just -- I can’t. Not… not now.”

He runs down the rest of the stairs and out the door, and he knows he just got himself kicked out of music, knows he just ruined everything.

--

From mercedes 💖, 2:04 pm:

Are you leaving?

From mercedes 💖, 2:06

Tell me when you get home. I love you

To mercedes 💖, 2:08 pm:

i will, at the park for now

From mercedes 💖, 2:10 pm:

I’ll bring your stuff around later.

To mercedes 💖, 2:10 pm:

thank you

To mercedes 💖, 2:11 pm:

i love you. i’m sorry

From mercedes 💖, 2:12 pm:

Nothing to be sorry for, just take care of yourself okay?

From mercedes 💖, 2:13 pm:

Give yourself a hug from me until I get there to do it for you

--

“Hey, kiddo, how was your day?” Burt asks as he walks in, putting a hand on Kurt’s shoulder who’s doing homework at the kitchen table.

“It was okay,” Kurt responds with a small but hopefully convincing smile to hide the worry eating away at him inside, because if the school’s already contacted his dad about today, about Kurt ruining his last chance…

“I gotta go again in a bit,” Burt says, taking a drink of water. “Some guy really needs a car fix by tomorrow morning, but I’ll be done by dinner.” Kurt nods, some relief flooding his veins. He turns back to his homework.

“Oh, another thing,” Burt says and Kurt stiffens again. “I wanted to come and check in with you -- I talked to a real estate agent today, and they said if we’re serious about selling the house, we need to take some pictures and stuff, clean everything… and I was wondering if you’re up for cleaning Mom’s studio?”

Kurt’s immediate surprise and hesitance must show on his face even as he tries to keep his composure, because Burt quickly assures, “It’s okay if you’re not ready, I promise; we have time. You know I just -- I wouldn’t even know where to start in there.”

Kurt smiles a little. “No, it’s okay,” he says. “I can try tonight.”

“Awesome.” Burt ruffles Kurt’s hair, which from anyone else other than maybe Mercedes would not end particularly well, but Kurt just laughs and tries to brush the loose strands out of his eyes. “I’ll see you later, Kurt. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

Kurt exhales slowly as his dad leaves again.

Cleaning out the studio means having to confront exactly what he’s tried to avoid for a year. The disaster that was music class today doesn’t make him feel better about it… but at least this time he’ll be alone -- none of the pressure of having to live up to the standards of well-meaning teachers or aggressive ex-best friends, none of the pressure of having to play at all, especially from the competitive nature at school. And… maybe he needs it.

Moving from here will only help you move on. Kurt’s aunt’s words echo in his mind. A part of him recoils at the idea of leaving his childhood home -- leaving the spaces his mom used to inhabit and her light and energy used to fill to the brim -- and starting over, someplace where there are none of those memories… he can’t tell if that’s a good thing. It feels like more of the running away that he’s been doing for a year, and he wonders if it really will solve anything.

But maybe he does need it. If staying in this house for the last year hasn’t helped, a change would be good, right?

Turning back to his work, he takes a deep breath and starts planning dinner in his head. He’ll tackle the studio after dinner’s ready.

--

To Dad, 7:39 pm:

dinner’s done, i’ll be in the studio

Kurt takes a slow breath as he opens the doors to the garage.

It’s not that it’s his first time in the studio after his mom died -- someone had to water the plants -- but he kept any interaction with the rest of the room minimal, so it still feels different to take in the full space instead of just rushing to the plants in the back with his head down. It always came with some guilt; it felt like the least he could do to keep some life in the studio when he could barely even bring himself to enter, let alone fill it with music as it needs to be.

He walks in slowly, some apprehension tickling the back of his neck, trying to stay calm. The familiarity is almost overwhelming this time as he looks around, actually taking in the room. The guitars on the wall, the couch and table, all of his mom’s decorations and knick-knacks. The chairs on the ceiling, story told with a fond smile from his dad about his mom wanting to decorate in a fun special way even while 7 months pregnant. The plants in the back, flourishing in front of the wall of windows positioned to let in the sunrise beautifully, not that Kurt has seen it happen recently.

And the grand piano -- in the center of the room, covered with a sheet, neglected for over a year. Kurt pulls it off now absentmindedly, letting the fabric pool over his feet. He takes a deep breath even though he probably just filled the air with dust, and goes over to the bench. He doesn’t open the lid, not yet. Some sheet music is on the seat and he places it on the piano without looking, sits down and gently touches the fallboard, inhaling shakily, not opening it to reveal the keys but just… remembering what it used to be, what it used to -- still means….

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut, “that I haven’t been here.”

With his eyes closed against the dark emptiness of the room, he can almost forget. It’s too easy to think that when he opens his eyes, his mom will be there, and she’ll be writing a song with him, or she’ll be playing, or they’ll just be talking…

Before the idea can flood his mind and leave him reeling when he returns to reality, Kurt stands and looks around the room again. There really is a strangeness to the place now. What used to be so comfortable and an extension of home -- sometimes even more home than the main house -- was always warm and brimming with emotion and joy and music and life -- now cold and dark and hollow, quiet. The familiar bones have an unsettling foreign emptiness around them. It feels wrong.

It needs to be filled. But… Kurt can’t do that.

He misses his mom -- always, but it’s amplified in this space that was always hers. He misses the feeling that the studio used to bring, that spirit that is now dimmed and suppressed. Covered, but still there. He can feel it like a gentle heat behind his skin. Not bad, but overwhelming, and he just….

The loft, Kurt decides suddenly. He’ll start with the loft. There aren’t memories and emotions so confusing and thick there that he’s barely able to avoid it, to push his way through with no energy left to untangle and understand. The loft is just full of random old stuff that his mom wouldn’t throw out and his dad teased her about.

So the loft first. And then he can ease into the rest when he’s more ready. After all, his dad did say they have time.

It’s significantly dustier in the loft; old instruments and random bags full of clothes are scattered and piled across the floor, his own electric keyboard propped up against the wall. Kurt stands on the stepladder a few steps below the actual loft floor, looks around a little, his eyes landing on a CD case lying on the ground -- black with a simple stark white word design: Sunset Curve. He picks it up, eyeing it thoughtfully, brings it back down to the main floor and decides to put it into the old CD player.

He doesn’t really know why he has such an urge all of a sudden. He’s listened to some music, but not nearly as much as before, and has actually chosen to listen to music only a handful of times since his mom died.

But… the studio needs music. As an apology for a year of neglect, and as a goodbye, he can let this music redeem the studio’s spirit a little, fill what he’s left hollow.

And he doesn’t want to be alone in the silence with his memories while he’s going through everything, even just in the loft. As something completely unfamiliar and random, this can give him the distraction and none of the pain. At least, that’s the plan.

Stepping down from the loft stairs, he glances at the picture in the CD case as he opens it -- a band of four who all look like teenagers, staring seriously into the camera -- he doesn’t get a good look at them, just slides the disc into the CD player and takes a seat on the couch.

The opening song starts strong with a gritty guitar riff and a 1, 2, 3! counting the band in. Despite himself, Kurt starts nodding along to the beat. It really is a great song, unique and upbeat…

Then some kind of… panicked screaming makes itself heard, first quietly and he thinks it could be part of the song, but it crescendos and gets unbearably loud --

And then there are three strangers appearing out of thin air before his eyes, screaming as they fall to the ground heavily. Kurt would wince at the sound of the impact --

That part’s certainly unlike any CD he’s listened to before.

He’s frozen, heart hammering and eyes widening as he stares at the three strangers picking themselves up off the ground, taking in their surroundings a little…

“How’d we get back here?” the middle one -- a shorter guy with black hair -- says breathlessly.

Kurt screams.

--

It’s not his finest moment, but three complete strangers just appeared in his mom’s studio, seemingly just popping into the air, and he can’t say he’s never been superstitious in his entire life or that he isn’t drawing immediate conclusions -- supernatural conclusions, fucking ridiculous conclusions. He doesn’t love that he runs into his dad on his way back into the house which may have also involved a little yelling about seeing ghosts (ghosts who screamed back, for the record), but he makes it to the safety of his room and texts Mercedes frantically, who doesn’t respond.

“Come on, Cedes,” he hisses to himself, shooting off another text. “Answer me!”

A knock from his doorway startles him and he just barely manages to hold back a shout, turning to see his dad leaning into his room hesitantly.

“You okay?”

Kurt gives him what must be a hysterical-looking attempt at a reassuring smile, all wide eyes and clenched teeth. “Yeah, no, totally fine, sorry for -- scaring you,” he replies choppily, tone not even convincing to himself. “Just, um, practicing for a school play.”

Burt definitely doesn’t believe him, but nods slowly anyway. “Well, I’m gonna go clean up -- ” He gestures over his shoulder with a grease-covered hand. “Dinner in like, ten minutes?”

“Yeah. Sounds good,” Kurt says shortly, forcing another smile and a thumbs-up.

As soon as the door closes, Kurt turns back toward his window and tries to get a glance of the studio, but it’s blocked from this angle by the trees in their yard. Apprehensively, he heads back to the garage, thankfully not running into his dad this time, phone in hand and thumb hovering over Mercedes’ phone contact.

When he goes in, it’s empty; no sign of anything out of the ordinary happening.

He scans the space warily, feeling jumpy and nervous, but nothing happens and he mumbles, “I know I saw something, I’m not crazy.”

He hears a soft popping noise and then, “Well, we’re all a little crazy,” from behind him and he turns with a sharp gasp.

“Oh, my god, who are you?” Kurt yells, maybe a little too loud because the black-haired boy winces slightly and all three of them step back a little. “What the hell are you doing in my mom’s studio?”

“Your mom’s studio?” the black-haired guy scoffs. “This is our studio!”

The tall blonde guy bounces forward. “Yeah, like, the piano’s new, but -- ” He looks to the right and his face lights up. “My couch!” he calls, running over and jumping straight onto it.

The girl -- hair black and in braids -- rolls her eyes. “Not your couch, Sam.”

The blonde -- Sam? -- sits up indignantly, stabbing a finger in the cushions. “Hey, I spent more time on this couch than any of you. Pretty sure it’s mine at this point.”

Kurt just watches them with wide eyes, jaw hanging open, with absolutely no idea what to do.

“But these aren’t our instruments,” the black-haired guy says warily, looking around. At some point he and the girl have linked arms, Kurt notices. He watches as they all take in the studio, faces getting increasingly confused and worried. Kurt raises an eyebrow that apparently can go higher than it already is.

“Because… it’s my mom’s studio…” he manages to say again, mind still whirling at the hurricane of new and completely nonsensical information.

“Can you just -- give us a minute?” Sam says, jumping over the coffee table to join his friends. They turn away to talk in a huddle, and Kurt stands awkwardly as they talk in failed attempts at hushed tones.

--

Tina’s trying to ignore the pounding of her possibly-only-theoretical heart -- she’s dead, how can she even feel a heartbeat -- as she watches Blaine and Sam talk to the… living person in front of them. Sam makes his usual comment about “his couch” and Tina snarks back with her usual response and it gives her some comfort, some familiarity even in this studio which should feel like home, has for so long, and it still does to an extent, but everything here is suddenly different.

The comment does send the strange boy’s attention back to her, though, which she doesn’t really like. Blaine wraps an arm around hers and she squeezes his forearm in gratitude. He did that a lot when they were alive -- knew how and when to offer her his touch to reassure her a little.

At least there’s something that’s still the same.

At least her boys are still the same.

She tries to focus on Blaine’s arm in hers, on Sam’s dumb comments as he comes bounding back to them, hissing, “Guys, what is going on here?”

Tina shrugs. Blaine whispers, “Who is he?”

“He can hear you,” the person in question says pointedly from behind them, but Sam ignores him and says, “Maybe he’s a witch.” He looks up, pointing. “There are chairs on the ceiling.”

“There’s no such thing as witches,” Tina hisses.

“Are you sure?” Sam shoots back. “Because I used to think there was no such thing as ghosts!”

Tina swallows. “That’s fair.”

“So we’re going with witch?” Blaine asks.

“No!” Tina waves her hands at both of them. “No, come on. You guys are just -- he’s probably just overwhelmed, okay? Let someone with a softer touch handle this.”

Maybe “softer touch” wasn’t the right phrase to use in this instance, she thinks, but she really just wants answers and figures she might as well be straightforward. “Why are you in our studio?” she asks, maybe a little too aggressively, stepping up to the alive stranger.

He looks down with a shocked expression and Tina realizes she accidentally got close enough to touch him -- or… pass her hand through his, partially. They both watch as he brings his hand through hers again. It’s a weird feeling -- warm and kind of tingly, or like she’s putting her hand through water.

“Oh my god,” he says, eyes wide. “How did you do that?”

Tina raises their eyebrows a little. “Okay, clearly you don’t -- clearly, he doesn’t get it,” she says, addressing the guys behind her. She turns back to the stranger, gesturing to herself and the others as she explains, “We’re ghosts. We’re just three ghosts, and we’re really happy to be home, so… thank you for the flowers; they really brighten up the room.” She tries to smile at him.

“We’re actually in a band called Sunset Curve,” Blaine pipes up, stepping up to flank her on the left.

“Tell your friends!” chimes Sam on her right.

“Last night was a really big night for us,” Blaine says, a little sadly. “It was gonna change our lives.”

Tina whispers, “Uh, I’m pretty sure it did.” Blaine huffs and elbows her gently.

“This is freaking me out,” the stranger says, shaking his head as he takes something from his pocket.

“What is that; what are you doing?” Blaine asks.

Alive Stranger looks up, fingers still touching the face of the object. “It’s my phone -- nope, stop talking to them! There’s no such thing as cute ghosts,” he says, seemingly to himself.

Sam gasps. “Think we’re cute?” He raises an eyebrow, making one of his insufferable Sam faces; Tina almost laughs.

The boy looks up again with wide eyes, gaze flitting to each of them as if watching for a reaction, swallowing and going back to his phone.

“Who’re you calling?” Tina asks, trying to see the side facing him because that doesn’t look like any phone she’s ever seen.

“I’m googling Sunset Swerve.”

“Sunset Curve!” Blaine, Sam, and Tina correct him at the same time, Sam drawing a curve in the air with his finger.

The stranger laughs nervously, staring at them with wide eyes and then back at his phone. “Okay… so there is a Sunset Curve.” He swallows again. “You guys did die. But not last night.” Tina’s stomach drops a little; Blaine and Sam get closer.

“Twenty-five… years ago,” the boy finishes, a confused look in his eyes.

Tina barely has time to register this before Sam says, “That’s impossible. All we did after we floated out of the car was go to that weird dark room where Tina cried.”

Her mouth drops open. “I wasn’t -- I -- we -- ” she squeaks, voice jumping up an octave. “I think we were all pretty upset,” she says, but she supposes Sam is right.

He pats her back and doesn’t have a chance to respond again because Blaine steps in, “That was just for, like, an hour, though. We just showed up here.” Tina and Sam nod.

“Look,” the living one says, finally turning his “phone” toward them. They lean forward to see a screen with a photo of them -- and Artie, Tina thinks distantly; she feels his absence acutely and it spikes through her chest -- taken for their summer tour, and a bunch of small text around it that she can’t read, a bold headline at the top reading, Sunset Curve: A Hollywood Tragedy. “I’m just telling you what my phone says,” he explains. “You guys died in 1995. It’s now 2020.”

“So this is the future?” Sam asks incredulously as the boy pulls his phone back. Something else sticks out in Tina’s mind, though.

“So -- it has been twenty-five years,” she says, pausing to gather her thoughts. “I have been crying for twenty-five years -- how is that possible?!”

“You’re a very emotional person,” Sam reasons.

“I am not!” she insists, but the tears already pressing in the back of her throat want to prove otherwise. Distantly, she reminds herself that she’s with her friends who’ve seen it all and she doesn’t need to hold back, but the presence of this complete stranger also overrides the ease of her relationship with the guys. Sam rubs a comforting hand over her shoulder, and she swallows the tears down.

Alive Stranger shakes his head. “I gotta go… eat dinner,” he says slowly. He turns back around once he’s walked past the three of them and says, “Look, I’m really sorry for what happened to you guys, but this isn’t your studio anymore. You have to leave.”

“But we -- ” Blaine starts, starting to go forward but a sharp glare stops him and he clears his throat. “We didn’t even get your name.”

“It’s Kurt,” the stranger snaps.

“Cool, I’m -- Blaine,” Blaine says hesitantly. “And this is…”

“Sam, hey.”

“Tina, how’s it going…”

“Ba-da,” Blaine sings weakly, gesturing his hands in front of them like he’s presenting them to Kurt.

They all watch for Kurt’s reaction, but he just sighs and leaves the studio. He leaves the doors open, probably to remind them that they technically just got kicked out of their studio -- or, Kurt’s mom’s studio -- someone’s studio, but really it’s been their home for so long…

“Kurt seems nice,” Sam says cheerfully, trying to lighten the mood.

Tina turns to him. “Did you miss the part where he kicked us out, or…” she says drily. Sam shrugs, a hint of a smirk on his face. “Okay,” Tina mutters, turning to wander around the studio some more. If they’re going to be kicked out, she wants to spend as much more time as she can here.

--

Kurt’s mind is a storm. He doesn’t know where to start with this new information -- with an evening that took such a sharp turn from reminiscing and sad and somewhat painful into just… something so completely different and unexpected.

Dinner Kurt can do. He can put the craziness of ghosts aside because dinner is easy, dinner is simple; dinner is important.

His dad has already set everything out so Kurt takes his seat across from him, sending a not-completely-true nvm everything’s fine, sorry for worrying you text to Mercedes, who finally got back to him at some point when he was distracted…

Distracted talking to ghosts.

“How’s it going?” Burt asks as he sits down and it takes Kurt a second to remember he must be talking about cleaning the studio, and not actually about ghost musicians.

Ghosts don’t exist. There are no ghosts in the garage. Don’t think about ghosts.

“It’s good,” Kurt says, poking at his food a little. “I’m starting with the loft.”

Burt smiles. “Those old instruments need a home.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, returning the smile. “Mom would like that.”

The instruments probably belong to some ghosts, Kurt realizes, but… nothing he can really do about that. And that’s if the ghosts can even touch objects.

They eat in comfortable silence for a while and then Burt sets down his fork. Kurt looks up apprehensively.

“So I got an email from the school today,” he starts. Kurt fiddles with his fork and drops his gaze.

“Hey, it’s okay, Kurt, I’m not mad,” Burt promises.

You should be, Kurt thinks -- all that money spent for him to audition for and attend the music program, and for private lessons and sheet music and piano maintenance, just for him to throw it all away.

“I know those classes can be hard,” his dad says, and Kurt almost can’t take his gentle tone, feels guilty about it even though he appreciates it. “But… you still like music, don’t you?”

Kurt shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe?”

“I know the memories are hard, believe me, Kurt. But, every time I see you, I see Mom, you know? And I love that, I really do. Maybe, if you give yourself a chance, you can, too.” Kurt looks up hesitantly to see his dad’s gentle, loving expression and eyes slightly glassy with tears. Looking down again, he swallows, and nods.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I will. I’ll try.”

Because what he said to Mercedes earlier on the staircase is true, but… he’ll always try harder for his dad.

“It’s okay, Kurt,” Burt assures him. “We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

Kurt smiles and almost starts eating again, but music suddenly blares from outside, startling both of them, Kurt barely holding back a loud swear.

“What is that?” Burt says, getting up but Kurt rushes to reassure him, saying quickly, “I must have just left the CD player on in the garage! It’s fine, I’ll go get it!”

He runs back to the studio where the ghosts are still there apparently, and have somehow gotten instruments from the loft and set everything up to start playing, and play really loudly -- and it honestly sounds good but Kurt can’t focus on that because they’re going to disturb the entire neighborhood and get the cops called on them for a noise complaint and what is he supposed to say -- no officer, it was just the three ghosts in the garage being idiots, sorry?

Kurt yells for them to stop but it’s useless; he can barely even hear himself over how incredibly loudly they’re playing. Blaine, on an electric guitar that Kurt remembers seeing in the loft, turns and sees Kurt, walking towards him and finally playing one last chord when Kurt makes a horizontal cutting motion with his hand, and Sam, on the bass, follows, Tina playing one last short drum roll, looking up with a wide grin.

They all look… alive, Kurt thinks, despite literally being dead, so different from the confusion he left them with -- relaxed and loose and faces lit up, the energy flowing through them almost visible. If he didn’t know they were ghosts and made of air, he’d expect to be able to reach out and feel them, breaths hot and fast from the exertion and adrenaline, skin warm and slightly sweaty, hearts beating strong like the steady percussion of their band.

It reminds him of how music used to make him feel.

“Cut it out!” Kurt snaps, trying not to raise his voice too much. “The whole neighborhood could hear you! I thought I told you to leave!”

Blaine looks back at his bandmates, bewildered. “People -- people can hear us play?”

“Yes!” Kurt says exasperatedly. “My dad heard you from inside!”

“… What did he think?” Blaine asks after a moment. Kurt opens his mouth for an irritated response --

“Everything okay in here?”

Kurt whips around to see his dad in the doorway and smiles with wide eyes. “Yeah! I just -- had to turn off the CD player,” he lies.

People have told Kurt before that he’s a good liar; he really hopes that’s true after the evening he’s had -- he's having.

Burt’s attention is elsewhere, though, seemingly forgetting about the chaos from just a moment earlier. “Wait, is this the junk that was in the loft?” he says, excitedly eyeing the instruments and… the ghosts that he can’t see.

“Junk?” Blaine exclaims. Tina stands up, her eyes on Burt, drumsticks gripped tightly in one hand.

They all watch apprehensively as Burt weaves through the instruments, even going so far as to rattle Tina’s cymbals and tap the drums, much to her horror. She fixes Kurt with wide, urgent eyes, to which Kurt just shrugs and gives her a helpless look. Hey Dad, actually, the ghost drummer wants you to stop, so…

“Hey, this stuff’s in pretty good shape,” Burt says excitedly. “Maybe we can make a couple bucks, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kurt agrees weakly, mostly just watching as Tina fails to push Burt away from the drums.

“I like the song you had on,” Burt says, finally stepping away from the instruments. Tina rubs down a cymbal with her sleeve.

“Sweet! We’re Sunset Curve,” Blaine pipes up.

“Tell your friends!” Sam says, to a fond eye-roll from Tina.

“It’s just an old CD I found,” Kurt says, ripping his attention from the ghosts.

“Well, it’s nice that you’re listening to music again,” Burt says sincerely. “Out here, you can play whatever you want, whenever you want.” He waves his hands out on either side for emphasis, going through Sam and Blaine’s bodies. Kurt chuckles weakly.

“Oh,” Sam says, looking down at where Burt’s hand was in his stomach just a moment before. “That’s nice.”

“Stay out of this,” Kurt hisses.

“Sorry, Kurt, I’m just trying to help -- ”

“Oh! No, not you, Dad,” Kurt says quickly. For fuck’s sake -- “Just -- just give me a minute -- ” He starts pulling his dad toward the door. Burt stops him and says, “Hey, we’re gonna figure out this music program thing, okay?”

“Thanks, Dad,” Kurt says with a smile, and gestures for him to leave.

Once Burt is out of sight, he turns back to the ghosts.

“Wait -- ” Tina waves her drumsticks around a little. “So -- only you can see us, but everyone can hear us?” Kurt nods in confirmation. “What kind of ghosts are we?” Tina says.

“Who cares, dude!” Sam says, stepping up to Tina’s drum kit with a grin. “People can hear us play!” The three exchange fist-bumps as Blaine says happily, “We might be dead, but our music isn’t.”

“And Kurt’s dad likes our music!” Sam cheers.

“He’s a dad, it doesn’t count,” Tina mumbles, smiling and pushing Sam playfully when he turns to her with an offended look.

Confusion and annoyance bubble up inside Kurt along with something like anger at, just, all of it and he groans and says loudly, “Why can’t you guys just be normal ghosts? You know, go hang out at an old mansion or something! I hear Pasadena’s nice!” and turns to leave, slamming the door on his way out.

He just… has had too much going on today. He needs to -- ignore his homework and the problem with school and maybe just sleep in for the next two days. That would be really nice.

He’s so caught up in his head and he jumps and yells when a ghost appears in front of him with no warning.

“Don’t do that!” Kurt exclaims.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Blaine says quickly. “ -- You do know how rad this is though, right? People -- people can hear us play!”

“Yeah, good for you,” Kurt replies, a little too harshly. “It’s just that I’ve had a really, really, awful day. I’ve gotta go.”

He walks past Blaine just to turn around again when he says, “I’m really sorry you had a bad day.” Kurt nods; he can tell Blaine wants to say more, so he waits.

Blaine continues slowly, “I just… three ghosts just found out they had a bad twenty-five years, and then they find out that the one thing they lived for in the first place, they can still do. So you can kick us out, but -- we’re not giving up music. We can play again; that’s a gift no musician would ever turn down,” he says earnestly, eyes wide and almost pleading.

That hurts in Kurt’s chest a little more than it should and he looks down again to avoid the passion and excitement shining clearly in Blaine’s eyes, in his voice, in his words. He swallows down the feeling that statement unearths inside of him, but suddenly his bad day is at the forefront of his mind again -- his bad year.

That’s a gift no musician would ever turn down … some musician he is, then. But he already knew that.

Blaine says softly, “You’ve gotta know that. Clearly your mom is into music.”

Kurt swallows. “Was,” he says, monotone and quiet. “She passed away.”

He hates that it’s become easier to say; he wants to either spit the words out or break down sobbing but he manages to keep his voice steady. (In the back of his mind, he wonders why he just told that to a random ghost he just met. Maybe he’s just going crazy. He’s literally talking to ghosts, after all.)

Blaine’s face falls. “I -- I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“Yeah, we -- we didn’t know,” Sam says quietly. He and Tina have also left the studio, standing on the other side of the low wall separating the garage area from the pathway back to the house. They look up with sympathetic eyes and Kurt looks away from them too -- can’t meet any of their wide, well-meaning gazes right now.

“It’s fine,” he dismisses. “Sorry I got mad.” The ghosts are thankfully looking at each other now, seemingly silent conversation passing between their glances. “You guys are pretty good,” Kurt says, trying to change the subject and lighten the atmosphere.

Blaine raises an eyebrow, turning his gaze back to Kurt. “‘Pretty good’? You know that’s just, like, 25 years of rust being dusted off, right?”

“Do you play, too?” Tina asks.

“No, no, I don’t play.” It’s not exactly a lie anymore but it scrapes in Kurt’s throat with his haste to answer. “That’s all my mom’s stuff in there.”

“She’s an amazing songwriter,” Blaine says.

“Yeah, she was,” Kurt answers. “Wait… how do you know?”

Blaine opens his mouth, glancing at the others for a second. “We found a song on the piano,” he says. “If it’s hers… your mom was really talented.”

Kurt nods. She really, really was.

He feels like he doesn’t have the energy to say it again, so he just stays quiet. Somewhat awkwardly, he turns to leave, sensing the end of the conversation and part of him desperately wanting to just leave and not have to see these ghosts again….

So Kurt surprises even himself when he pauses and turns back to face them. “I guess,” he starts, and their gazes snap back up to him. “If you need a place to stay… you can stay in there.” He nods toward the studio and the ghosts’ faces light up. Kurt can’t help but smile back. “There’s a couch that turns into a bed, and in the back there’s a bathroom with a shower, if you still need any of that stuff.”

“Awesome!” Sam exclaims quietly, earning an elbow in the side and a questioning look from Tina. “What? Dude, I just really like showers,” he defends.

Tina rolls her eyes. Kurt takes a breath, raising his hands to gesture vaguely at the three of them. “This is just… too weird.” He nods to himself, finally leaving this time, leaving the ghosts to… do what they will.

The fact that there are ghosts in his mom’s studio…. Maybe there’s a chance that Mom knows them -- sent them, he thinks… but decides to not get his hopes up. She’s gone and he needs to just keep it at that.

What he really wants is to tell Mercedes, but he doesn’t know how.

What would you say if I told you there were three ghosts living in my mom’s studio? Kurt thinks on his way back to his room.

You’d say I’m crazy.

--

It’s some point in the night; they figured out that they don’t need to sleep -- can’t sleep, it seems like, which is honestly really annoying in Tina’s opinion because they’re ghosts with literally nothing to do for too many hours at a time -- so they’re just hanging out in the studio, with the lights outside giving them a little visibility through the garage windows, but it’s kind of nice to just sit in the dark.

Tina has been on the couch with Sam, lying on their backs, heads in opposite directions, legs pressed up against each other. Sam’s bass is unplugged, laid on his stomach and extending over Tina’s legs. He plucks out notes and Tina accompanies with a soft beat using just her hands and body parts as instruments. Sometimes it’s a familiar bassline -- a Sunset Curve song rehearsed or performed or recorded before -- and they also hum the harmonies that they know, and sometimes they improvise -- Tina storing the good bits in her mind for a future writing session.

Blaine is in the loft where they hoped a light could be on and maybe go unnoticed. Tina assumes that he’s writing; he always was when they were alive. And of course, now he has 25 years of dark room and relative nothingness to catch up on writing about.

It feels like another quiet night from when they were alive, each of them with an excuse to escape their homes for the night, and they’d all crash here, filling the studio with soft music and noise. Blaine would stay up writing and sometimes singing while Sam and Tina (and Artie) would try to sleep, telling him to stop humming, or, since the main house inhabitants who would care about the noise were rarely there, they would sometimes join along with him and make it a Sunset Curve midnight rehearsal.

They’ve never had the best sleep schedules anyway.

Tina giggles quietly as she and Sam play into nothingness, both parts running uncontrolled and unable to get back on track. They both stop and Sam starts playing a familiar line -- parts they’d worked out before with bass, drums, and both guitars, but never actually put into a song. Tina waits for a moment to come in with her part.

She’s nearly startled off the couch when Blaine poofs down beside the couch with his guitar and starts his part. Tina starts laughing -- probably too loud but they’re pretty sure only their music can be heard anyway -- and slides off the couch to sit on the ground, picking the drumming back up on her legs.

“You guys wanna check out this teleportation thing?” Blaine asks, playing the challenging guitar riff meant for electric guitar messily on his acoustic without a pick.

Sam sits up and puts his bass to the side. “Absolutely,” he says. “Where’re we going?”

“I have an idea,” Blaine says, setting his guitar down. He pulls Tina up and extends a hand out for Sam. “I think I can take you guys with me.”

“What?” Tina squeaks, but a second later, she’s sitting far above the ground, outside, on top of the marquee of the Orpheum. “Oh my god,” she mutters, looking down dizzily at the people passing by on the sidewalk. Her body tingles with a weird uncomfortable energy for just a few seconds before it fades.

“Yes!” Blaine laughs, kicking his legs up excitedly. “I mean, I know being a ghost isn’t our first choice, but it sure is easy getting around!”

“Easy for you, maybe!” Sam cries on Blaine’s other side. “I lost my shirt on that one!”

Tina looks over and sure enough, Sam is shirtless. She stifles a laugh behind her hand. “Like that’s a concern,” she pipes up, but Sam’s shirt appears right as she says it. They all laugh and sit in silence for a moment.

“So why’d you bring us here?” Tina asks, looking out across Hollywood Boulevard, the new and old buildings and shops, the people and cars of the future. The light of the Orpheum’s neon sign shines in her periphery, same as it did on a night twenty-five years ago. “Just another reminder of where we never got to play,” she says wryly, turning to face Blaine on her left, patting his shoulder. “Thanks, Blaine.”

Blaine rolls his eyes. “I’m telling you guys, it’s not over yet!” Tina reappears on the sidewalk right below them, almost losing her balance and falling through a person walking past. She shoots a glare at Blaine for teleporting them with no warning again, but he just grins back and starts down the sidewalk, Sam following. “Let’s see how many places we can play tonight, yeah? Check out the music scene of the future? And no trouble getting into those clubs anymore!”

Tina laughs, falling into step with them. She watches Sam walk straight through someone going in the opposite direction and doesn’t realize someone is in her way, which shouldn't be a problem, until she bumps into them.

She feels them.

“Hey!” she says involuntarily, turning to see who it was -- another ghost? A tall man with a cape and top hat nods at her with an acknowledging and almost menacing gleam in his eye, then turns again and walks away.

He could see her, he could touch her -- he has to be another ghost, right?

“Tina, you coming?” Sam calls. She swallows and takes one last look, the other ghost having disappeared among the other people on the sidewalk, before turning and running to catch back up with the guys.

“I just ran into someone,” she says, a little breathless -- she doesn’t know if that’s from running, which she doesn’t think she can actually get breathless from, or the fact that she ran into someone.

“Another ghost?” Blaine says.

“I mean, it has to be, right? Uh, Kurt -- Kurt can see us but he can’t touch us…”

“And his dad couldn’t either,” Sam adds.

“It must have been another ghost. He looked like a… performer, or something.” Tina wrinkles their nose a little as she remembers his whole get-up, completely out of place among what she’s seen so far of 21st century street fashion. (But then again, so is she, and her friends.)

“… I guess we’re not alone, then,” Blaine says, breaking a short bewildered silence.

“We’re never alone!” Sam exclaims, walking between them to throw his arms around Blaine and Tina’s shoulders. Tina laughs and grabs his forearm, mystery ghost forgotten for the time being.

Blaine responds with a grin, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

--

Kurt wakes up earlier than usual the next morning. He thinks he still has school -- he doesn’t know how being removed from the music program works, but no one told him not to come and besides, he does have non-music classes to keep up with, even if he doesn’t necessarily want to. He gets ready as usual, leaving breakfast out for his dad, and there’s still half an hour before Mercedes should be getting here.

Perfect. There’s something he needs to try by himself… for himself.

He heads out to the studio with his things, a fluttering feeling in his stomach, but it’s different from the feeling before he tried to play in class yesterday, like the butterflies had turned to stone and were rolling around inside him, weighing him down and making him nauseous. This time it’s promising, hopeful, familiar -- butterflies fluttering normally, peacefully.

The room is empty when Kurt pushes the doors open and drops his backpack by the entrance.

“Guys?” he calls hesitantly, to no response.

He wonders if he should be worried about where the ghosts might be, or relieved for if they really did leave after all, since that is what he wanted… but he realizes relief is not at all what he feels at that possibility.

But if the ghosts aren’t here, then all the better for what he wants to do, so he decides to ignore their absence for now.

Kurt walks up to the grand piano in the middle of the room, thinking. There’s something… something deep loosening in his chest -- something about Blaine and the others and their intense passion for music that is so different from the intense judgment and competition at school that made it so impossible for him to play yesterday.

The way Blaine had talked about music…

The one thing they lived for in the first place -- they can still do.

A gift.

Kurt spreads out the sheet music that he found yesterday, just placed on the piano lid without a glance and it’s still there, so Blaine and the others must have just taken a look at it. He recognizes his mother’s handwriting, achingly familiar and beautiful in a minimalistic way, the neat notes and lyrics, clean and legible even without the help of staff lines. His heart stutters and he gasps a little as he reads some of it -- he recognizes the song. Something his mom told him she was writing when she got sick.

Kurt used to be so involved in her songwriting, but as she got worse and Kurt grew away from the piano (and from his voice), he never asked about this song.

She’d finished it.

Here’s the one thing I want you to know, you got someplace to go…

And he needs to hear it.

His fingers tremble slightly as he places them gingerly on the keys over the starting notes of the song. It feels completely different than it did yesterday; he doesn’t know if it’s the lack of teacher and students watching, the insanity of yesterday evening in between, the song itself… but the stones turned back into butterflies and it almost feels like it did before….

He wants to play, to make music. For the first time in a year, he actually feels like he can. And he needs to.

And if -- when -- it unlocks the memories… he thinks he’s ready.

Kurt takes a deep breath and plays.

[ordinaryschmuck]

What I Thought About "Through The Looking Glass Ruins" from The Owl House

Salutations, random people on the internet who most certainly won’t read this! I am an Ordinary Schmuck! I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons!

When Disney announced episode titles/synopsis for the new season (On a day that left my head SPINNING!), there was one episode that I knew deep down that would cause controversy and discourse amongst the fandom. And that episode was "Through the Looking Glass Ruins." Not because it would be bad, far from it. Instead, because the episode was a Gus episode with a Lumity subplot, that meant that discourse would start as fans decide which story they prefer more. A situation that, might I add, would result in no winners.

Do you prefer the Lumity plotline? Well, guess what! You're a racist who chose to talk about an overrated ship rather than a heavily underrated character who just so happens to be a person of color.

Do you prefer Gus' plotline? Well, guess what! You're a homophobe who decided to shine a light on a character who's underrated for a reason instead of praising a ship that just so happens to involve two girls.

Either side you pick is going to result in making people mad. The only way to avoid that is by explaining in heavy detail that you still enjoyed one side despite preferring the other. Even if you loved both, you'll most certainly have to explain to everyone that you mean it and that you're neither racist nor homophobic. And all I have to say is this: F that.

F that S in the A right now.

Because I, or anybody else for that matter, shouldn't have to explain myself when it comes to saying why I prefer one plot line or the other. I shouldn't have to prevent getting ripped apart by some bulls**t, black and white mentality of people who can't accept that others like a show for different reasons than they do.

You wanna know what I think about "Through the Looking Glass Ruins?" Well, continue reading to find out. You'll have to make your way through spoilers, but it's the only way for you to learn why I consider this episode not worth any discourse that I'm already certain is cropping up.

Now, let's review, shall we?

WHAT I LIKED

The Opening Scene: I'm kind of digging how snappy and to the point these opening scenes are getting. In the span of what has to be less than a minute, we're given all the information we need to know: Gus is insecure about his illusion magic because he accidentally got Willow injured. It's a great way of setting up why Gus wants to prove himself to the Glandus students and a great way of showing how much Willow's friendship means to him. Look at how he's reacting a few days after the incident. He's still mopey and guilty about it, and I feel bad for the little guy.

Gus in General: And while we're already talking about him, let's give this episode a round of applause for giving Gus the spotlight without having him screw over his friends...except for Willow.

"Through the Looking Glass Ruins" really fleshes Gus out much more so than past episodes. As I said, it plays heavily into his own insecurities while proving how he's capable as an illusionist. He's also the best possible outlet to explore more about what illusionist magic can really do. It can't hurt anybody or work well in a fight. Instead, its strengths lie in the act of convincingly tricking others into thinking that something that should be fake is actually real. And Gus got to prove he really is a super witch because of his illusions through a jaw-dropping scene that's as dark as it was enthralling. The fact that he did it all by himself, without the help of an illusion elder who was right there, is honestly even more impressive. A lot of people aren't that interested in Gus as a character, but I feel like, after this episode, he certainly won a few more fans over.

Willow Getting Injured and Missing the Episode: This is a smart move, in my opinion. Willow acts as the voice of reason in the friend group, so if she tagged along with Luz and Gus right away, she would have easily talked Gus out of joining the Glandus kids on a dangerous quest. I love Willow, she's a solid character, but writing her out is really the only way the plot could have progressed.

(I also love that she wasn't mad in the slightest over Gus getting her hurt. She has every right to be, but she also understands that it was an accident, and Gus wouldn't do anything to purposefully hurt her. And that's sweet!)

King’s Prerecorded Message for Gus: That's just adorable. We need more cute friendship moments between these two, DAMN IT!

Gus Being Sick of Luz’s S**t: Of all the characters I expected to get sick of the whole Lumity situation, Gus wasn't really one of them. I'd always thought it'd be Willow, primarily because the rest of the fandom latched onto that idea, but for Gus, I'd figured he'd be more supportive rather than annoyed. That being said, seeing him call Luz out for borrowing his library card to see Amity (Not ask her out. Just to see her) is not only a hilarious moment for Gus but also an adorable moment for Luz. It's something I would never have seen coming, but now that I have it, I want more. GIVE ME MORE!

(Sorry if I'm being a little intense)

Luz Trying to Cheer Up Gus: It's moments like this that prove why Luz is my favorite character.

Willow might have the most common sense out of the group, but it's Luz who still has the biggest heart. She knows her friend is down in the dumps, so Luz pulls out all the stops in cheering him up. Whether it's researching the first-ever human (really surprised he wasn't the tiniest bit excited about that, by the way) and lending him glyphs for his mission to help show up Mattholomule. She may be slow in the romantic relationship department, but episodes like this prove that she excels with a platonic friendship.

Bria: I consider Amar adorably optimistic, and I have no strong feelings for Gavin, one or the other. But with Bria? Holy hell, did the writers do everything they should with her!

At first, it seems like she'll be a generic nice girl for Gus to have a crush on. Only for that writing to be a perfect twist into how she's kind of the worst. You see hints of her true personality in the overly sweet way she threatens to force Amar to eat a bug he gets distracted by. A viewer's initial reaction to that would be to think that while she's sweet, she still means business. But no, it's actually a perfect way to reveal her true intentions while hiding them at the same time. Bria may be rotten to the core, but with how perfectly executed this twist was, I can't help but adore her contribution.

Mattholomule: ...I would sooner expect to have gone insane before believing that this little s**t weasel would make his way onto my good side. Despite that, here we are in episode five of the new season, and I like Mattholomule now.

The reveal that Glandus High forces students to believe that the strong survive and the weak are inferior explains so much for Mattholomule's thirst for power in "Something Ventured, Someone Framed." It doesn't excuse his actions, not by a long shot, but it definitely paints a clearer picture. It also explains his treatment of Gus, as well as Mattholomule's reasoning to help him. Because of Glandus High inserting a "the strong survive" mentality into Mattholomule, he belittles Gus due to thinking that illusion magic makes Gus weak. But after seeing how they're both stooges to Bria's mistreatment, he's quick to apologize and willingly helps Gus out. In the process, the two of them create a believable and cute friendship...a friendship that is absolutely going to be interpreted as something else by the fandom...which is something that I'm more than supportive of--HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?! I WENT FROM ONE OF THE BIGGEST GUSTOLOMULE DENIERS TO ONE OF ITS SUPPORTERS IN LESS THAN A DAY! HOW DO THESE WRITERS MANAGE TO TAKE ELEMENTS THAT WERE ONCE ON MY S**T LIST TO THEN MAKING ME MORE THAN OK WITH THEM!

IT'S INSANE!

Mostly impressive.

BUT ALSO INSANE!

Edric and Emira: More so than ever, I am so happy that the writers took their course correction with Edric and Emira. These two work so much better as supporting characters rather than minor antagonists like several fans thought they would be after their treatment of Amity in "Lost in Language." They're quick to pick up on Luz and Amity's mutual affections for one another and do their part to help their friend and baby sister out. It's wholesome to watch, and, you know what, I'm gonna go ahead and say it: Edric and Emira Blight are much better mischievous twin characters than Fred and George Weasley. As much as I adore Fred and George, there is an issue how they're always referred to as Fred and George, not Fred or George. It's because their personalities are as identical as they are, so separating them is pointless. With Edric and Emira, they have enough individuality that you could enjoy them separately as much as you could seeing them together. Emira is more emotionally supportive in how she listens to Amity vent her frustrations about her feelings, while Edric is more of a doofus who can't take a hint to save his life. It creates a great set of characters who can potentially work well on their own. I hope they get explored more at some point, but for now, I'm happy with the cute moments these two offered already.

Lumity Moments: BUUUUUUUUUUUUT, nothing compares to the cuteness of these two.

I don't care if I'll be called a racist for it because these! Moments! These moments are the highlights of "Through the Looking Glass Ruins" for me! Seeing these two interact in this episode, now that the pining is mutual, was everything I could have ever hoped for, and so much more. Seriously, how can you complain about anything about all of this when you get cute bits like:

Luz getting flustered of seeing Amity with her hair down

Amity risking her job to help Luz

Amity being motivated to find the diary due to the possibility of a date with Luz in the human realm

Luz going through hell and back to get Amity her job back

All of the blushing

And that F**KING KISS AT THE END HOLY SH--Don't you dare think I'm not going to further discuss that. DON'T YOU DARE!

Gus' story was entertaining with how it surprised me in all the right ways, don't get me wrong. But seeing Luz and Amity's relationship develop more and more always fills my heart with glee that, believe it or not, I'm always going to remember it more. I love you, Gus, but I love Lumity more.

Philip Whittabeen: So we finally have a name to the alleged human who was here years ago, and we get properly introduced to him through a really visually appealing animation change. I'm personally curious to see where the writers go with him, but it's too early to say if his inclusion will be worth something. But I will say one thing, though. One thing, and then I'm going to move on.

Here it is:

Philip sounds eerily similar to Emperor Belos to me.

That is all I'm going to say about that.

Luz’s Sentences in Spanish: I want to give a personal shout-out to mi buen amigo @l-egionaire for pointing this out because there are some things to analyze in what Luz says in Spanish in this episode. Knowing what she means, it's clear that they are ideals that Camila instilled into Luz. Ideals that possibly show a lot about Camila's personality on top of revealing where Luz got her hopeful optimism and sense of determination. It's the second sentence that Luz says later on that I really want to delve deep into:

"Nada funcionará a menos que lo haga funcionar."

Translated, that means "Nothing will work unless you make it work." Again, this proves the dedication that Luz has filled into her soul, but to me, it says a lot about Luz's dedication to Amity. She wants to make this relationship work but fully understands that it won't unless she puts in the effort. It's a sweet sentiment that says so much about how Luz feels about Amity that some fans might not be able to pick up on if they don't speak Spanish. Or, in my case, have a good friend who finds the translation for you (thanks again @l-egionaire).

The Galderstones: Pretty interesting concept, I'm not going to lie. It's also interesting that of all the types of witches in the Boiling Isles, it was illusionists who were the ones that guard over the Galderstones. Because illusion magic can't really harm anyone, it makes a weird type of sense that they would be the ones to keep the Galderstones out of the wrong hands. And, even better, it showcases Gus' strength as an illusionist when he was able to take down Bria, who was hopped up on Galderstone power, through that same "harmless" magic. It just goes to show that if you have a big enough brain, you don't need to overpower somebody. You need to outthink them.

Malphus Being a Surprisingly Cool Dude: What can I say? I'm a sucker for expectation subversion.

Luz and Amity Crying: First of all, a HUGE round of applause to VAs Sarah-Nicole Robles and Mae Whitman through their vocal performances in this scene! They really sold how upset and broken apart Luz and Amity were due to their feelings for each other messing things up. More so with Sarah-Nicole.

Second, this might be the closest these two have gotten to a confession so far ("so far" being the keyword). I specifically latch onto Amity's expression after hearing Luz agree that she's always weird around Amity. In one way, it looks like Amity is surprised to see she made Luz cry, but in another, it could be that she realizes that perhaps that Luz has feelings for her as well. Or, at least, that's how I interpreted things. The thing about art is that there's no one interpretation to agree on. And that's what this scene is: Art. It's performed, written, and animated well, that no matter how you look at it, it's a masterpiece.

“I’ll call the hounds”: One line. One line was all it took for me to love the Keeper of the Looking Glass Graveyard.

Amity Dyes her Hair: I always assumed that Amity would let her original hair color grow out as defiance to Odalia. But dying it lavender? Thus crafting her own identity without having her be compared to either Odalia or Alador?

...yeah, that's brilliant. Whoever thought of that, you are a genius and deserve all of the credit that comes from it.

ALL of the credit.

Amity Kisses Luz on the Cheek!: I'll save my "Wha-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo" for an actual kiss, but for now, THIS IS AWESOME!

This moment, much like other Lumity moments, was everything I could have ever expected and so much more:

Amity's instant panic after realizing she seriously just did that

Ed and Em looking fondly at their sister taking such a big step

The look on Luz's face, which may or may not hint that she realizes that the feelings are more than mutual

And the fact that Luz's legs give out soon after Amity leaves

It was adorable as all forms of hell, and it was a perfect way to end such a perfect episode...or, at least, an almost perfect episode. I do have some issues.

WHAT I DISLIKED

Mattholomule Helping Gus too Easily: The Glandus kids were right there, in-ear and eye-shot, yet did nothing as Mattholomule effortlessly helped Gus and the Keeper escape...how?

Gavin falling for Gus’ Illusion: I want to laugh at how stupidly easy that was...but it's too stupidly easy for me to forgive.

And that’s about it. Just two nitpicks that don’t really take away that much enjoyment from the episode

IN CONCLUSION

"Through the Looking Glass Ruins" keeps Season Two's winning streak going by being another solid A. It fleshes out characters, develops cute relationships, and keeps the story going despite being so character-driven. It's easily more than worth the time...but it's not worth any discourse that comes from some fans preferring one plot over the other.

I highly doubt that some people are racist for loving the Lumity plotline or homophobic for loving Gus'. Maybe some people are, but also consider that maybe, just maybe, a person loves a ship because it's their favorite, or a person likes a character cause he's their favorite.

Which.

Is.

Fine.

There's no definitive way to like a series, and demanding that people like it for the same reasons you do is not worth anything. Because, believe it or not, even Dana Terrace doesn't care how people love her show. In the AMA she did, when a fan asked if she's upset about fans obsessing over Amity's crush on Luz, this is her word for word reaction:

"Not at all! No, the main focus of the series will never be on any romantic thread but that doesn't mean those threads aren't important. And I'm thrilled that people connect to our characters!"

THERE YOU HAVE IT! The creator herself fully admits that she doesn't care what fans latch onto. She's just glad to have people who like the show in the first place! So don't create discourse just because some people enjoy a part of an episode more than others. The second you get that through your heads, the sooner we can all move on with our lives.

(Also, that's five episodes in a row that are hits. And, man, is that stinker going to hit harder because of it.)

[moonlights-inkwell]

Demand an Encore

Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 6,958

Summary: anon said: hello! i see your requests are open...! could i maybe get a Jaskier x reader where the reader very shyly explains (maybe after an embarrassing moment?) that they are into spanking? and Jaskier indulges them and it is fluffy/smutty? if not, that's okay!! i figured I'd ask. thank you! 💜

A/N: Anon. I literally owe you my life, because Dom! Jaskier now literally lives rent free in my head. A fic from Jaskier's perspective? It shocked me too. Oops. Also. Clapping joke title on a spanking fic? I think I’m way funnier than I am  

Warnings: Smut. Spanking. Oral (female receiving). Clothed sex? Sorta. Discussions of Sadomasochism. Canon complicit violence. A very bad take on Jaskier's perspective.

Title from Wild Blue Yonder

“Oh wank!”  

The expletive draws his eyes from his lute and upwards, to you.  

You’re busy, always busy, swinging that blade about and clashing it noisily into Geralt's. Parry, swipe, dodge, sword fighting is as boring a sport as Jaskier can even imagine, only marginally better than fencing because at least there’s some danger to sword fighting. Paint drying is a more interesting thing to watch, lectures less painful to listen to. Jaskier hates it. Sparring holds no interest to Jaskier, beyond when he tries to describe how sword fighting looks for a new song, but there are no new songs. The monsters have seemingly realised that Geralt is about, and have kept themselves to themselves, and so the well of songs about danger and adventure has dried up- like a brook during a heatwave. There’s no song about battles to be won, and if he plays Toss A Coin once more then he’s quite sure that Geralt will shove his lute up his arse sideways. All he wants is to work on a new melody and the clanging is quite possibly the worst thing he can imagine. The clanging, clanking, crashing of steel on steel is enough to drive him to distraction. All he needs is a new song, but no. He simply must be tormented by the sound of metal hitting metal. Needs must apparently, at least when it comes to sparring. 

He’s sure Geralt is doing this to spite him specifically. Revenge for years upon years of songs and mindless chatter and taunting, wrapped up with the knowledge that the bard would never complain about your training- that your safety is paramount to him, even if it is noisy as all hell and infuriatingly distracting.  

Cornflower blue eyes scan up and take you in, on hands and knees and holding your sword at such an angle to block Geralt’s swipe; face crumpled with effort and concentration while the Witcher above is as stoic looking as ever, bringing his blade down closer and closer until you slide to the ground and roll away from the sword. The buckles of your over-bust drags against the ground and knocks loose two of the buttons of your blouse, revealing an expanse of skin below the clavicle and to the dip in skin between breasts.

He wonders, not for the first time, how you manage to fight in a corset. When he was a lad, a little longer ago now than he’s quite happy to acknowledge, how a girl at a ball had collapsed because her corset was laced too tight and even after fetching a healer, the girl walked awkwardly until he left for Oxenfurt, probably long afterwards too. Yet, you can fight in one, swing that blade around with a relative ease that Jaskier can’t even manage if his trousers are tailored too high in the crotch. It’s strange. Watching you duck and twist, bend and thrust that blade around all while being held in place by tightly laced bones, it’s impressive- like watching someone dance. You aren’t a master swords-man but you’re skilled and it’s nice to watch. The exhilarated grin across your face, panting with heaving chest: it’s beauty. Pure, unadulterated beauty, even with a smear of dirt across your cheek, sweat beading about your forehead and a nick on your arm that’s letting out a small but steady stream of blood trickling down from your upper arm.

“Better.” Geralt says firmly, Jaskier watches as your face breaks into a grin and you just glow. A relaxed, genuine smile that makes you look younger than you are. You've mocked him before for how he just soaks up any validation, but even the slightest praise has your skin all but shining, cheeks flushed and mouth upturned. He understands entirely. Praise, acclaim, acknowledgement, it’s addictive; more so than any ale, any drug. Praise leaves you desperate for more, shaking and craving a next hit, almost insecurely hoping against hope that any second will bring that much needed praise. Bard's are like faeries, they require attention to survive while thriving on the energy people give, And Jaskier has been desperate for attention long before he became a bard.  

Praise from the Witcher is a seldom given gift- one that Jaskier doesn’t think he’s ever been given- but he praises you. Training is important, and Geralt seems to have realised that he’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar, so sparring is when he speaks most, even then it’s minimal though; but he compliments. Your form, your grip, the strength of blows. Praise from the Witcher is a seldom given thing.

Jaskier isn’t jealous.  

He isn’t.  

Jealousy implies that there’s something to be envied, like a possession that he wants. You aren’t a possession, he knows that, and even if you were, you wouldn’t be Geralt’s. His fingers fall from the frets of the lute, sending a sour note that makes him cringe out through the clearing.  

“Gods, Dandy- if that’s a sign of what your new song sounds like then I don’t think I want to hear it!” You call over to him, head tilted as the sword twirls between your fingers. “I thought you were supposed to be a good bard.”

“You wound me, Love. Wound me.”  

“No good bard would write Toss A Coin.” Geralt says, but there’s humour in his voice- well, humour enough for it to be noticeable against Geralt’s signature style of stoicism. Must be a good sort of day, for Geralt to be joking about and complimentary. These sorts of things don’t happen every day.  

“Leave him be, Bully!” You swat at Geralt's side, grinning at Jaskier. “Don't you worry, Dear Heart, I love you- even with this brute insulting you.” It’s as if you don’t even remember that you started the insults, but that smile is enough to keep him quiet. That must be a sign of love, that Jaskier could be quiet for you: he’s never been silent for anyone before, even when he had himself half-convinced that he was in love with every person he's spent more than a night with, he’s never been able to keep quiet for more than a few minutes or so, he’s felt an overwhelming need to fill the silence. It’s pleasant to just bask in atmosphere that comes from being about you.  

The swat at Geralt had not gone unnoticed, even if it took a moment or so for him to strike you. Geralt, facing Jaskier, lifted a hand to thump you on the back, too absorbed by the simple pleasure of retaliation to have perceived two very simple things with those enhanced Witcher senses: that the laces of your boots have come undone, and that you had bent down to tie it.  

Time slows sickeningly, as Jaskier realises what’s about to happen only a second before the SLAP comes through the air at a volume none of you anticipated. Not to the lower back, a spot that while painful is little more than inconvenient when hit, but instead to your arse- angled upwards as you bent to fiddle with the ribbons of your shoes. The white-haired man had wanted something vaguely friendly but still running with undercurrents of the same energy that comes from sparring, but instead he had brought one enormous hand down onto your arse with some force. Unexpected, and completely out of nowhere as it is, it somehow is not the most surprising part.  

The moan is.  

A loud, broken moan- somewhere between pain and pleasure- which Jaskier knows all too well. That sound haunts his dreams. Jaskier would know it blind, dumb and senseless. Your moan, normally reserved for during the nights when his fingers slide inside of you, when his tongue breeches you. It’s weak, beautiful, and oh so very unexpected. Its a noise more beautiful than music, more beautiful than the sound of children’s laughter- always his , finally heard by another. Geralt looks horrified, cat-like eyes wide and filled with something akin to fear, but nothing like the unadulterated horror written across your face; sun-coloured skin turning red with embarrassment, lips parted wide but slowly contorting into a grimace, eyes wide but watering.  

Jaskier forces himself up and towards you, while Geralt steps back, saying your name softly and apologetically,

“I am so sorry-"

“Little Miss-"  

“I'm going to the stream to wash!” You say loudly, side-stepping around Jaskier to make a beeline into the thicket of trees, where a stream was hidden. Without any thought, Jaskier groans and looks up at the Witcher, eyes narrowed into accusatory slits.  

“So much for those Witcher senses of yours.” It’s a ridiculous thing to be annoyed about. Geralt does not have any feelings for you beyond the platonic, and Jaskier knows that, knows full well that Geralt wouldn’t do something like that to you, least of all in front of your lover and a man far too willing to write humiliating songs about Geralt.  

“It was an accident.” All stoicism has returned to Geralt’s voice, despite the still apologetic look written across his features. “She’s going to hate me. She sounded so pained.”  

That almost made the Bard splutter with laughter. Moans like that are many things but not pained, at least not in a way that isn’t seen as pleasurable. Somehow, he manages to keep the laughter down and instead claps a hand to the taller man's shoulder.  

“I doubt she hates you. Missy is a resilient little thing.” He tries to sound comforting, but some humour seeps through, making Geralt turn and squint at him.  

“This isnt funny, Bard.”  

“I’m well aware.” Jaskier nods. “I'm going to check on her though. To make sure she hasn’t drowned herself.”  

“Don’t joke.”  

“I’m not.” He trills as he walks along the step-worn path to the trees.  

The stream is a pathetic little thing really, barely a foot in width and surrounded on all sides by the thickest section of trees which almost blocked out all light. It was easy to believe it was around dusk, but it couldn’t be much later than midday, the shade made it appear so much later than it was. And there was you, hunched over by the reeds and moss, scooping up water and splashing it in your face and onto the gash still trickling blood to try to clean it. Even in spite of the shadows, your flushed cheeks are still clear to him and he stops to take you in.  

He’s had many lovers. Too many to list really, but not one of them holds a candle to you. Every girl before you was perfectly primped and polished, in fine clothes with perfect hair and made up faces, and they were beautiful but artificially so. Made that way by clothes and corsets and cosmetics. You though, you’re something else. Beautiful with the sun in your eyes, unkempt hair and rumpled clothes. Indescribably perfect cast half in fire-light, with bags beneath your eyes and blood across your cheek. Sonnet worthy while drunk and stumbling, singing out of tune to his ever songs. Godly in the dark, mouth open and back arching towards him as you stumble headfirst into climax. He loves you. He loves you, and it’s the first time he thinks he has ever really loved anyone: more than infatuation, more than lust, but actual love. Love that makes his head muddled and heart sore. He doesn’t deserve you. Wants you, needs you, but will never deserve you. Reckless, wild and brilliant you, willing to leave a life behind to fight monsters. A fool. Beautiful little fool, selfless and-

“I can feel you staring at me.”

“Hard not to stare at a goddess. Careful, I hear some gods will drown pretty things like you out of jealousy.”  

“Fool.” You say softly, but there’s a chuckle in your voice so he comes closer to you, stepping behind you to twist your hair away from your throat to press a kiss to the crook of your neck.  

“Your fool.” He breathes out shallowly, letting his chin rest on your shoulder while his arms wind about your waist. “Are you alright, Dear Heart?”  

“Embarrassed, I suppose. My pride will recover though, Dandy.” The lightness of your words combined with your stiff posture makes sure Jaskier knows you’re lying.  

“Little Miss-"

“Geralt must be embarrassed as well. I should have apologised to him before-"

“You moaned.” He cuts you off, making you shut up, stiffening even more. “And you may try to deny it, but I know that noise. I might just be the only person who knows that noise.”

“Jaskier.” It sounds like a warning, but he doesn’t care.  

“If it’s because it was Geralt, I understand.” He says softly, feelings coming out unbidden. “I understand, of course, and I love you but I understand if I’m in the way.”  

“I liked it. Be... being hit. Not Geralt.” You whisper.  

It truly is a day of surprises. Jaskier can feel the grin slip onto his face and his hands move from your stomach to your hips to begin tickling.  

“Is that so?” He asks softly, revelling in your choked-out laughter and how you lean back against him. “My Little Miss wants to be spanked. Well, darling, you should have told me earlier.”  

“I didn’t know it was a thing!” You argue between laughs. Jaskier so often forgets that you were a virgin before he got his hands on you, so of course you hadn’t known. His tickling doesn’t stop as he pulls you backward, rolling you onto the ground and climbing on top of you to continue his assault.  

“Would you like a lesson in masochism, Dear Heart?” He teases, head tilting to the side as he looks down at you.  

“Maso-what?”  

“The pleasures of pain.” He explains, and watches how your face turns pink once more. “Oh, she does!”  

“Stop taunting me!” You argue, thrashing beneath him but not with any intensity.  

“Taunting? Never. I’m just trying to work out if I need to rent two rooms when we next go into town.” He too easily grabs at your arm when you reach up to swat at Jaskier. “For your lessons, I mean.”  

“You... weren't joking?” You ask lightly and he shakes his head.

“I never joke about teaching My Muse about what brings her pleasure.” He says lightly, climbing off of you to sit by your side. “If you want me to.”  

“You Wouldn’t mind?” You ask incredulously, drawing out a chuckle from the bard.  

“Darling-heart, don’t be a fool, of course I wouldn’t. You know how I like pleasing you, and having you know what pleases you pleases me. Besides, it’s hardly my first dalliance into sadomasochism; there was a countess I used to know who couldn’t achieve orgasm unless tied up, with wax melted on her and at least three people watching her-"  

“Jaskier.” You say softly, and he stops.  

“Sorry. What I mean is, liking someone slapping your perfect bottom isn’t something to be embarrassed by, darling. Alright?”  

“Alright. Thank you, Jaskier.”  

“No need to thank me, Dear Heart.”  

It takes weeks for Jaskier's plan to come to fruition. Weeks of traveling and camping in the woods until the three of you are able to find a town in need of a Witcher and his services. It’s a simple job, just a few drowners, but the pay is good and there is a very decent inn more than willing to accommodate all of you, and with two rooms none the less- which is far easier to negotiate while the two of you are off to do what you do. The inn-keep is a pleasant, portly man in his middle forties who seems to appreciate Jaskier's way with words, and is more than willing to forgo payment on the rooms in return for a show- and who is Jaskier to disagree with a deal such as that?  

His friendly demeanour is welcome too, means the Bard actually has someone to talk to while he awaits your return- but that plan dies a death when the job takes significantly longer than he expects. Normally, it only takes a few hours for something like this, but the sun is set and his songs just coming to an end when you finally return.  

The crowds, cider-drunk and rowdy had sang along to every song they knew, and sang over these they didn't- but that was fine. Drinking songs were always nice to hear, but their song dies when the door to the inn-cum-tavern opens and you pad in, followed closely by Geralt. Both drenched from tip to toe and scowling, hair stringy and clothes dark with saturation. That explains a fair bit and even with how upset you look, Jaskier grins, grip on the lute loosening and stage persona rolling off of him. Wet and angry as the two of you are, the sight of you is enough to make the crowd let out a loud, drunken cheer before beginning an enthusiastic if out of tune rendition of Toss a Coin. For once, the Bard is uninterested in joining in and instead opens his arms wide for you, it takes less than a minute for you to run to him and wind your arms around his middle while the people mill around Geralt to interrogate him about monsters and the like. Jaskier sighs and presses a kiss to your forehead.  

“You had me worried.”  

“Almost drowned. But I’m fine.” You say apologetically against his jerkin. “Tired though.”  

“I’ve booked our room. And I think my performance is over.” He says soothing, fingers carding through your wet hair. “Come on, Darling-heart.” He offers a hand, though it takes you a moment or so to reluctantly pull back from him you take it and follow him up to your rented room.  

The room is tiny, little more than a box room with just a bed and small table but it’s clean and that is more than enough for you. Before even a minute can pass, you release Jaskier's hand to flop down onto the bed, moaning when you sink down into the mattress.  

“Comfortable?” He asks playfully and you hum in agreement.  

“I got you wet.” You reply after a minute and Jaskier chuckles.  

“I don’t mind, now wait here. I’ve something to sort out for you.” The door clicks as he slips out of the room and you’re alone in the room, just you and the tingling sensation running through your body and making your brain feel as if a mist has descended over it, yet you don’t even realise it until the door opens once more and you lift your head up to look at the noise. It’s a girl, looking about fourteen or so, carrying two large buckets to the archway across from the bed which you had not even noticed, and in your drunken haze you consider why she would be taking buckets to another room through yours. Jaskier follows after her, buckets hanging from each hand and you notice how steam is billowing from the buckets until he disappears beyond the doorway. Confusion comforts your mouth into a frown, so instead of giving it much thought you let yourself sink back into the mattress, deciding it not worthy of a second thought. Water crashing against water echoes from the other room as your eyelids grow heavy and slip shut. Someone had told you once that the sound of water is enough to drive even an insomniac to sleep, you believe them in this moment, the sound of water is so relaxing to your dazed mind that you don’t question why you can hear it at all, so you simply shut your eyes and listen. You have no idea how long you lay there, listening and breathing, it could be seconds or millennia.

“Are you awake, Dear Heart?”  

“hmm?”  

“Come on, I ordered you a bath, you need it.” A bath. You smile and he grins at you. “Now, darling. Come along. You'll soak the sheets through.”  

“I'll soak you through.” You retort tiredly, rolling off of the bed and toeing off your boots before following him into the bath's room. He watches as you walk through and is upon you within seconds, unlacing your corset and unlacing your chemise before you can move your fingers to do it for yourself. “Julian, I know you find me attractive but stripping me?”

“I don’t want you dying of cold.” He chides playfully, kissing the exposed akin of your shoulder as he pulls off the blouse. “Forgive me for loving you.”  

“I love you.” You say softly and untie your trousers, pulling them and your underwear off in a single movement. He smiles at the sight and presses a hand to your lower back once you step out of the sopping fabric.  

“I know, muse. Now in.” He says encouraging you into the bath, turning to fiddle with a few vials of scented oils. “Rose, Lavender or honeysuckle?”  

“Lavender. It smells like you.” You say softly and sink into the water, letting out a loud moan when the heat overtakes you. He turns back to you with a smile and pours a little of the oil into the water.  

“Oh, you like the smell of me?” He teases and moves around towards you.  

“Of course, I do.”  

He smiles at that and sinks down to his knees behind the tub at your back and picks up a rag, soaking it in the water and then moving it up to rub at your shoulders and the knobbles of your spine. The sweet floral smell is carried on the steam coming from the water, sweet and familiar and made all the better by the contented noises that come from you. He likes you like this, all pliant and sleepy and willing to let him help without complaint, it makes him feel useful in ways he never can on hunts. You shoulder so much, act so brave and mature and it’s so nice to see you just let him take control and look after you. He hums a little tune as he washes your back and feels your back move as you chuckle.  

“Tickles.” You say, giggly and more awake than before. “What song is that?”  

“It’s something my mother used to sing.” He says gently, scooping up some water with his hands and pouring it over your head before working out some of the tangles in your hair. “I don’t think it has a name.”  

“It’s pretty.” You hum, head tilting into his hands like a kitten. “Why aren’t you in here with me?”  

“I got the bath to warm you up, Silly Little Miss. I’m warm.” He says with a sigh and pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck.  

“I want to touch you." You whine, twisting around to face him.  

“There's time for that later, Dear Heart. “ He shakes his head affectionately and kisses the tip of your nose. “I have plans for you tonight.”  

“Oh?” You ask, leaning up on your knees and allowing your breasts to lean against the lip of the tub. It’s a trick, trying to lure him in, and he knows it, but gods above it’s tempting. Far too much willpower is exerted to not reach out and take them into his hands. A siren, sent to toy with his heart and mind. He sighs and leans in to kiss you gently.  

“You remember a few weeks ago? When Geralt slap-"  

“Yes!” You interrupt quickly and he rolls his eyes, reaching up to smooth your hair down.  

“And you said you liked the feeling?”  

“I remember, Jaskier.”  

He smiles and rubs his thumb across your cupid’s bow.  

“Well. We have the room to ourselves, so I thought that we could experiment with that."

You blink at him owlishly before squinting at him. It would almost be enough to worry him, but he knows you too well to think you’re angry- you’re confused, but still very relaxed.  

“Experiment.”  

“Yes.”

“With you... hitting me.”  

“With you letting me dominate you, spank you, and make you feel good.” He clarifies. It sounds foolish, and far too perverse when laid out so candidly to someone not well versed with this. You nod sagely.

“...And if I ask you to stop them you will.”  

“Of course I will.” He says seriously and rests his hands on your shoulders, leaning in so you are eye to eye. “This is for your enjoyment, if you say stop, this stops. Just like always.” You smile and close the gap between his lips and your own. It’s soft and lazy, with no indication of proceeding any further than just chastely kissing, his hands still on your shoulders and your hands creeping up into his hair. It’s perfect, always is, and not for the first time, Jaskier considers that he could spend the rest of forever just kissing you and never be bored. Still, all too soon he pulls away, fetching a towel while you heave yourself out of the tub waiting for the bard and the towel. Even though you reach for it, Jaskier ignores your outstretched arms and instead swaddles you in it himself, drying you.  

“I can do it myself!”

“You can, but you won't.” He says firmly, rubbing your skin. Beneath the soft fabric, he can feel you start to struggle which makes him hum and swat at your arse. It’s not enough to hurt, especially through the towel, but it serves as a good warning for who is in charge tonight. Dominance is nothing new for him, but he isn’t dominant with you. You were a virgin when he met you, all sex had to be approached with kid-gloved hands, even now that you are confident with it Jaskier has never felt any need to try and guide you towards that sort of thing. Submission, he had assumed, would be a difficult thing for you; you spend so much time fighting and fending for yourself during fights, asking you to hand over control never seemed to be a good idea. Control keeps you safe but you trust him. Trust him enough to give him control. It’s enough to rush to his head, that level of trust. Of course, it’s flattering when anyone allows him control, but it means so much more when someone who loves him, someone who is so dangerous would allow themselves to be vulnerable. He loves you, has since the second he clapped eyes on you, but this is more than love now, this is adoration. “Now, be a good girl and don’t argue.” Seldom does Jaskier have a need to be stern, so you doing as he says is to be expected. You go limp, eyes wide as he towels you dry. “There’s my good Little Miss.” He says once he finishes, folding the cloth while you stand stock still, pupils blown wide.  

“Good.” You repeat back to him, starry-eyed and blushing, so he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before nodding.  

“Well, you are my Good Little Miss, aren’t you?” He asks gently, watching the enthusiastic nod he gets in response with a smile. “I know.” He says with an air of finality, turning away from you and heading back into the bedchambers to sit on the bed. It takes a few seconds of silent sitting for you to finally walk to the doorway. You’re naked as the day you were born, wet hair hanging in snakelike tendrils around your face, skin glowing gold from the warm light of the fire reflecting off of the still damp flesh. You’re beautiful. Too beautiful, comfortable in your skin and his looking at you, pale criss-crossing of scars running across the planes of your body like gold holding formerly broken ceramics together. How Jaskier has ever gotten a chance to lay his hands on you is beyond him, why a bard such as himself can even look at you, never mind touch or kiss you. A goddess, battle-hardened and wise, intoxicating and intense but oh so soft and kind.

“You’re staring.” You laugh, leaning against the door frame and smiling at him.  

“Yes. Yes I am.” Jaskier says simply and beckons you closer, which you do with a slight swing of your hips that he is entirely sure isn’t purposeful. You settle beside him, looking at him with a look somewhere between reverence and fear- like he's simultaneously the most beautiful and awful thing you’ve ever seen. He hates how much he likes it, the power it feels like he possesses in this moment. You look so small and defenceless, and he is too aware of how large he is by comparison. Usually, Jaskier feels slight- especially in comparison to Geralt and his hulking mass of muscle and manliness- but he’s suddenly far more aware of how big his hands are compared to your own, how he almost dwarfs you in height. You aren’t dainty, and he knows how much damage you can do with little to no effort, but you look so now.  

You lean in to him slowly and tilt your head, taking him in before smiling with a raised eyebrow. Well? Your face seems to scream. I'm waiting. It’s all the encouragement he needs to put his hand between your shoulder blades and push your torso over his lap unceremoniously. Every jutting bone, every knobble of spine, outline of rib exposed when you let out a noise of mild confusion, but rest there with your stomach over his thighs. His fingertips, calloused from lute strings but still soft from the warm water, trail down your back slowly; his skin is colder than yours, leaving goose pimples in his wake as he moves towards the rounded flesh of your arse.  

Pink and pert, the flesh juts out from the dip at the base of your spine, like a peach. Jaskier loves it. Loves all arses really. There is something so strangely enticing about them, likely the fact they’re so often covered that seeing them seems taboo in a way that seeing tits isn’t. Every inch of your skin that he gets to see is a luxury not afforded to others, and while his hands finally reach the plump skin, he had been moving towards he kisses your back, gripping one cheek firmly while rubbing soft circles into the other. A moan, airy and musical comes from you spurring Jaskier in his ministrations: shifting the cheek to the side, revealing a hole he had never paid much mind to at all, only to release his hold and watch as it bounces back into place. The jiggle is hypnotic, he thinks to himself wordlessly as he repeats the act on the opposite cheek, earning another moan from you in response.  

“Jask.” You whine out and he hums in confirmation, feeling you push yourself back against his hand. “Don't tease.” He chuckles. Teasing is hardly what he'd call it. No, this is isn’t teasing, teasing is something gentler than this. This is preparation. He can hardly just start spanking you, especially when you've never done it before, but the whining makes him smirk. “Jask, if you don’t hurry, I’ll go to bed.” You insist and try to push yourself off of him, so he presses down on the middle of your back and brings his hand down on your arse harshly.  

The sharp sound of skin-on-skin rings through the air, followed by a gasp. A tingle ran across his palm, and he snicks at the sensation.  

“I thought you were my good girl, not a brat, Missy.” He says, voice low and on the verge of a growl. “I told you, I am in control tonight. Not you.”  

Brat. You shiver at that, going still, and he smirks, grabbing the cheek he had just struck before tugging at it. He releases it before sliding his hand up your thigh.  

“I. I can be good.” You whisper meekly. That isn’t enough though and he swats at the cheek once more, lighter this time.  

“You will be good.” He corrects you, leaning in close to your ear and catching sight of your red cheeks and misty eyes. “I know you will be, won’t you Darling?” You nod quickly and he smirks. “That's my Princess.”  

At that, your posture loosens and you relax against him. Praise. That’s good to know. Lazily, he rubs a circle against the curve of skin before striking it once more.  

“I'm going to hit you ten times, and I want you to count them out loud for me. Can you do that for me?” He asks gently and you nod instantly. “I need you to use your words, Darling.”  

“I. I can do that.” You say, tilting your head to look at him with a sweet smile. Jaskier smiles back at you, then brings his hand back down with a hard slap.  

“One!” You say loudly, jolting forward and dragging your stomach across his crotch. He’s been so invested in planning and preparing that he hasn’t even noticed the hardness developing between his legs until it’s rubbed against. The moans from the bath had been enough to make him half hard, but seeing you like this, lips parted and the skin of your bottom turning an inviting shade of pink, it’s enough to have him fully hard.  

“Two!” You shout out after his hand lands hard against your rear before two more swats come in quick succession.  

“Three! Four!” The numbers are more moans than words, loud and needy. In the back of his mind, Jaskier wonders if the drunks downstairs are still singing and making noise, shouting and swearing, or if they too can hear the moans of pleasure. It’s sick, but he wants them to hear. Wants them to hear the pretty song that you’re moaning out, to look at you in the morning as you shift uncomfortably in your seat and know how you loved every second of it, see him smirk and know exactly who drew every noise from you.  

He’s a bard. He knows how to make noises, but these might just be the prettiest ones yet. A hand rubs at the pinking skin and then, quickly as it comes it's gone and brought down, this time to the space where arse meets thigh.

“Five!”  

He could listen to you moan all day. Sex, or at least sex while travelling, is normally a quiet affair. Quiet murmurs of affirmation, whispered begs and pleas, it’s not enough. Jaskier loves sex, loves the intimacy that comes from being as close to someone as humanly possible, but more so than the enjoyment of sex, Jaskier loves the theatrics of sex. Sex is like performing. Doing all possible to please an enthusiastic audience, listening to the sounds of enjoyment as it builds and crescendos, fingers moving faster, doing his best to not make a fool of himself.  

“Six!”  

Slap!

“Seven!”  

He can’t help himself from hoping that this won't be a one-time occurrence. For a few stolen moments you can hand over control to him and give the both of you what you need.  

“Eight!” Your stomach rubs against his cock once more and he chokes back a moan. You'll be the death of him. Ruin him entirely. It isn’t enough that he loves you, isn’t enough that you are the most beautiful person he could dream up, no you have to do things like this. Unintentionally ideal. Perfection given human form.  

“Nine!”  

His hand comes down one final time and you scream out a broken, “Ten!”, and Jaskier heaves out a sigh, rubbing the red skin as gently as he can to soothe you when you begin to tremble. Calloused fingertips slide softly across the abused flesh.  

“Oh Darling. My good girl. My good, brave little miss.” He coos sweetly, gently guiding you up to sit on his lap, one hand still running the skin while the other threads itself in the hair at the nape of your neck. “You did so well.” Gently, he presses his forehead against your own, staring into tear filled eyes. “Oh, Dear Heart, did you not like it?” Worry washes over him suddenly. He should have reminded you that you could say no once more, that he wouldn’t be disappointed.  

“Kiss me.” You breathe back against his lips and he sighs softly, hand shifting to your jaw to tug you into a chaste kiss. You tremble against his lap, but kiss back far more forcefully than he had kissed you. Gentle but seeking, tongue pushing between his lips to make its way into his mouth. He smirks slightly, but doesn’t open his mouth, feeling you rock against his lap- sweet nectar between your legs dripping through the fabric of his trousers while shaking fingers toy with the lacing of his doublet.  

“Darling-"  

“You're wearing far too much.” You whine pulling back to stare at him. “Take it off.”  

“Take what off?”  

“Everything.” One word has never held so much weight. He could look at you like this for always, so soft and desperate and wanting- it makes his heart beat faster and his cock jumps against the heat of your core. He wants to strip himself, rid himself of the offensive articles and just let you take from him all that he has, but he holds your jaw gently instead, using the warm skin as a means to ground himself once more.  

“Ask nicely.”  

“Jaskier.” You say with a slight scowl, but he narrows his eyes and tilts his head, trying not to laugh at your intent look. “Please. Please strip.”  

“I think you can ask nicer than that, Dear Heart.”  

“Julian, please take off your clothes. Please.” You ask softly and trail your hands along the chemise beneath his half-unlaced jerkin. “Please, Dandy? I want to touch you- can I?”  

The pet name brings a soft smile to his face, hands moving to your hips to shift you onto the bed before undoing the rest of his jacket and shucking it off, to toss it to the side. Ducking down, he peppers a few feverish kisses to your thighs, toying with the ties of his chemise while you tug it over his head. Needy and half frenzied is unlike you, but he can’t say that it isn’t perfection. Shy, unsure sex has been too common, the occasional rushed shag when you two can spare a few seconds less frequent, but this magically manic need is sweet. Jaskier is a performer; performers preen under the watchful eye of attentive audience, need the knowledge of a job well done, which he normally gets from you in the form of moans and frantic rutting. This enthusiasm is perfection, especially while his face is so close to your cunt that he can smell the arousal dripping from it.

Nudity can wait, The Bard smirks, grips your thighs in a vice-like grip and widens the distance between them so he can get his mouth on your sex, tongue gathering slick and relishing that sweet, musky taste. Sweeter than any fruit, more addictive than any wine. Jaskier’s lips find your clit, that bud of nerves that might as well contain every breathless moan that you can fit in your body, and sucks, tongue flicking across it with the moans and curses that such an act wrings from you. Nose buried in the curls that cover your mount, cornflower eyes look up to take you in, writhing in ecstasy, breasts quivering with every stuttered breath. He knew that he had missed something while spanking you’d but it falls into place now. Your face.

Every emotion flit across it, as clear to read as sheet music to him. You have an expressive face at the best of times, but it only seems heightened by sex. He knows many men prefer not to face their lovers and, hell, in his more adventurous days had preferred it himself, but seeing how you feel written across your features is part of the joy of sex. It had taken a while to convince you to stop silencing yourself during intimacy, that those moans are his and hard earned, but those expressions mean even more. Miniscule twitches of the brows and lips that let him know that you enjoy what he is doing, he loves them. Loves you. Those noises are meaningless without that face, pink and contorted with pleasure. That face. He could stare at it all day.

He doesn’t miss Lettenhove, not for a minute, but he does miss paintings. Portraits, moments trapped in time, forever perfect. He wants a painting of moments like this; nothing pornographic, just your face, with not a care for anything but pleasure. To see him through those nights when hunting takes too long and he's long asleep by the time you return. A little painting to have with him always.  

“Jaskier-" You whimper, fingers curled into his hair and tugging. “Please. Please.”  

He hums softly and slaps your thigh, revelling in the sweet little gasp that comes from you before a gush of fluid hits his lips. The Bard pulls back and blinks in shock. You’re shaking, twisting in the blankets as he just breathes you in. Squirted. You just squirted on him. He was half convinced that such a thing was just A rumour but... you did it.  

Blinking rapidly, Jaskier stares up at you awestruck and starry-eyed, trying desperately not to spill into his trousers.  

Oh yes. This is going to be a regular occurrence.  

[malethirsty]

The Master Of The Claymore - Drew McIntyre

Summary: Following his success in recapturing the WWE Championship on RAW, Drew has some debts to pay and learns never to cross a swordmaster, especially one who knows how to handle a strong Scottish blade.

Warnings: M/M smut (21+), Bareback (Wrap Before You Tap!)

1, 2 & 3! You lept up and down in the Guerrilla cheering & clapping with other members of the roster whom had come to watch as the sound of Bagpipes filled the ThunderDome, Drew McIntyre had just won back the WWE Championship, the Scotsman ascending once again back to the pinnacle of the Men’s division. As Drew walked up the ramp, issuing a warning to Roman, his opponent for Survivor Series, you used the cover of the swarm of fellow wrestlers to retreat back to his dressing room, there you sat down on the sofa and waited for his arrival. It took a while for him to arrive, but sure enough he turned up, sweated out but still in high spirits, seeing you on the couch he smirked down at you “Well hello there pretty boy, I bet you’ve come to congratulate the champ in person.” You rolled your eyes “Yes of course, all hail the great Scottish stud of a champion.” You sardonically responded and Drew grinned at you “Later I’ll get you to say it like you mean it” he promised, a glint of mischief and eroticism in his eyes.

Ever since you first met him, Drew had been cockily arrogant and at first you’d hated it, your tempering flaring whenever Vince’s ‘Chosen One’ tried to flex his strength towards you and the rest of the roster. However when he won the intercontinental title, that was when your rage boiled over and you had confronted him about his arrogant nature, by the end of the night, you realised his cocky attitude could be backed up with his skills... and wrestling was only the tip of what he could do with his body. Ever since then, you’d engaged in this relationship where you’d show up to wherever he was, he’d drop what he was doing and fuck you, your submissive nature in the bedroom paired perfectly with his cocky demeanour. However as of recently, you’d been in a draught, twenty two long days of no Scottish stud, as insensed by losing the title, he threw himself into training, completely neglecting you. You’d acted fine to his face, but tonight you were going to remind him that you were the only gold he needed to cherish, not some fucking leather strap.

Deciding to keep the nature of the conversation sweet for now, you turned the conversation to a fact you’d discovered on the show that night “I never knew Claymore was a type of sword till Sheamus gave you it in the box.” Drew, whom had been bothering with packing up his stuff to head back to his hotel room, looked across the room at you, rather surprised “Really? It’s quite well known in Scotland.” “Yes, well some of us haven’t lived in Scotland for out entire lives Drew.” “Sheamus is Irish and he knew, maybe your just uneducated about your knowledge of combat weaponry. So Y/N, I think I better teach you about it.” He abandoned what he was doing and crossed the room and sat next to you, his cocky nature out in full force “So the Claymore is quite an old yet strong weapon, known in my homeland for being a symbol of pride and strength. Only the strongest of men can wield it, it needs two hands to cover it” He stopped and leaned in to whisper in your ear “a lot like me.” He nipped at your ear lightly and drew back, which let you know that you had him where you wanted him, so you flirted back “Impressive, I’d like to get my hands around one sometime, wouldn’t that be a sight, little old me handling something so big, heavy and strong? You’d probably have to hold me up so I can keep balance” You moved onto his lap and sensing his hardness, trailed your hand down his hairy chest, above where his title was positioned. Drew groaned, his eyes fluttering closed for a second, as he minicked your ministrations onto your own bare chest, including tweaking your nipples as his cock got harder as you continued. He looked deep into your eyes and said “Why wait? Reach down into my kilt and handle it yourself.”

You didn’t wait to be asked twice and slid down onto the floor pulling off his kilt as you went, his cock flying up, very erect, hitting your face for your trouble. Not wasting anymore time, you slipped your lips over it and began to suck, “Oh yes, suck it down deep Y/N.” Drew groaned, throwing his head back as he got used to your wet, hot mouth around his member, his cock got even harder than before in your mouth, so you had to be careful not to take too much or risk choking, so you lathered it a little before pulling out, taking it in your hand and slapping it on your face “Nah-uh Y/N, remember you handle Daddy’s Claymore with two hands.” Drew chided, grinning at the dirty show he was watching below him, and so you grabbed onto his cock with both hands, fully covering the length of his dick, and pulled down, exposing the head. You trailed your tongue around it, eliciting soft growls from the champion, which soon turned to full out moans as you licked across his slit. “Yeah, you like that Daddy?” You asked, sweetly with a hint of cheekiness, as you knew what licking his slit did to Drew “Fuck yeah I do pretty boy”, motivated by his praise, you moved back onto Drew’s slit, this time giving it kitten licks while looking up into his eyes “Jesus Christ, your tongue’s incredible Y/N. Get back onto my cock before I cum on your face, I wanna bust in your mouth.”

Finally poised to strike, you moved away from him, leaving Drew panting “Wh-wha?” He looked up at you confused “Y/N, I said to get back on my dick.” “No Drew. See this is what’s been going on for the entire time Randy’s been reigning as champion, you’ve been fixated on training and your desire to hold that belt, while ignoring the fact that I’ve been needing you, having to wait for you to come to bef and fuck me has been fucking painful. Do you know how many times I’ve had to pull up the dick pics you’ve sent me and wanked to them cause you won’t man up when you finally stop training and fuck me?” Drew was looking taken aback, a mix of something that looked like anger on his face, but you were past the point of caring about hurting him and carried on. It was as if a faucet had been turned on in your brain, and everything you’d been wanting to say was spilling out of your mouth “I guess you haven’t thought at all, because you’ve been fucking piss weak after losing the championship to get up and keep moving forward, you’ve been so fixated that your forgetting about the one person that has needed you that entire reign. Goddamn it Drew, I WANT YOU TO BE A FUCKING MAN!” You yelled the last part out, all composure gone. You turned around to leave, expecting him to be too stunned to do anything, wanting him instead to think about how he’d left you so lonely and return to your hotel room with an apology with chocolates or some shit like that. Blood was pumping loudly in your ears from the shouting you had done, that you didn’t notice the thud of leather meeting the floor.

You had almost crossed the room before a hand grasped your head and you were slammed into the door, the hand protecting your head from bouncing off it, turning around, you saw Drew, a dangerous alit look in his eyes, dark and determined. With a gruff growl, he moved his hand from your head down to your pants, ripping the fabric clean in two and tossing it away. He then aimed his cock at your entrance and thrusted upwards, your cry of shocked pleasure drowned out by Drew’s bellow. You stayed like that for a while, Drew grunting as he took deep breaths to speak “That man enough for you Y/N? Huh? That enough to sate your slutty fucking ass?!” Drew yelled out and too shocked to form words, you nodded instead. Satisfied, he began to piston forwards, slamming into your ass so hard, the door began to shake. As you cried out from his ministrations you stared at him, the light hearted cocky man he was in the ring now gone, now he looked determined, powerful, dominant. “You want to be treated like a little fucking slut Y/N, is that what you want to be? Daddy’s fucking cock sleeve?” You tried to respond but stunbled over your words, only Y sounds coming from your mouth as you tried to say ‘Yes’. Suddenly he stopped moving and grabbed your face “Nah-uh pretty, you’re gonna use your voice and tell Daddy how much you love his dick fucking your ass, otherwise I can stop right now and leave you desperate to cum.” Drew was meeting you halfway, the fucking bastard.. the fucking hot bastard, so you responded “Yes Daddy, fuck I’ve needed this for so long!” Drew grinned “Good little slut, wrap your legs round Daddy’s waist.”

Obeying him, you wrapped your legs around his strong waist and with no effort at all he lifted you off the ground and trapped your lips in a kiss so hot, it felt like steam was coming off the both of you. After a while like this, he began to buck into you again “Fucking love how your tight little ass clenching round my thick hard dick. God damn Y/N, you know how to take Daddy’s cock just right.” You couldn’t respond, he was hitting your prostate so perfectly it felt as if shots of electricity were surging through you, the most you could do was hold onto the hunks back as hard as you could to prevent yourself from falling over from how ferociously he was pounding you. The sound of Drew’s balls slapping against you was joined by the sounds of his moaning and feral growling, which only increased as you raked your fingernails across his back, a thin trail of blood starting to form “Fucking hell babe, two can play at that game!” Drew lowered you to the ground and lifted your legs onto his shoulders, and began to fuck you at a different angle as he began to travel down your neck, kissing and nipping at it, intending to leave hickeys all down it, a mark of the Scot to show the world you belonged to him and him alone. You made soft mewling sounds as he did so, and trailed your left hand through his raven dark hair and your right through his chest hair “You like that?” Drew withdrew from his ministrations to ask “Yeah, I don’t know what about your head and chest hair really gets me going, but it does.” “It’s the sign of a fucking man, a fucking warrior. My raven hair on my head and my chest hair looks like I’ve come from a hard fought battle against a giant or soldier or some shit and I’m ready to claim your arse as a reward.” He punctuated this with a harsh thrust forwards, and you turned into a moaning mess all over again.

Drew moved away from your body now, looking up you saw him standing on his knees, his hips lazily pistoning forward, you began to push up to meet him halfway, his dick now seemingly coated in sweat as Drew pulled it out. He brushed the tip of it with his thumb and saw the sweat was actually precum, catching sight of you looking he grinned down “Want to taste my precum Y/N?” You moved up to him, only to be stopped by a rough hand covering your chest “Manners baby, what do you say to Daddy if you want to taste him?” “Drew, please I-“ “What do you say?” His voice grew seductively dark as he asked twice, so you swallowed deeply and said “Please Daddy, may I taste you?” Satisfied Drew moved his thumb to your mouth and you lapped your tongue out to taste his salty precum, eventually taking his thumb into your mouth “How is it that you look as hot taking my cock balls deep into your mouth as you do my fingers?” Drew pondered looking down at the sweaty mess he made of you, you moaned around his thumb before Drew pulled it out and thrusted his cock back inside you.

His cock began to pulse inside you, the veins bulging as he neared his end. Knowing he was close, Drew grasped onto your cock and began to stroke violently. Already sensitive, this only made you cry out loudly “OH FUCK DREW! YES DADDY, STROKE MY COCK!” You yelled, not caring if Adam Pierce, Randy, Charley or anyone else heard you, you were too intoxicated from Drew fucking you at last to care. Drew got right down to your face, noses touching, his eyes baring down into you so hard, it was as if he was looking into your soul “Tell me who you belong to Y/N, submit and tell me, and I’ll let you cum all you want. Who. Do. You. Belong. To?” Each word was accompanied by a hard thrust into your ass, your muscles clenching softer than before, that it was amazing they hadn’t lost their grip from how hard Drew was railing you “You Daddy Drew! I belong to you!” You wailed out, utterly blissed out on Drew’s cock. He smirked, leaning down to your ear to whisper “Now Y/N, cum for me.” You cried out in relief and pleasure as load upon load shot out over Drew’s chest, spattering onto his chest hair, he waited until you stopped before pulling you up onto his lap and bucked wildly “Fucking hell Y/N, your ass feels so good when you cum that I’m gonna shoot my load, all deep into that slutty ass of yours, your fucking craving it yeah? Craving Daddy’s load up your ass. Well Daddy’s gonna give it all to you my twenty two day load, and you better take every last drop!” Utterly blown out by lust, you kissed Drew deeply, him returning with equal passion until he reached the edge and withdrew from your lips “Yeah, fuck Y/N, I’m cuming, I’m gonna cum deep inside you!” The air was wrent with a crying growl from the WWE Champion as he came, his release shooting inside you, thick and hot. Drew’s eyes were wound shut, his body thrown back so far, it was as if his orgasm was stretching him out. You didn’t think his cock would stop shooting forth his load, but eventually it stopped and Drew collapsed onto you, kissing you all over the face.

It was a while before either of you spoke “Holy fucking shit” you huffed out, Drew releasing a guttural laugh “That’s damn right, fuck Y/N, you’re like a fucking vice when I cum, you milk it all out, bet it’ll drip out of your hole by the time we get back to the hotel.” As your senses restored, you realised that you were still in his dressing room, you’d been caught up in how well Drew fucked you, you forgot you weren’t in privacy, you were in public and likely the whole roster had heard you turn into a desperate needy whore for the Scotsman on top of you. Catchhing your eye and seemingly understanding, Drew lifted you up “Own it, at least your getting dicked down by a fucking man.” A smile forming, you nodded “Now, I’m gonna get my kilt back on and get you some pants so we can head home and get you showered up before round two.” “R-round two?” You questioned “Yeah, you said I left you without sex for the entirety of Randy’s reign, so over the next week I’ll fuck you all over the hotel room that it’ll more than make up for it.” He said, as a matterafactly as talking about the next day’s weather. “Now look who’s the needy slut.” You sardonically responded to a grin from Drew, whom having just fastened his kilt back up, crossed over to you and cupped your face “Now don’t start with me Y/N, you were complaining about me not manning up for you. I’ll tell you what, if you’re good for me then when I win Survivor Series, I’ll make you the Prince of Claymore Country, make you a crown out of my seed, would you like that Y/N.” ‘Damn this man was something else’ you thought, but contented Drew with a nod of your head “Good man, now wait here while I get some new pants for you, and then we can leave and fuck in our own bed.” With that, he left his dressing room and you sat back onto the sofa, getting a little excited about the many more times you’d be getting to handle Drew’s Claymore in the future.