#unfortunately I had the trauma of finding out what that means earlier and you guys just make up words to be obscene at this point

[kavehater]

hi hi I have an update : I am going to off myself (exams (haven’t looked at content this entire semester wahoo)) :3 also unrelated but 🙄 what the heck, I have a few bones to pick. twt steals all my things, first of all they stole haterism in the context of kaveh and alhaitham which PROVES they stole it from me 🙄🙄 second of all they stole kavehsexual and smashed it onto alhaitham ?! I am floored.

[thezestyone]

My thoughts on Yoshimoto’s route Rant (SPOILERS)

I have to put this disclaimer out before I get started: I do not hate Yoshimoto so much as I hate how his route is written and how he was portrayed in it. I have to say, reading Yoshimoto’s route has unfortunately had a negative effect of my perception on him. Therefore, I am not going to acknowledge his route if I choose to write about him in the future. If you love Yoshimoto and his route, more power to you, this is just my own thoughts on the route in particular and how Yoshimoto is portrayed, not him as a whole concept since I loved him in SEs.

What I was afraid most of the route ending up as, the tragic “woe is me” approach, has happened. To be honest, I do not remember when it specifically started, and I didn’t bother to take much screenshots initially since this route after like the intro chapters had me disliking Yoshimoto and getting me frustrated with just how lackadaisical he seems about everything. He seems to love art first and foremost, and seems like he is his own worst enemy. The chemistry he had with MC from like the first two or three chapters seemed quite cute and romantic, but it all starts to fall apart when his backstory is brought up.

You see, Yoshimoto is a puppet head leader, who for some reason, is chained by the wants of his jerks for vassals, the same vassals that, mind you, are living under Kenshin’s castle in his territory. Why I bring that up is that to me, the solution to Yoshimoto’s issues with his vassals seems rather easy to solve, but for some reason, Yoshimoto makes no attempts to do anything to feasibly break free, despite having all sorts of cards in his favor. I mean, he has Kenshin and Shingen by his side! What are his vassals, who practically lost all their political power anyways, going to do? They’re powerless, they could just as easily be whipped by them up to shape or imprisoned. Yoshimoto could just as easily disappear to another country and never come back. He appears just so self-defeated and that attitude, for me, is such a huge turn OFF for any kind of attraction I may have been developing for him. He acts as if he has an illness that is shortening his life span, that is painful to conceal with the weight of the world on his shoulders while simultaneously having to duke it out with the people who has caused him to lose his very home… Oh wait, that is his cousin, Shingen, the same cousin he abandoned to help Kicho and Motonari, you know, the same people trying to send Shingen to an even earlier grave, the same Shingen who defended Yoshimoto when his vassals badmouthed him, scaring the hell out of them. The same Shingen who, despite the drastic odds, continues to fight until his last breath. Such a contrast there.

If Yoshimoto is so perceptive of people, I find it hard to believe he is unaware of Shingen’s illness. They are family, but as of writing this, at chapter seven, it seems like he doesn’t even truly care for him, or is grateful for all the things the people who actually cares for him has done for him. He claims to desire to so badly be free, but with all the cards in his favor, he just chucks them away and surrenders! WHY?!

This has been a pet peeve of mine for a while: Why must MC continuously be the guy’s personal therapist? Why can’t her presence be enough to just knock some sense into them and make the guys want to improve because they want to, and not because of MC’s constant cheerleading? It is completely exhausting having to lift someone up who just slumps themselves and makes no effort to move until you pester them to oblivion to move. Not the ripe situation for romance!

I was really hoping for Yoshimoto’s route to take another direction… One of Yoshimoto perhaps finding his true passions, of shedding his previous warlord life, of completely romancing MC, of their love for art creating such a sweet, wholesome bond that gives Yoshimoto the answers he is looking for in himself, the clue to help him feel whole and heal from his past trauma… But no. He prances around like he is so powerless, that his vassals completely got him under lock and key. Since Yoshimoto clearly moves to his own rhythm, I know he wouldn’t care at all about things like status or power, since his only love, after all, is art. So, what is actually holding him back, for real? I say HIMSELF. His TRAUMA. Instead of seeking to heal from it, he just further chains himself up, leaving poor MC having to frivolously pick at the locks that just keep growing in number, and all because “he is so beautiful”.

After the intro chapters, his chemistry with MC completely fell off for me. It went from a cute budding romance to MC being the person Yoshimoto dumps all his woes for.

Hell, in the starting chapters, I forget which number, but Shingen even asks multiple times if MC has fallen out of love with Yoshimoto for many sorts of things that would make romance not the best idea to pursue. But somehow, MC just nods and continues on, claiming how she cares for Yoshimoto so much, but at this stage, their romance doesn’t even feel all that fleshed out, and all the bits of info she receives should at least make her start to think more about her relationship with Yoshimoto.

For all the hate Motonari’s route gets, at least MC’s relationship with Motonari felt more fleshed out in comparison to her relationship with Yoshimoto. She didn’t immediately fall in love with Motonari. Hell, when she was starting to catch feelings for his snarky self, she even stated multiple times how this made no sense, how he was such a jerk, etc… You know, like how one would feel if they fell in love with the bad boy who has yet to soften up all the way. Most of the times, Moto barks more than he bites with MC, and he is an antagonist, he is not supposed to be portrayed in the same light as the protagonists, same with Kennyo.

Yoshimoto, however, unfortunately does not have that excuse. The bulk of his route felt more to me like he was dragging an MC who was blindly smitten with him through all his problems, having her have to deal with all of it. Again, exhausting, and completely not fair to MC. If I was actually the MC, I would have lost feelings for him long ago in his route… Which I did, and which makes scrapping through his route so painful…

The only thing that is making his route halfway bearable for me is, surprisingly, not the character you would expect. (Sorry Shingen and Motonari-)

It is Ranmaru.

Somehow, someway, Yoshimoto’s route for me turned into Ranmaru’s route. Ranmaru started to have far more chemistry with MC after the intro chapters, and their moments have just been… oh my goodness, those moments are the only reasons I seek to complete the route now.

Appreciation for those moments might be set for another post, since this one has gone long enough.

Suffice to say, I am extremely disappointed in Yoshimoto’s route. I was really hoping for a Motonari plot twist, but so much has happened thus far that just has me completely disinterested in his story since it is so self-defeatist.

I do not think I am going to do this route again for a long time. It for me has just been too much of a pain to go through, and since it takes about a month for F2P players to clear a route, I rather read a route of more interest than this one.

Such a pity. I was really rooting for you here, Yoshimoto, but you just let me down, which is why, for the sake of continuing to follow one of my rules, I am not going to refer to your route in any future works of mine I may feature you in. I feel as if the route could have been handled so much better, and that Yoshimoto deserves a more optimistic story, one that would have the soil just right for romance to truly grow and blossom beautifully.

After all, seeds of pain can only generate more agony.

*Added more Info, after reading a bit more and choosing Yoshimoto’s dramatic route and getting more data on him:*

Annnd it just. Keeps. Getting. Worse! So apparently it seems he has ties to the shogun, which is why he turned “traitor” (he really was faking it this whole time, everyone!). My earlier point still remains. Yoshimoto apparently is a tactical genius, able to change the course of war to his liking… With such an ability, why the hell side with the shogun to begin with? Why not side with alliance? I think Yukimura put it clearly how I’m feeling about Yoshimoto:

And apparently, I haven’t even touched on the most annoying thing… The way Yoshimoto is so quick to deny his affection towards MC, which makes her intense infatuation with him even more unbelievable. Just three words would make a world of difference, but he continuously pushes her away, which is even more annoying. How do you still like a man who makes such an effort to refuse to acknowledge his love for you? Again, if I was infatuated by him, that infatuation would have been burnt to a crisp at MC trying time and time again to get into Yoshimoto’s heart, but he just refuses to yield for the most inane of reasons. Yoshimoto is his own worst enemy, period, and is so stuck in his thoughts, in his perceptions that he completely lost the plot and forgets how he has many people who support him that will help him break free.

He is shown time and time again to continue to value art over everything else, which absolutely does my head in. Like, priorities, Yoshimoto, you need to first get some help from your clearly deeply rooted trauma, because unless you do that, there is just no way forward, you are always going to be stuck as that trapped little boy.

This route is just so bizarre to me in many ways, though the most prominent, besides how self-defeatist Yoshimoto is, is how in the world is this the environment for any romance to grow? Yoshimoto is very clearly in a place where that is the last thing he needs, or seems to even want, according to the plot. I just wanted to shake MC constantly and tell her to leave him to his fancy nicknacks and go with someone who clearly loves her and is not afraid to show it. (*ahem* RANMARU!)

I personally just did not find this route appealing at all. It was such a pain to get through, and the only parts I looked forward to was every scene Yoshimoto was not a part of. His entire attitude throughout the route, how he continued to deny MC of any romance until the very end, and even then that was just ugh considering everything that happened prior… I, absolutely, hated this route. I can’t wait until I finish it so I can read another one that’s more palpable.

This route just left me frustrated and absolutely hating Yoshimoto’s guts, which is why in my future works I will not be referring to it. I absolutely loathed his portrayal here. I’m just gonna leave these screenshots as the ending to this long rant, because the frustration is real.

The fact I am agreeing with these two antags that I can’t stand speaks volumes of Yoshimoto’s portrayal in this route. Just, ugh, no more. Please.

[myresilientheart]

Autism

I was diagnosed with Autism two days before I turned 36. It was a slap in the face. It was validating. It was everything at once. I finally made since to myself. The abuse I suffered across my life finally made sense. The slap in the face? That’s because I grew up with a sister with BPD and FAS. She was violent and erratic. I spent nights sleeping in the back of the van while my parents tried to find her when she ran away from whatever treatment facility she was in. My dad was supposed to go to a field trip with me in middle school. I was so excited because we were going to a Longhorn football game. The night before the game my sister got in a fight with my parents. I don’t mean an argument. I mean axe marks on the door in our storage unit where she swung at my dad. And then later, he tripped running after her down the hill behind our house and got injured. Too injured to go on the field trip with me. My mom went instead. My whole childhood was like that. Abuse, fear, letdowns, and anger. Whether I was sleeping in the backseat of the van or crying while hiding in my room, I was alone. No one saw me. My parents and therapists have told me the same thing, “unfortunately when there’s a child with special needs like that in the family, they tend to get all the attention.” So now, what does my diagnosis mean for that? That’s the slap in the face. But I did have special needs, I was just easy to cast aside and easy to overlook. Why was no one looking out for me or protecting me? My whole life has been full of trauma because no one noticed me, no one protected me, no one cared. I’ve just been alone, out in the world trying to figure things out on my own. I’ve been in countless abusive relationships. I’ve been sexually assaulted and harassed. I’ve been drugged and raped. All because I didn’t know and I didn’t understand. Sometimes I wonder what life would’ve been like if someone noticed me. If I had gotten that diagnosis earlier. But I don’t live there too long because what’s done is done. Still, I find myself wanting to post on social media something like: “I have autism. So for those of you that think I’m weird or rude or judge me, that’s why.” I finally have a why. When I was 14, my boyfriend was 19. I didn’t know why it was weird. I didn’t know why I shouldn’t marry him when I was old enough. I didn’t know I could leave him when he was abusive. I didn’t know I could have said no to the wedding when I knew it was wrong. And 5 years later when he was put in prison for child pornography, I didn’t know why it was weird for me to visit him and was the only one that believed he was innocent. Now everything is starting to make sense. That last one is rough though. Like, oh. I was his first victim wasn’t I? He groomed me and used me. Those realizations, the ones that everyone else around me could see, are the ones that leave me mortified. That boy in 8th grade that wanted to see my underwear. I didn’t know it was malicious. I didn’t know he was taking advantage of me. I thought he, the popular guy, liked me. Right. I’m an idiot. Except I’m not. I’m autistic. I’m not stupid. I’m actually really intelligent. I just don’t understand people. I don’t understand their intentions. I don’t understand subtleties. I don’t understand small talk or how to maintain relationships. Being diagnosed at 36 makes me want to crawl into a hole. It’s like waking up and realizing a lifetime of mistakes and there’s so much shame. I know it’s going to take a while to process this. I’m posting this because I have always felt alone, and if I can help even one person feel less alone in their experiences, that’s enough for me. 

[makeste]

some follow-up thoughts on BnHA 306

mostly Deku angst, but also a little Baku angst (and some TodoBaku angst) mixed in for good measure. because there’s plenty of angst to go around.

1. “if I’d only been stronger...”

I’ll talk more about Deku later in this post as well, because there’s definitely plenty to talk about; this is the most character development he’s gotten in almost 200 chapters. but for starters, I want to discuss the possible parallels between Deku’s current character arc, and what is arguably the most iconic moment of angst/character development in the series.

remember how this kid, who up until this point had rarely seemed to give two fucks about the world around him, suddenly revealed that he blamed himself for being the downfall of All Might? remember how it came almost out of nowhere? how he’d been hiding it, and trying to suppress it? “but even if I try to forget... sometimes it all just comes rushing back.”

yeah. so anyway, I got to thinking -- if being the cause of one hero’s downfall could affect someone this badly, what about being responsible for the downfall of all heroes?

what if a boy who wanted nothing more than to keep people safe suddenly found himself at the epicenter of a disaster that killed hundreds, possibly even thousands of people?

now obviously, this is not the sole thing that’s troubling Deku right now; this kid has a whole array of traumas as of the War arc. like, you know it’s bad when Society As We Know It Coming To An End Partially Because Of You is the least of your problems. but still, I think this is worth bringing up, because the hero kids blaming themselves for things that aren’t their fault is hardly anything new. and yet, what with everything else that’s been going on -- all of the Todoroki drama, and Vestige revelations, and hospital antics, and political strife -- I feel like it’s easy to forget or overlook this little detail.

the fact is that AFO put this entire plan into motion solely in the hopes of finally obtaining OFA. every single thing that happened at Jakku -- Tomura powering up; Machia waking up and going on his rampage (after being ordered to do so by Tomura); and even Dabi/Touya choosing this moment to finally strike (because he knew this was when the reveal would do the maximum damage -- when people’s faith in heroes was already wavering) -- every last bit of it can ultimately be traced back to AFO’s desire to steal OFA. which, obviously, makes it AFO’s fault, not Deku’s. but then, Kamino wasn’t actually Katsuki’s fault either. it wasn’t his fault the villains went after him (but he blamed himself anyway), and it wasn’t his fault that people got hurt in the ensuing battle to save him (but he blamed himself anyway).

just. I think we’re underestimating just how strong of an impact all of this likely had on Deku. we haven’t really had the chance to see him process it yet. he’s been too busy, and there have been too many other things going on. but I’m telling you guys, that empty look in his eyes in the final page of the chapter? I can all but guarantee you that at least some of that emotional weight is coming from this.

sure would be nice if he had a friend who knew exactly what that was like, and could help him process the guilt and all of the other associated emotions, just like Deku once helped him. unfortunately I’m not so sure things will be that easy this time around. anyways though let’s move on to a couple of other thoughts and speculations.

2. “...and I bullied him.”

one of my least-favorite BnHA fanfic tropes is the one where the rest of class 1-A somehow finds out about Katsuki and Deku’s history -- i.e. that Katsuki bullied Deku throughout most of their childhood. mind you, it’s not the concept itself that I dislike; it’s mostly how it’s used. a lot of times it’s just an excuse to have all of the other kids turn on Katsuki and ostracize him; either because the author thinks that’s what he deserves, or else so that Deku can eventually come to his rescue and defend him and shame the rest of the class for not seeing how much he’s changed. either way, it’s usually pretty awkward to read, and more often than not the characters are pretty OOC (especially Ochako and Todoroki).

however! there’s a big difference between fanfic and canon, and just because I’m not a fan of this trope in the former doesn’t mean it couldn’t be executed well in the latter. and lately I’ve been thinking about this a lot. mainly for three reasons:

the recent (can we still call it recent?? well whatever) scene where Katsuki confessed to All Might that he used to bully Deku is now one of my favorite scenes in the entire series, and proof that this can be executed well.

both Todoroki and Deku have finally had their respective big secrets revealed to the rest of the class. so like, idk. feels like it just might be secret-revealing season now, you know?

and lastly, as a result of Deku’s secret about OFA finally being revealed, the rest of 1-A now either knows, or can extrapolate, that he used to be quirkless.

and from there, I feel like it’s not all that hard to put two and two together with how terrible Kacchan and Deku’s relationship was when they first started at UA. that’s not a terribly difficult puzzle to solve. so I feel like it might come out anyway, and if so, I’d prefer Bakugou telling them himself, and taking responsibility as part of his atonement process. because we know that he regrets it. we know their relationship has changed. we know that he has changed. and so I think I might like to see this.

alternately, if confessing to the entire class is too much, at the very least I could see him confessing to Shouto, because I’ve always felt like this was one of the big things that made Katsuki so resistant to letting Todoroki call him a friend. because I feel like there’s a part of Katsuki that saw the parallels between Endeavor’s abuse of Shouto and his own bullying of Deku, and thought, he wouldn’t be so quick to call me his friend if he actually knew the truth. and so there’s actually been this roadblock wedged between them this whole time that Shouto doesn’t even know about. because Shouto hates Endeavor. and so it’s not such a leap to assume he’d hate Katsuki too if he knew just how terrible he’d been to Deku when they were younger.

not that I think he actually would! actually I don’t think either of those things is actually true (because Shouto clearly doesn’t hate his father either, in spite of everything that’s happened). but the point isn’t what I think -- the point is what Katsuki thinks. and I really do think there’s a good chance he’s worried about Shouto hating him, and it’s one of the things that’s made him so reluctant to accept his friendship. anyway, so I’m really just rambling now, but you get my point. I don’t know if this is actually going to happen, but it’s a scene I would like to see if Horikoshi decides to indulge me.

3. “...so when you wake up, please give him my best.”

and now, as promised, back to Deku.

ngl guys, when I first saw this image, my immediate thought was that Gran must have died. because I mean, hello, leaving U.A.?? donning himself in his teacher’s old cape?? empty, exhausted look in his eyes?? what else were we supposed to think lol.

but maybe that was an overreaction. because when I think about it more, Gran’s death isn’t strictly necessary in order to push Deku over the edge. first of all, there’s already the whole “hero society is in ruins now because of you” thing I mentioned earlier. but also, there are just so many other things. like, let’s just list them here because omg. what a rough couple of days this kid had.

he was forced to battle TomurAFO and was terribly injured in the process (most of which was his own fault, but he wouldn’t have gone that far with OFA unless he felt like he had no choice)

and it wasn’t just him that was injured, either. in fact, even though he tried to act as bait to keep everyone else safe, he wasn’t able to stop three of the people closest to him from nearly being killed right before his eyes

and of course that last one was especially traumatic, because it was Kacchan, and because he had to watch Kacchan nearly die just to protect him. out of all the things that Deku witnessed in this arc, this might be the one that had the biggest impact on him

he was also basically helpless to do anything to protect Shouto and Endeavor when Dabi showed up. so again, we have this running theme of people he cares about being hurt and him not being able to save them

and he also got sucked into the OFA Interstellar Dream Vortex for a brief spell during the battle, during which he learned that AFO had possessed Tomura. more importantly, he learned that Tomura was Nana’s grandson, a fact which was only briefly touched on during that scene, but which I think wound up being the trigger to the whole avalanche that ended with Deku leaving UA. but more on that in a moment

anyway so just to wrap this all up, the battle eventually ended, Tomura got away despite all of their efforts, and then Deku wound up comatose in the hospital for two days. which brings us to the most recent chapters, during which

Deku learns that he will be the last wielder of OFA, whether he likes or not

Deku learns the identity of the last two mystery OFA users

and then at some point, he wakes up and presumably talks to Gran, and winds up with his cape

something happened during these last two scenes which helped to push Deku over the edge. I won’t delve into the matter of the Second or Third users for now, although most of you already know my suspicions regarding that, and I do think that would fit into the general pattern here (that is, the pattern of Deku feeling more and more strongly that he is putting the people around him in danger, and his fear of losing them becoming so overwhelming that it eventually pushes him to leave).

but that’s not what I want to talk about for now. what I want to talk about is Gran. specifically, what it is that Deku discussed with Gran. and this is where we come back to that reveal I mentioned earlier -- that Tomura is Nana’s grandchild.

basically, what I think happened is that Deku mentioned seeing Nana in the OFA Zany Psychedelic Spirit Void, which led to the topic of Tomura, and the fun fact Deku recently learned about him being related to Nana. this, in turn leads to Gran divulging his various regrets about everything that happened with him and Nana and Kotarou. his intent is to apologize to Deku for placing the burden of their failures on him. unfortunately, the part that Deku actually gets fixated on instead is this:

All for One hunted down and killed Nana’s son (and probably her husband as well), and stole her grandchild and psychologically tortured him into becoming a mass murderer, for no other reason than that Nana had once held OFA

in other words, AFO can and will hurt and kill anyone Deku is close to, anyone who has any kind of connection to him at all, without mercy, and regardless of whether it actually gives him any kind of tactical advantage or not. he’ll do it simply to hurt him. no other reason necessary.

I don’t know about you, but for me that would be a terrifying realization. and for Deku, I think it just might have been the tipping point.

so, let’s recap.

Deku learns that AFO is after him

AFO/Tomura very nearly kills several of Deku’s most important people, including Kacchan

and then he learns that this is just the tip of the iceberg, and realizes that all of their lives are still in danger and will continue to be as long as Deku is AFO’s target

and then add to all of this the misplaced guilt about society already being shambles, and the heroes already having more than enough to worry about. they’re barely holding things together as it is. and we already know how Deku feels about being a burden to them:

and so instead, he leaves. of course he does. in hindsight, I think this was inevitable.

the question is, did anyone else also put the pieces together in time to realize what Deku was planning before he actually left? specifically, did Katsuki, who understands Deku’s self-sacrificial nature better than anyone else, see the signs and put two and two together? like he did back at Jakku?

and if he did, would Deku have been willing to accept his help again?

somehow, I can’t help but think it might not be that easy this time.

anyway, so that was a lot of rambling, lol. sorry about that. I JUST HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS about all of this angsty shit. tired nomad Deku needs hugs and comfort and someone to reassure him that he doesn’t have to face this alone, and that everything is going to be all right. HE IS JUST A LITTLE BOY. this is too much, and I cannot handle any of these feels, and oh my god, somebody please help him.

[phantoms-lair]

11?

Detective Conan and Detective Conan. Oh, I have an idea for this

"Shinchi are you awake?" Ran buzzed the intercom at the gate. Outwardly she was annoyed, but inwardly she was struggling not to grin ear from ear. Today was their date (maybe not a date date, but still) at Tropical Land.

"Awake yes," Shinchi answered cheerfully from over the intercom. "Things are just a little weird here right now."

Her annoyed frown became more real. "Shinichi. This isn't an excuse to get out of Tropical Land."

"That's today?" He asked surprised, though his voice sounded farther away.

"You'd better come in." The voice was closer again. "I mean, you should come in anyway, but I think this got more complicated."

"Which is saying something." The last sentence sounded staticy and almost bitter. It didn't sound like Shinichi at all.

"Is there someone else there with you?" She asked.

"The answer to that is more complicated than you think." Shinichi answered brightly. "Come on in and we'll explain."

It was funny how Shinichi didn't think he got his mother's sense of dramatics. "At least you're not in your pajamas." Ran said as she took her shoes off.

"Don't hold onto that too much." He said, smiling. That was odd. The school uniform wasn't nearly rumpled enough for him to have slept in.

"You're being cryptic today."

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Honestly, it's just a weird situation. It'll make more sense in the kitchen. Or lose all sense. One of those two."

Ran rolled her eyes and walked into the kitchen, but stopped dead when she saw what, or rather who, was there. At the kitchen island still in his pajamas, sat Shinichi Kudo with a shellshocked expression. Next to him sat a rather garishly dressed Shinichi Kudo wearing sunglasses and hair bleached so thoroughly it was stark white and seemed to glow. And getting a cup of coffee was Shinichi Kudo in a hoodie.

"So, the Shinichi you're looking for is unfortunately still in his pajamas." said the Shinichi she'd been talking to.

"Who are you all?" Ran asked.

"Kudo Shinichi." He answered easily. "Unlike two of the others here I never answered to any other name."

Bleached Hair and Hoodie Shinichi glowered at him. Pajama Shinichi just looked at Ran confused and with a slightly pleading look.

"Best guess we have is reality has gone a bit wonky." Hoodie Shinichi said, his expression softening as it shifted from the Shinichi next to her to Ran. "This actually happened on my world before, but larger scale. There it was two realities slowly merging together, one taking on traits of this other. This is more like there's a Kudo Shinichi shaped hole that we keep falling through." He shrugged. "Honestly I'm not too worried. Pretty sure Hydalean will be able to find me."

"Hydalean?" Ran asked.

"Don't bother." Bleached Hair Shinichi rolled his eyes. "He refuses to elaborate. And unfortunately none of the rest of us have any experience with multiple realities, so we're going to have to take his word for it. Let's go with what we do know. Tropical Land. Today." His had certainly been the bitter voice from earlier. He slipped back into it as he mentioned Tropical Land, though Hoodie Shinichi look uncomfortable at it's mention.

"So long story short, this is a day all of us interdimensional travelers have already been through and it did not go according to plan." Uniform Shinichi put his hand to his chin. "But honestly there's no reason this time it can't. Without our foreknowledge we should be able to avert the roller coaster murder before it happens. Save you guys a nice bit of trauma of seeing someone decapitated one seat away from you."

Ran blanched and Pajama Shinichi didn't look much better.

"What about them Hoodie Shinchi asked darkly. Uniform Shinichi shrugged. "I captured their men when one of them thought he was sneaking up behind me. With the two of us actively on the lookout for them, it'll be even easier."

"What do you mean two?" Bleached Hair Shinichi stood up.

"You are not coming."

"The hell I'm not. They killed-"

"And this is why." Hoodie Shinichi put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Remember when you told us about how you reacted to seeing the same car Gin drove? I get it. They messed me up too, I'm not going to pretend they didn't. But you lost more. You lose your rationality when it involves them. We can't afford that, this world's Shinichi can't afford it, and I'm not sure you could either."

"Then what am I supposed to do? Just sit here? While knowing that if one thing goes wrong they-"

"Find Akemi." Hoodie Shinichi responded.

Bleached Hair Shinichi looked taken aback, then nodded.

"Akemi?" Ran asked.

Uniform Shinichi just shrugged and Pajama Shinichi shook his head.

"Someone who will be killed by the Organization which the two men we'll be capturing today work for." Hoodie Shinichi explained. "She's trying to protect her younger sister and they'll use that to kill her. I-we," He acknowledge Bleached Hair Shinichi, "didn't find out until it was too late and all we could do was sit with her so she didn't die alone."

Uniform Shinichi's head turned sharply to the side and Ran could see his whole body tense up, hands balling into fists.

"You knew her?" Ran asked.

"Not her." His voice was thick with emotion. "But someone else I spent a year trying to save. We came so close but in the end, after all he did for us, all I could do was hold his hand." He took a deep breath, then faced Pajama Shinichi. "Things fall apart. For those two, it was today. For me it was much earlier. I don't know when it will be for you, but it won't be today. Get dressed, go to school, and have a good date. We'll take care of any would be murderers. I promise."

~~~~

For reference:

Pajama Shinichi - Canon Shinichi

Bleached Hair Shinichi - Halfa Shinichi from The Phantom Detective Redux

Uniform Shinichi - Graduate of the Assasination Classrom from the earlier fic snippet

Hoodie Shinichi - don't have anything written for this (yet) but the story behind it is the basis for this fanart I commissioned, which explains why he's wearing a hoodie.

[peterpparkrr]

(Bucky Barnes x reader): Sessions

Summary: The reader goes to therapy, sees a new face. 

A/N: I’m gonna try and work through my writer’s block by posting little blurbs each week for FatWS - they’ll probably end up being Very short because y’know, it’s my final semester of college but I want to do something that’ll actually make me happy.

Dr. Gardiner said that it was normal. Well, not normal, exactly, but common. Apparently, it’s a common experience among those with complex PTSD to feel on edge, startled, even seemingly without reason. 

Unfortunately, that didn’t mean shit when you were standing in the waiting room, staring at the guy sitting in the blue chair in front of you. Sitting in your spot, the chair you’d decided was the best spot in the waiting room a long time ago, you could see everything from that chair, everyone who came in and out of the area. 

Talking to people has never been your strong suit, and initiating a conversation with a stranger? A man? A strange, scary-looking man? After everything you’d been through? 

But Dr. Gardiner wanted you to practice imitating small talk with strangers. It was part of the exposure therapy that she wanted you to try working through. 

“Hi,” You said quietly as you sat down on the other side of the waiting room, a few chairs over from the man. You didn’t look him in the eyes, but you let your eyes hover on the large painting behind him. 

He smiled at you but didn’t reply verbally. 

You breathed out a sigh of relief. That wasn’t so bad, now was it?

---

“I said hi to a man in the waiting room,” You tell your therapist as you try to get comfortable on the couch across from her.

“And?” Dr. Gardiner prompts you.

“A lot of Dr. Raynor’s patients are working through trauma too, right?” 

You knew they were, Dr. Raynor and Dr. Gardiner are both VA therapists. Dr. Gardiner had been appointed by the state as your therapist after-

Well, that’s not important right now.

“I assume so, but you know we don’t talk to each other or anyone else about your clients, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, doctor-patient confidentially or whatever.” You tell her dismissively as you wave your hand around. 

But she just stares at you, silently encouraging you to continue with your story.

“He seemed different from the other vets that I usually see in the waiting room. He was less jittery. But it made me… I felt nervous. But I guess knowing he was probably just as fucked as I am made it so I didn’t feel so afraid.”

“I’m not sure what I would have done if he’d actually started a conversation with me.” You admit after a few moments. While you’d been doing Dr. Gardiner’s homework for a few weeks, you knew that in New York City of all places, the chances of anyone actually saying anything back to you were pretty low. Even if they looked friendly you couldn’t guarantee you’d even get a “hello” in return. 

“That’s alright, we can work up to that,” Dr. Gardiner tells you, “Other than your interaction in the waiting room, how was your week? Have the breathing exercises been working?”

“Kinda,” You lie. Of course, they’re not. Most of the stuff Dr. Gardiner tells you to do doesn’t work. The drugs cause just as many problems as they solve, and the breathing exercises, the homework, it makes you feel worse most of the time. But you can’t tell her that - it’s supposed to be helping. She’s supposed to be helping. 

“(Y/N), you need to be honest with me if this is supposed to work.”

“I just feel bad. I know it’s supposed to help, that it’s supposed to make me feel better, but it doesn’t.” You tell her, “I just can’t seem to calm myself down. No matter how hard I try.” 

“Maybe we can come up with some new exercises to try instead.”

“Yeah,” You nod as you look down at your hands, which you notice you’ve been wringing in your lap, seemingly without your awareness.

“We need to work together to come up with solutions, (Y/N), but I need you to be honest with me when things aren’t working, okay?”

“I… I just don’t want you to feel like you’re not doing a good job,” You shrug, “I know you’re trying to help, and I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

“Some things just don’t work, and we can try different ones, it’s no one fault. It’s not a failure when one of the solutions we come up with doesn’t work, it’s just part of the process to find a solution that does help.”

You don’t say anything, but nod. 

“This seems like another stuck point for you, (Y/N), now why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know,” You mutter

“Do you think there’s a reason that this brings up some really negative emotions for you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think that maybe this perceived failure ties back to something that happened when you were-”

“Maybe I was fucked up before the kidnapping! I don’t know anymore! I just felt bad, why is that wrong?!” You shout.

“(Y/N), please calm down,” Dr. Gardiner says slowly as she looks up after your unexpected outburst with alarm.

“No! Maybe I’m tired of trying to make this situation feel okay because guess what? It’s not okay! Every day I have to live with what those guys did to me! I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t do anything, and you keep telling me that it’ll get better, but it’s not, if anything it’s getting worse. And I’m tired of pretending that I’m okay!”

As your screaming in Dr. Gardiner’s face, you don’t even realize you’re standing up now, but the room is too hot, and it’s starting to get way too small and you feel like you’re suffocating.

You can’t breathe all of a sudden and it’s all too much. You push your way out of her office.

As you stormed out of the office you nearly plowed directly into someone. The guy from earlier. Dr. Raynor’s patient.

“Whoa, hey, are you okay?” He asks as he reaches out to you.

“I’m fine!” You all but shout, “Don’t. Touch. Me.” You spit in his face as you rip your arm out of his grasp.

“Hey, hey,” Dr. Gardiner says as she comes rushing out behind you and leads you back towards her office, “Thank you, I’ve got her,” She says to the guy as she tries to herd you away from him.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N)? Can you hear me? We’re gonna try one of those new exercises now, okay? I’m going to need you to sit down for me.”

You all but collapse to the floor of the hallway as Dr. Gardiner starts to walk you through the breathing exercise and ground you again.

[itrytowrite-things]

Murder podcasts

Spencer Reid x reader 

Summary: Y/N has a tendency to listen to murder podcasts while doing chores, one day Spencer comes in unannounced scaring Y/N into action. (This summary sucks but it’s fluffy) 

A/N: shout out to @with-paint, she helped me form some of this fic so check them out. 

The eerie background music and narrator filled the kitchen as I scrubbed diligently at a plate. I blinked down at it, trying in vain to remember what the hell I used it for that would cause such a stubborn stain of food. Sighing, I squeezed the soap bottle some more and ran hot water over it. Maybe soaking it would help? 

Grabbing a few of the cups I had washed, I spun around from the sink to a towel I had laid out earlier. I scrunched my nose as cold soap suds ran down my arm, hit my elbow and fell to the floor in a sticky mess I didn’t want to deal with right now. 

I was so engrossed in the podcast playing over the Alexa that I barely even processed the grueling chore that was longer than normal. I was lost in the words, that an hour longer scrubbing at dishes seemed almost fun. The dishwasher had completely died a couple of weeks ago. 

Normally Spencer would speed read the manual to figure out what was wrong with the stupid machine. But unfortunately, his case in Michigan was taking longer than he anticipated. So, he hadn’t been home to look into it, leaving me to hand wash the dishes. I didn’t mind, it was a mindless task and allowed me to catch up on my favorite podcast. 

“They found her body a week later, twenty minutes from their house,” I shook my head at that, case freaking solved. Her husband obviously killed her. I mean there’s no way the police didn’t solve this case, come on.

I moved from the towel back to the sink, sticking my hands back into the soapy water. I always believed that I should be a detective. I could solve these cases easily, Spencer claims that suspicion can only take me so far and the reason that they don’t catch the guy is not because they don’t suspect it, but because they don’t have hard evidence. I normally just scoff and give him a kiss knowing that I would get the bad guy in the end, “hard evidence” my ass. 

“Two months later the police came in and found Jeff’s disembodied head laying on their kitchen counter.” My jaw dropped and I turned around furiously, bringing a wet butter knife with me, on instinct I pointed the knife at the device. 

“Oh shit.” I said to the speaker, as if it were relaying the case itself. Well turns out I was wrong. I cleared my throat and lowered the stupid knife. I placed it down and tried my best to look less scandalized. We all make mistakes. So I might have been a little off in my husband theory, but I mean I had only heard half the case at that point so it doesn’t speak anything of my amazing detective skills. I nodded at that and tossed the knife into a little stack of silverware. The metallic sound echoing around the kitchen. I smirked at my good throw and turned back to the sink. 

I quickly got into the true grove of washing the dishes, listening to the more gruesome details of the case. Turns out the killer did quite a number on old Jeff. I was halfway done with the remaining dishes when I felt a tap on my shoulder sending my heart into a frenzy. 

I whirled around quickly bringing the closest item with me as a weapon. The plastic spatula slapped the asalint straight in the face creating an awfully loud twack sound that bounced off the kitchen walls. I blinked in horror at realizing who exactly was standing in front of me. 

Spencer's cheek turned red immediately. 

“Oh my god! Spence! I am so sorry!” I dropped the spatula and brought my other hand to his face trying to soothe his skin. My hand was covered in water and soap suds, and it dripped down his face onto the already wet floor.

“I am so so sorry. You scared me.” I rubbed my thumb over the spot, feeling his heated skin. Jesus, I felt awful. I didn’t hold anything back when I hit him. I figured I was fending for my life, not greeting my boyfriend. 

“It’s okay.” His much larger hand cupped mine removing it from his face. The redness had died down a little, making his skin a rosy pink instead of the previous bright red. He looked adorable which only made me feel worse. Who looks that cute after getting slapped in the face with a spatula? 

Spencer startled me yet again when a chuckle came bubbling out of him. His laugh was like someone bottled the sound of happiness. It made my own laughter arise every time without a doubt even if I didn’t understand what was funny.

“I guess I don’t have to worry about you protecting yourself.” A loud squeak sound emitted from my body unexpectedly followed by more laughter. I slapped him very lightly across the chest, kissing his unharmed cheek. 

“You're lucky I wasn’t cutting vegetables.” I said,  rustling my way into his arms pulling his body against my tightly, loving the way his laughter shook my entire body. I felt the short press of his lips against the crown of my head before tucking my head into the nook of his neck. I inhaled deeply, taking the scent of him with me. The apartment had started to lose its scent with him being gone for so long. I was beyond eager for the apartment to smell like us again.

“I think those podcasts are giving you wild ideas.” 

“They would never find your body Dr.Reid.” I teased, poking gently at his side making him squirm in my grip. Another round of laughter filled the small space, it was only when it died down that I realized my podcast was still running in the background. 

“Alexa, stop,” I shouted into the air stopping the podcast. “The neighbor did it.” I said with coincidence knowing that my answer was correct this time. Spencer let out a belt of laughter, nodding his head, a big grin on his face. 

I pulled back from Spencer taking in his features for the first time. He looked tired, his eye bags had doubled creating a skunk in effect. I could see the trouble in his eyes, the case was hard. It killed me to see him after a hard case, he looked more and more defeated after each one. However, it was what he loved doing and my job wasn’t to erase the trauma of his job, but to ease him back into daily life. I thumbed his eye bags lazily, a pout taking over my face. 

“You wanna take a shower and I’ll start us some dinner.” I asked gently. Not wanting to completely destroy the quiet we created. He nodded slightly looking younger than ever. I quickly pulled him back into me taking all of his weight. “I love you bub.” His hair felt silky against my fingertips as I disentangled the curls. 

“Love you too.” He mumbled, his heated breath warming my skin. I waited a few comfortable minutes rocking our conjoined bodies in the cozy silence of our kitchen, I took a deep breath and said what was on my mind. 

“You wanna talk about it?”

I don’t ever ask Spencer for the details of his cases. He either goes into a tangent without prompting or doesn’t feel like talking about it. I used to think that talking to Spencer about his job would be like listening to my murder podcasts. It honestly was one of the things I was excited for, but I soon found out it’s nothing like that.

When Spencer spoke of cases it was personal. He felt every death that was caused and saw every killing through the eyes of monsters. He held so much emotion in his voice when he spoke of the victims, that I often can’t help but cry. How a person can hold that much pain and still continue to do it everyday, is beside me. 

He shook his head, squeezing my torso before finally pulling back and placing a soft kiss to my lips. 

I continued the dishes, washing the last few. I left the podcast off, listening instead to the shower from down the hall. I scrubbed off the last of the grime before starting the oven. A simple dinner was always best in these situations. I pulled out a pre-made chicken pot pie from the freezer and placed it in the oven. 

As I moved to dry and put away the dishes while waiting for pie to finish. Spencer emerged from the bathroom freshly bathed. He wore a thin gray shirt paired with some soft looking sweatpants. My upper lip jutted out automatically. God I love him. 

“Feel better?” I kept my voice low, not wanting to startle any peace that the shower might have brought him. He nodded slowly. 

“What did you cook?”

“A chicken pot pie, I hope that’s okay.” 

“It’s perfect.” He smiled and returned to my arms, kissing my neck once before tucking his head into my neck. The edge of his wet hair scraped against my skin in an uncomfortable way, yet I only moved enough to rub circles into his back. 

A loud beep emitted from the oven caused me to jump in Spencer's arms. He let out a small chuckle. 

“Pick us something to watch and I’ll plate us some food.” I hummed turning my back to him. I heard him walking towards the living room as I bent to retrieve the hot food. 

Spencer sat criss cross on the couch, Les Enfants du Paradis was displayed on the TV. I handed him the steaming bowl and sat down, sitting close enough for our knees to knock together. I have no idea what Les Enfants du Paradis was, but I would watch literally anything he wanted as long as he was here. 

“It’s in French, but I figured I could whisper the translations to you while we watch. Or I could pick something else?” 

“No! This is perfect Spence. I love it when you translate, you tell the story better.” He let out a little blush highlighting his previous slap mark. I bit my lip and winced slightly, “How’s your face?” 

He touched the spot faintly, he didn’t wince when his fingers made contact which was a good sign. However, I have an inkling that a small bruise would form in the center of the slap which was going to be a fun story to tell his colleagues Monday. 

“I’ve had worse, but you wield a lot of power with a cheap piece of plastic.”

“I am professionally trained in the art of spatula wielding Spence, don’t try that at home.” I stared at him, my face blank before a blast of laughter came out of both of us. One can only be so serious when you are talking about slapping people in the face with kitchen utensils. 

Spencer started up the movie, and we remained there for the rest of the evening. Laughter and dramatic sighs followed by even more dramatic translations from Spencer. At some point he went so off script that even I could tell his story was bullshit. I didn’t call him out though just allowed him to spit nonsense, I would let him create fake French stories until he was blue in the face if that meant we got to stay in this happy bubble forever. 

[jaeminzie]

worth it | l.dh

↳ lee haechan x gender nuetral!reader

synopsis: having a turtoring session with fratboy!hyuck that you were bribed into turned into a cuddle session, but he definitely didn’t mind at all

genre: fluffff

word count: 2,123

you rubbed your head in frustration as the memory kept replaying in your head, making you regret your past decision. earlier in the day, lee donghyuck was practically begging you to tutor him for his upcoming exam. you were so set on saying ‘no’ because you very much disliked the guy but he began to wave fifty dollars in your face. and you, a broke college student, completely forgot about all the unfavorable feelings towards the boy and gave in.

but as hours passed by, you began to reconsider if spending time with donghyuck was worth fifty dollars. maybe if it were doubled then you wouldn’t be second-guessing your past decision. you looked at your phone to check the time, just to see if it was too late to back out now. and unfortunately for you, it was.

you let out a loud groan in the middle of the student café lounge area that you and your best friend, renjun, were relaxing in. “nice to see you doing well, y/n.” renjun took a pause from drawing on his sketchbook and looked up smiling mockingly at you to which you didn’t respond to in any way shape or form. the smile dropped and a wave of annoyance took over his facial expressions. “okay, what is it. are you hungry? you should’ve just aske-”

“i’m not always hungry.” you rolled your eyes at him and lowered yourself in your seat. “it’s donghyuck-”

“oh god. then whatever it is, that obnoxiously loud groan was valid.” he groaned with you. renjun never had a good impression on donghyuck because he didn’t brake his car for renjun when he was trying to walk across the pedestrian crosswalk, and donghyuck never said sorry nor look apologetic. instead, he just gave renjun trauma. he’s the reason why renjun always wait ten seconds minimum before crossing the street. although it gets annoying, his lost face before crossing reminds you of a cute kitten which makes up for the long wait. “what did he do this time?”

“he’s paying me to tutor him at his frat.” his face was evident in disgust and empathy. “i’m regretting saying yes because i’m too exhausted to deal with him.” you whined and put your face in your hands, rubbing it harshly in an attempt to wake yourself up.

“y/n, you are so strong.” he grabbed your hand away from your face and rubbed your hand awkwardly as he looked at you with apologetic eyes. “no but seriously, text me when he starts acting up. i’ll have jaemin with me for backup because i mean.” he lifted up his arms and tried to flex his arm muscles. key word: tried. “you know.”

you let out a chuckle, closed your eyes, and let your head fall back. “i’ll definitely be live texting you whenever he says and does something stupid.”

“so basically, what you’re saying is that you’ll be texting me every second. might as well have me on facetime.” 

you looked back at your best friend who was showing a toothy grin. “basically.” you checked your phone again and saw that if you didn’t leave now then you’d be late to the session. “fuck, i gotta get going. please wish me luck.” you lazily got up, got your bag and stood still in front of renjun with a face that was screaming ‘help me.’

“c’mon at least you’re getting paid, right?”

“you’re right, i need to stop being such a child.” you sighed and tried to erase every negative thought and feeling inside of you.

“kick his ass if he acts up though.” he raised an eyebrow at you.

you scoffed, “of course of course.” you sighed once again and pet renjun’s hair as you walked emotionless out of the student café and made your way to the bus stop.

donghyuck’s fraternity was only a couple blocks away and it honestly wouldn’t take long to walk there but you were too tired to even try.

the commute was quick but you wish it wasn’t. there you were, standing outside the door of regret. the outside was fairly clean but you knew that the inside would be a completely different story. you knocked a few times on the white door before a smiling donghyuck greeted you. “oh wow, you actually came.”

you fought back the urge to roll your eyes. “you’re welcome.” you both stood there awkwardly while he stared you down and you tried avoiding eye contact.

“oh sorry, come in.” he turned his body to make way for yours to enter his place. “i made sure we’re alone because it’s usually loud when the others are here. they’ll be back in a couple hours, though.” he scratched his neck and yawned while you examined the place. you were right, the inside was messy but to your surprise, it wasn’t too bad.

“yeah sounds good. it shouldn’t take too long” you turned to face him and gawked at his appearance. okay there’s no denying donghyuck is pretty decent looking, but he looks extra good today. he stood there awkwardly with his hands rested in the pockets of his oversized black jacket. his hair was slightly ruffled up, you can tell he just woke up from a nap. “you really thought i’d flake on you?” you raised an eyebrow.

his eyes wondered your facial features and marks. “i mean, you kinda hate me so.”

“i don’t hate you.” you corrected him. you may have a strong disfavor of him but you don’t hate him.

he smirked, his body seemed to relax a lot more. “then, let’s get started.” he walked past me and lead the way up the spiral staircase and into his room, which was surprisingly clean and well decorated with a tidy computer gaming set at the corner.

you set your bag right by the bed which you sat on. “so specifically, what are you struggling on?” you asked him looking at his figure that was leaned against his dresser a couple feet across from you.

“uh everything?” he let out a shy laugh and crossed his arms in front of him.

you decided not to scold him for always partying because truth is, you don’t know anything that’s going on in his life so you swallowed the upcoming insults that were climbing up your throat. “oh, well, we should get started asap then so we don’t finish too late.” you cleared your throat.

his eyes widened in surprise like he was expecting your usual witty remarks that he secretly loved, but you weren’t aware of his fondness for your attitude. “yeah for sure, let me get my stuff.” he hurriedly gathered his materials and set them on the bed next to me since he didn’t have a desk in his room. well, he did have his computer desk but there was definitely no room for books there.

he climbed on the bed and rested on his stomach and flipped the pages of the textbook, trying to find the first section he needed assistance on.

you kicked off your shoes and laid down next to him, but keeping your distance from him. he smirked slightly while still keeping his focus on the page. “you can scoot closer so you can see the book clearer.” he looked at you with innocent eyes.

in instinct, you rolled your eyes and scooted a bit closer to him. close enough to smell his cologne and close enough to see his moles randomly placed on his face and neck clearly. you took your attention away from his face when he suddenly made eye contact with you, catching you off-guard. 

his warm, soft bedsheets did no help in keeping you awake. you tried to focus on the words he was spitting out but every word entered one ear and went out the other as your eyelids began to feel heavier, and your vision slowly began to black out.

—

“dude what the fuck happened?” an unfamiliar whisper woke you up from your sleep but you ignored it, just trying to go back to your dreamland.

until you felt something absurd, someone’s warm embrace wrapped around you, your head was now resting on a pillow and an arm, and your cheek was rubbing against a wet patch of what you assumed was your drool on a white t-shirt fabric. “bro shut the fuck up, you’re gonna wake y/n up.” now, that was a familiar whisper to you. your heartbeat raced faster and faster as you made the conclusion that you were cuddling with the lee donghyuck. you internally groaned knowing that renjun will never shut up about this once you tell him. this will be his winning comeback for your future arguments. i mean, you could not tell him but what kind of best friend would you be if you didn’t inform him of the time you magically started cuddling with a man you disliked—but still enjoyed it.

“you better tell me everything later.” the whisper was a lot harsher than the first one, then silence followed after the unknown boy closed the door. you assumed he was gone but you waited to lift your head up to make it not obvious that you were awake to listen to their conversation.

“i know you’re awake.” donghyuck laughed above you, his chest rumbled against your cheek. “you stopped snoring a while ago.”

you groaned in annoyance and also in embarrassment. you slowly lifted your head up to look up at him and you were not ready to see the sight of him looking down at you with a soft smile and even messier hair, causing your heart to skip a beat. both your arms were still wrapped around each other, leaving no space between you both. “what the fuck.” you blurted out, not knowing what else to say.

donghyuck’s tired smile widened. “i should be the one asking you that. sweetheart, you’re the one who cuddled up to me first.” he enjoyed watching your face flush red in embarrassment, anger, and also by the way he looked at you so attentively. “you know, its quite rude.” he tightened his grip around you. “i’m supposed to be paying for a tutoring lesson.” he pursed his lips and furrowed his eyebrows, not breaking eye contact with you.

you remained looking at him with shaky eyes, not believing the situation you were in. your mouth opened, then it closed, then it opened to say something but donghyuck cut you off. “but this is so much better, my money well spent.” he sighed contently and closed his eyes, rubbing his cheek against the top of your head.

you could’ve protested or done anything to get out of his grip but your body stayed the way it is. “i didn’t even get to teach you one lesson, i’m sorry.” you were sincere with your apology, you wasted his time and now he’s probably gonna fail his exam if you two keep cuddling.

“i don’t care about that. i prefer this much more.” his eyes were still closed. you continued to admire his face and tried to memorize every single detail and placement of each mark. “hmmm, why don’t you take a picture?” he hummed, still keeping his eyes closed.

your hands made their way up his ear and pinched it. he let out a whine and finally opened his eyes which immediately landed directly on yours. “quit it.” you warned him.

“as you wish, darling.” his voice became lower and it almost sounded like a whisper. a soft smirk appeared on his face and his eyes were sparkling under the moonlight that shined through his window. “i love talking to you but i think i finally found something i love even more—sleeping with you.”

you opened your mouth to say something but his finger pressed against your lips to keep you quiet. he shushes you softly while he shuffled slightly to find a comfortable position, still keeping his embrace secure around you and his eyelids began to slowly drop. you admired his face once more before closing your eyes as well.

the question you asked yourself earlier today lingered in your mind before drifting off to your sleep again. is spending time with donghyuck worth fifty dollars? considering how warm he felt against you, and how you loved to hear his breathing and soft snores above you, and how perfect your body naturally molded into his embrace. you could finally answer the question confidently, yes.

[charlieconwayy]

D3: The Mighty Ducks (1996) is the best Ducks movie and a flawless coming of age movie

It’s no secret that The Mighty Ducks are a beloved trilogy. The three films spawned a professional NHL team named in their honor, 2021 sequel series, as well as many knockoff films released in the 1990s. But with any movie series, fans tend to rank the films and have passionate opinions on which is the best. For most Ducks fans, the answer is simple: D2. It has the Bash Brothers, Team USA dominating, the iconic “Ducks Fly Together” scene and two Queen songs. What’s not to love? But upon a rewatch of the trilogy, I came to realize that it’s not D2, or even the original, that is the best in the series.

It’s the criminally underrated 1996 D3 that for me, is the most mature and has the most heart. Perhaps it’s that the Ducks are now old enough to carry their own weight on screen. Perhaps it’s that the film takes a look at trauma, specifically trauma in teenagers, and how that manifests itself. Perhaps it’s that the film is maybe ahead of its time, in the way it discusses classism, racism and sexism. There is so much about this overly hated film that makes it the best Ducks movie and a perfect coming of age film.

The movie starts presumably a few years following the Ducks’ win against Iceland. They all look noticeably older - definitely older than the middle schoolers we left behind in 1994 - and all of the male Ducks’ voices have dropped a few octaves. Gordon Bombay, played by Emilio Estevez, is presenting the team (except for unfortunately, Jesse Hall, a leader among the Ducks who would’ve made for a strong presence in this mature film, as well as Portman, but we’ll get to him later) with scholarships to his alma mater, Eden Hall, a preparatory high school in Minnesota. Charlie Conway, played by a young, pre-Dawson’s Creek Joshua Jackson, is the Ducks’ captain and unspoken leader. There’s been much debate over the years over whether or not Charlie is the true captain of the Ducks. Adam Banks, played by Vincent Larusso, is far and away better than practically every Duck combined. Fulton Reed, played by Elden Henson, has shown more maturity and leadership at this point. It’s probably true that the Ducks as a team think that Charlie is Captain because of Bombay’s favoritism towards him (and his mother), but I think that this film makes it abundantly clear why Charlie is the captain. 

D3 is Charlie’s story. We see that in the opening scene, when Bombay tells Charlie he will not be following the team to Eden Hall, accepting a job instead in California. We learned in the original Mighty Ducks film, that Charlie and his mother left a bad situation in Charlie’s father when Charlie was very young. We also hear about Charlie’s mother, Casey’s marriage to a new man in the D2, who we can assume from what Jan says, that Charlie doesn’t like. We see in that first film, Charlie’s reaction to Bombay announcing that he is leaving the Ducks after the two of them have formed a bond. It is very clear that Charlie deals with abandonment issues, stemming from trauma in his early childhood. Charlie freaks out when a D3 Bombay announces the same thing, and storms off. 

Change is the biggest theme in D3. We see how change affects each of the Ducks, even those who don’t get many lines. Some, like Russ Tyler, played by SNL’s Kenan Thompson, think it’s a good thing. All of the Ducks don’t come from good neighborhoods and we assume that most of them don’t have the best home lives, especially when Charlie tells their new coach, Orion, played by Jeffrey Nordling, that the Ducks are the only good thing that any of them have had. Going to a preparatory school should be a good thing for them. But for most of them, it’s not. The new Ducks (who by the way, three of which are people of color, and one of which, is a woman) are immediately told that “their kind” is not welcome at Eden Hall. The Varsity team claim that they feel this way because the captain’s younger brother was not admitted onto the JV team because of the Ducks’ scholarships, but it’s very clear what they really mean. Russ commented that he’s the only black person on the whole campus earlier, and he, Luis Mendoza (The Sandlot’s Mike Vitar) and Ken Wu (Justin Wong) are the only people of color we see in the film. Change takes a toll on each member of the team. We see it the most in Charlie, but we also hear from Fulton on how the separation from his best friend, Dean Portman (Aaron Lohr), who decided not to enroll at Eden Hall, is taking a toll on him. Connie (Margerite Moreau) and Guy (Garrette Henson) have presumably broken up, as the two small scenes we get of them, they are arguing. It’s a transition period, one that the first year of high school often is. But it’s also a look on how a rich, white privileged world is vastly different than the one that the Ducks are used to. 

Coach Orion seems like a hardass, especially when he tells Charlie at their first practice that he will no longer be “Captain Duck” (as coined by D2’s Gunnar Stahl, played by Scott Whyte, who now plays the level-headed Varsity goalie Scooter). This, to the Ducks, is a line in the sand. Ever since Bombay turned District 5 into the Ducks four years previous, Charlie has been their captain. They’re in a whole new environment, where the man who gave them so much happiness and so many friendships isn’t, and their “little Duck tricks” won’t work anymore. Orion thinks Charlie is a showoff, and perhaps he is. This Charlie is vastly different than the sweet, shy Charlie we see in D1 and D2. But this Charlie is older, has just been abandoned by a man he considered a father, and is being harassed on a daily basis for being, as Varsity Captain Reilly puts it, “white trash.” I find it hard to believe sometimes that fans can look at Charlie from the outside, and not see who he is on the inside. All of Charlie’s closest relationships that we see portrayed in this movie, are with women. His mother (who he, as a teenage boy, says “I love you” to in the final scene of the movie), his teammates, Connie and Julie, who he gets a lot more screentime with, and with new love interest, Linda (Margot Finley).

I think now is a great time to talk about the shockingly impressive way all of the female characters are portrayed in this series, particularly this movie, especially for a 90s sports film. Connie has always been a leader on and off the ice. She’s in a relationship with Guy, but it’s not her only character trait. Dubbed “the Velvet Hammer” by Averman (Matt Doherty), she stands up for herself, and for her shy teammates (she literally shoves Peter Mark - a character cut out of D2 and D3 for good reason - in D1 when he insults Charlie) and stands up to the entire Varsity team despite them telling her that they hope they can “fight” with her later. Julie “The Cat” Gaffney (Columbe Jacobsen) is the second best player on the Ducks, despite the little ice time (thanks, Bombay) we see her have. She is the first person to tell of the Varsity, telling Captain Reilly that his little brother “just wasn’t good enough.” She’s a huge facilitator in the fire ant prank and despite the very weird and out of character game she had against the Blake Bears, shows that she deserves the number one goalie slot that Reilly gives her - despite what Goldberg, and the obvious underlying sexism there, have to say. I’ve also always been very impressed with Charlie’s mother, Casey (Heidi Kling). Although she has a romance with Bombay in D1, she makes it clear from the get go that her first priority is Charlie. We know that she took the two of them away from an abusive situation, and she’s a goddamn hero for that. Her scenes in D3 are limited, but they always show her chastising Charlie’s antics and encouraging him to stay in school. It goes unsaid, but it’s clear that she knows that he’s not going to get an education this good in the problematic public school system. But according to Linda, Charlie’s love interest, the private school system is no better. The first time we see Linda, she is protesting the “outdated” Warriors team name. This was in a 1996 kids movie, no less. She holds her own against Charlie, calling him out when he’s wrong. No one aside from Charlie, and maybe Fulton, get much screentime or lines aside from Bombay and Orion, but her presence and the point of her character is clear - not every rich person agrees with the horrible things that wealthy people do. 

Back to the plot.

When the Ducks receive their positions, they learn that Banks, as a freshman, has made Varsity. From an outside perspective, they seems obvious. Banks is the best player we see in any of the films, definitely miles better than the losers on Varsity, so it seems obvious that he would be promoted. But Banks is unhappy with this. Adam Banks is a fan favorite character, definitely due to the sweet, understated performance by Larusso, but we don’t see much of him. From what we do see of him though, he underwent a huge character arc from D1 to now. In D1, Banks goes against his father’s protests and joins the Ducks, claiming that he “just wants to play hockey.” Here in D3, we see that Banks is utterly miserable despite playing with some of the best players in the state, purely because he’s not with his friends. At the end of the film, he makes the (questionable) decision to rejoin the Ducks and go against the Varsity. But Varsity seems to feel that Banks fits in with them, for obvious reasons. He’s the only Duck who comes from an affluent background, and he’s definitely the most clean cut. Captain Reilly is visibly angry in the final showdown with the Ducks that they no longer have Banks on their side, as if he’s betrayed “his kind.”

The turning point of the film comes when after Charlie has quit the freshman team (no longer the Ducks), Hans, a father figure to the Ducks and Bombay, suddenly passes away. It’s an insanely dark moment for a Disney film, especially when Bombay returns to the funeral and reminds the Ducks that it was “Hans who taught them to fly” and Charlie storms off, crying. I think Joshua Jackson, in the Ducks films, as well as in Dawson’s Creek, is phenomenally good at portraying teenagers who wouldn’t normally be seen as leading men. Who let their emotions overtake them, who have anger issues, who deal with familial problems. Characters like that in leading roles were almost unheard of in the 90s, and in the upcoming scenes, it reminds us why this side of Charlie that we’ve seen throughout the movie is not the only side of Charlie.

Bombay takes Charlie to the rink to see Orion skating with his disabled daughter, who was injured in a car accident. He reveals to Charlie that Orion quit the NHL to take care of her, and this immediately changes Charlie’s opinion of him, but he’s still unconvinced about rejoining the team. The next scene is without question, the greatest and most important scene of the trilogy. The last two films spent way too much time telling us how great of a person Bombay was, how he was the Minnesota Miracle Man,despite us seeing so little of that onscreen. We see him making mistake after mistake, hurting the team, being an unjustified dick to those around him. But this scene more than makes up for all of that. I’ve put the quote from this scene below.

Bombay: I was like you, Charlie. When I played hockey, I was a total hot shot. I tried to take control of every game. I wound up quitting. So I tried the law. I ruled the courtroom, but inside, I’m a mess. Start drinking. Man, I was going down. But then this great thing happened, maybe the best thing ever - I got arrested and sentenced to community service. And there you were - Charlie and the Ducks. And as hard as I fought it, there you were. You gave me a life, Charlie, and I want to say thank you. I told Orion about all of this when I talked to him about taking over. I told him that you were the heart of the team and that you would learn something from each other. I told him that you were the real Minnesota Miracle Man. 

Charlie: You did?

Bombay: I did. So be that man, Charlie. Be that man.

It’s a callback to D2, when Jan tells Bombay “Be that man, Gordon. Be that man.” This scene is flawless. Every good thing that has happened to the Ducks, came because of Charlie’s heart. It came because of that game when Charlie refused to cheat, and made Bombay see his wrongs. It came because of when Bombay first tried to quit the team, and seeing how hurt Charlie was, agreed to stay. It was Charlie who stepped out of the game against Iceland so that Banks could play. It was Charlie who found them Russ. Giving the credit to a young, emotionally unstable teenager, rather than their Emilio Estevez, hotshot Bombay, is the best thing this series ever did.

This movie, in my opinion, is nearly flawless. Every moment has been planned to make the same point - change sucks. Especially when you’re a teenager. Even more so when you’re a teenager with trauma.

[peachyteez]

mint chocolate chip ice cream ≫ DAY ONE, FOUND?

this abandoned, shy bunny hybrid loves hanging around the open field area of the recovery facility. one day, with the help of jungkook, another bunny hybrid, jiyu meets mingi. after days of mingi being too shy and running away from her, a bag of carrots and mint chocolate ice chip cream was all it took to seal the deal.

PART OF THE HEAVEN SERIES.

✧ taglist: @defsoul15, @jaeminpeachy, @joongiebug, @sunsethw4, @t-tbinnie, @chanyeolol, @danibookmarks, @hello-its-ya-boi, @murralyn, @alienmashup, @panini, @moon8894, @koasworld, @taetae123094, @luv3rxcha, @treasure-hwa, @etherealbyeol, @hwaseongzzz, @lovely-sanie, @orbitiiny, @deep-ocean-dweller, @babydolljo, @ms-starlight, @everrrlasting, @bls-luv-me, @atzgiggle

feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to the list!

✧ notes: mingi can be my bestfriend any day :)

next。

“i wonder how mingi’s doing...” yunho mumbled during breakfast. 

hongjoong peered up at him from his cereal. “who?”

yunho’s ears and tails perked up at the thought of his bunny hybrid friend that he usually saw everyday. “mingi. he was a bunny hybrid that i often met up with when i was still a stray. i wonder how he’s doing now...i haven��t seen him since you took me in. he had red hair the last time i saw him”

jiyu felt a wave of guilt crash into her. she didn’t realize that she took yunho away from his friend when she adopted him. stirring her cereal around, she mumbled a quiet sorry to the golden-retriever hybrid. 

yunho’s eyes widened when he realized what he had done. “no, no! don’t worry about it. really! we’ve always talked bout what would happen if one of us were to find a home so i think he’s figured it out by now. plus i went to the park where we usually hung out and i haven't seem him around so...i think he’s doing okay, too. he’s a strong bunny,” he reassured as seonghwa rubbed her back.

“if you say so...” jiyu dejectedly mumbled before shoving the last spoonfuls of her cereal into her mouth. she glanced at the clock. “oops, i need to go,” she said as she put her bowl in the sink. “sorry guys, i promise i’ll do the dishes when i come home!” she shouted as she ran up the stairs to grab her necessities. 

the three hybrids snorted at her child-like declaration. “that’s what she said three days ago and she fell asleep when she came home,” seonghwa chuckled.

“you say that as if you hate cleaning,” hongjoong retorted. “heck, you even told us to leave the dishes so you could clean them yourself.” yunho chuckled at the memory of the wolf hybrid double cleaning the plates, bowls, and utensils. it took him practically triple the time it usually takes to wash dishes. 

“alright guys, i gotta go.” flying down he stairs and quickly putting her shoes on, she opened her arms for the three of them. “come here,” she smiled. three bodies crashed into her smaller frame, making her slightly grunt at the impact. rubbing their heads, she peered at yunho’s face. “if you want, we can go to the park when i come home from work today to see if your friend’s there,” she offered. 

yunho’s eyes sparkled in excitement. “okay!” he grinned, his tail a clear indication of how elated he was at her offer. 

slightly chuckling, she gave a salute to hongjoong. “you know the drill, joong.” she laughed at his dramatic sigh as he glanced at the other two. 

“don’t worry, i’ll make sure they won’t burn the apartment down and that we’re alive by the time you come back,” he joked, a smile threatening to appear. 

jiyu chuckled. “alright, i’m off then.” 

coming into the office, jiyu fell into her seat and stretched her arms above her head as a yawn ripped through her mouth. 

“pretty big yawn there, buddy,” yeonjun commented, his eyes not budging from his monitor as his fingers flew across the keyboard. “did you sleep?”

“yeah, hongjoong’s nightmares have been getting better, so i’ve been getting more sleep.” unfortunately for hongjoong, he still had a tidbit of psychological trauma from his past, so his sleep was often plagued with nightmares about waking up back in the basement cell he was so used to. it was heartbreaking for jiyu, so there were nights she stayed up with hongjoong as they talked about every and anything. luckily, he’s been slowly recovering. 

“that’s good to hear,” yeonjun genuinely commented. “oh yeah,” he stated before turning to face her. “i think there's a stray somewhere in the field.”

jiyu furrowed her eyebrows at his comment. “how do you know?”

“i took one of the hybrids out for their morning outside time and they started acting pretty strange when we reached the bushy part of the field. i thought they were just adjusting to the outside but they kept wary of this one area so i assumed they picked up the scent of another hybrid.”

jiyu hummed in acknowledgement as she stood up with her clipboard to make her morning rounds. “okay, i’ll keep that in mind,” she said as she left the offices and headed towards the hybrids’ ward. 

softly knocking on one of the doors, she heard a small hum from the other side. “hey buddy, it’s me,” she gently called out, knowing how sensitive some of the newer hybrids were, “can i come in?” hearing a small “yes”, she entered the passcode and the door automatically opened. she smiled seeing the bunny hybrid sitting up in the bed as if he was waiting for her. “hey, there,” she greeted with a smile. 

jungkook was a bunny hybrid that had been admitted a while back, but he was still pretty sensitive to his surroundings and people. 

“wanna go outside today? i know you didn’t go yet this week,” she asked. 

jungkook’s bunny ears perked up in interest. “can i really go outside?” he asked, his eyes full of enthusiasm and excitement. 

jiyu nodded, a part of her saddened by his excitement to just go outside. “of course, let’s go.”

leading the bunny hybrid to the elevator, jungkook kept a strong hold on her white coat sleeve as they passed by multiple people. he looked nervous and shy to even look at them. once they made it to the field, however, it was like he discovered a newfound burst of energy as he ran around the area, sniffed the flowers, and even pet a squirrel that had come down from the tree.

suddenly, his ears stood up in full alert as he quickly scanned his surroundings. jiyu looked around as well and realized where they were. the bushy area where yeonjun told her about the potential stray. she glanced at jungkook and found his nose cutely twitching as he focused his gaze at the bushes.

“hey, jungkook,” she whispered, “is there...someone else there?” she pointed to the bush.

jungkook nodded before leaning down to her height and whispered back. “i smell another bunny. and he seems scared, too.”

taking a better look at the bush, she realized that it was moving—as if the unknown hybrid was trembling. a small frown pulled at her lips. who was it? was it a bunny hybrid like jungkook said? why were they scared?

quietly tip-toeing closer to the ever-so-slightly shaking bush, she squatted down a safe distance away from it with jungkook clutching the back of her coat as he followed her actions. “h-hello?” she quietly and gently called out to the bush. “are you okay?”

suddenly, the bush stopped shaking. before jiyu could process, she noticed a pair of white bunny ears peeking up from over the bush. she let out a small gasp. “are you—”

before she could finish her sentence, the hybrid stood up to his full height, making jiyu’s eyes practically bulge out of her head. he's as tall as yunho...if not taller!

unlike his towering height, the look he had on his face made jiyu slightly frown in sadness. he looked terrified as he stared at jiyu and jungkook. despite seeing that jungkook was just like him, he was extremely wary of jiyu. taking a closer look at him, jiyu realized that the bunny hybrid had bright, red hair. she remembered yunho’s words from earlier that morning. 

he had red hair the last time i saw him.

“no way...are you—”

whish

as a little squeak came out os his mouth, the unknown bunny hybrid turned around and quickly ran away from the two. climbing the fence, he deftly landed on the other side and continued running

“h-hey!” she called out after him, but it was no use. the hybrid had no intentions of looking back or stopping.

she frowned. “poor guy, i wonder what happened to him...”

jungkook also frowned at seeing the bunny disappear. “i smelled fear on him...and it was strong...” he mumbled as he looked in the direction the red-haired bunny ran off to. 

jiyu was lost in her thoughts. was that yunho’s friend...? nah, there's a lot of bunny hybrids out there. but he had red hair...is it common for bunny hybrids to have red hair?

“miss jiyu!” being brought back to reality, she looked over and was met with jungkook’s anxious look. “sorry, i didn’t mean to yell, but you weren’t responding so...” he meekly explained. 

jiyu softly chuckled before gently rubbing his downcast head. “don’t worry, bunny. you didn't do anything wrong,” she reassured. “i told you, you’re safe here, right?”

finding comfort in her words, a small smile crossed his lips before he gave a small nod. “okay...”

“now...who’s in the mood for some carrots?” she teasingly asked, laughing when jungkook excitedly raised his arm as he hopped. his ears twitched in happiness and his eyes were filled with sparkles as he chanted “me!”.

after giving jungkook his daily intake of carrots and making sure he was comfy in his room, jiyu trudged back to the offices. she couldn’t take her mind off of the unknown bunny hybrid. could he be yunho’s friend?

as much as she wanted to tell and ask yunho, she didn’t want to get his hopes up on finding his stray friend. if it wasn't him, jiyu could only imagine the sadness yunho would experience. 

maybe he’ll come back tomorrow. she hoped, completely unaware of the pair of eyes on her from outside.

[oftenderweapons]

The Studio - Min Yoongi

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (nicknamed Kitten)

Wordcount: 9.8k words

Genre: fluff, smut, mild angst

Rating: 18+

Hello my little raspberries! Here we go with Yoongi’s studio one shot. I’ll try and explain as briefly as I can for those new to this: Kitten is the nickname Yoongi has given to the reader (read more about the nicknames here), so basically this is a readerxYoongi.

To sum up the context of the fic quickly without reading all the rest (including some stuff which hasn’t been published yet [if you wanna read it vote for Illicit Affairs *wink wonk*]), Yoongi and Kitten have been dating for months but Yoongi kept postponing stuff with her (much to Kitten’s dismay — more like utter desperation) until their schedule in Japan was done. When they do reunite, they basically live joined at the hip — pun intended — but unfortunately, since tour is approaching, Yoongi has to take a week to focus on his job, promising Kitten the weekend. As Friday nights falls, Kitten decides to come claim her prize, and she comes carrying a lethal weapon.

Description and trigger warnings: Lots of swearing. As usual there is unprotected sex (these two got tested before going bare, please be like Yoongi: be smart, get tested). Female masturbation (with bullet vibrator), Kitten acts up since Yoongi acts oblivious and indifferent (surprise: He. Is. Not.), Trauma from past relationship (Kitten has had a pretty shitty ex who ignored her needs and made her very uncomfortable about having someone go down on her), Male masturbation, Oral sex both male and female receiving, Sensation play and slight foot fetishism, cum play and cum eating (it was necessary), lowkey spanking, multiple orgasms, hinted squirting.

Word count: 9.8k

Here is my updated Masterlist!

The receptionist led you through a daedalus of rooms and glass doors. After a few turns you spotted the sign of the Rkive, nothing but darkness coming from behind the glass door. He was probably already at home, maybe with his girl. From what Yoongi had told you, Namjoon had been working from home for the last few days, only coming in for rehearsals, leaving shortly before dinner. You had crossed her on the lift once as she carried a weekender, smiling at you, before you both headed for the same corridor, stopping at neighbouring doors, both ringing the doorbells and waiting.

"You must be Kitten, uh?" She said, using Yoongi's nickname. You asked yourself how she knew that.

"Vixen?" You replied, guessing that she was the woman that Namjoon told Yoongi about.

She laughed and nodded. "Yes, I guess you can call me that too. Pleased to meet you." She said, introducing herself with her full name. Just as you shook her hand, introducing yourself, Namjoon came to the door in a pair of loose grey sweats and a white t-shirt, greeting her with a "hey babe" before he spotted you, waving cutely at your form before Yoongi opened the door for you, with a way less appropriate "fuck, I'm starving, come here" which had the couple next door secretly giggling as your needy partner dragged you past his threshold and smashed the door closed.

That was just two weeks ago. You went from a week of daily sex — with multiple rounds — to a complete caresty. You were almost ready to hump a streetlight like a stripper pole, however you thought you'd much rather surprise your man and knock at his door like a discreetly civilised young woman.

Lost in your thoughts you didn't even realise you had reached his door.

"Here we are, shall I ring?" The receptionist asked.

"Yes, please." You said with a polite smile.

"I think I've already seen you."

You nodded. "My firm works for yours. I have come here before." You confirmed.

"Oh, that makes sense."

Yoongi opened the door, his mouth composing a surprised expression, and then his signature gummy smile, which you mirrored. "You're here."

You nodded, mirroring his expression.

"Thank you, Mr. Kang." He said, holding his hand out for you. You caught it immediately as he led you through the door.

"That's okay, boy." The older man, quite surely a member of security greeted both goodnight and headed back for his spot.

"He's my favourite. Sometimes when his shift ends we eat dinner together. He's amazing." He said with a soft smile. He brought your joined hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles. "How's the weather outside?"

"Not too cold, but the air is pretty damp, I just hope it rains. It's very foggy tonight." You said, taking off your coat.

He grabbed your face as both your hands were still caught in your sleeves, planting his lips on yours. "Lemme finish a couple things on this one then we're all set and we can head home."

"Are you the only one left?" You asked.

Yoongi nodded. "Normally it's me and Joon working late and heading back home together, but lately he's been going back home to Vixen. I've heard he's trying to get her to move in."

"Haven't they been dating for a couple months?" You questioned.

"So what. We've also been dating for a couple months but would you say no if I asked you to move in with me?"

You thought about it.

"Seriously?" He asked, scandalised at your hesitation as he headed back to his chair.

"I mean…!" You complained, trying to win him back. "It's just a couple months. I would take it easy, maybe first I’d start with staying for the weekend and then see if I can handle it during weekdays too, gradually. A bit at a time."

He acted as if he weren't listening.

"Yoongi!"

"Busy." He replied.

"You cannot not listen to what you don't like." You said, with a curious giggle.

"Call me when you're ready to say 'If you asked me to, I would move in tomorrow'". He typed, but it sounded more like a dramatic gesture than some actual typing. "Plus, I will unlisten to whatever you say that doesn't respect the I-love-you-I'm-a-sucker-for-you-Yoongi agenda."

You moved closer to his chair, standing behind him, bending down to his ear. "What if I put my lips, right here." You teased, "would you listen to me?"

He shivered and you snickered like a vicious predator.

"Uh?" You urged him.

"You won't distract me like this." He said.

"Not even if I said 'I love you, I'm a sucker for you, Yoongi'," you moaned in his ear, "not even then?"

He shifted in his seat, his lips parting. "No." He said, but his voice was extremely unsure, not even a glimpse of firmness in it.

"Don't lie to me." You murmured. Your hands spreading over his pectorals. He might not be as buff as some of the other guys, but he was secretly well built, especially on the chest area. You had personally tested that out.

He withheld a moan. "I'm not distracted."

"You're getting hard, Yoongi." You commented, noticing his bulge. You let your hands crawl lower, down his stomach, where his sweater met the waist of his slacks. "I missed you so much these past few days." You whined, trying to find the button of his trousers.

He slapped your hand. "Let me finish and we can head home. There you can tell me how much you missed me." He said, his voice almost sounding like a warning. "In detail."

"But I want you now."

"Stay put and wait."

You tutted and stood up. "Cockblocker." You snarled under your breath, sitting on the sofa.

"How can I cockblock you if you don't even have a cock?" He argued back.

You chuckled. "Shut up." You rummaged in your bag, smirking when you found your little personal pouch. "Plus, why would I need a cock when you can share yours with me?"

It was his turn to chuckle. "You, shut up." He said back at you. "If you were smart enough, you would keep quiet and be good, so I can finish my job and take you home."

The fact that you immediately thought of his place scared you a little. You absolutely understood Vixen and Namjoon's position at this point. With the guys' schedule, which includes working hours, trips, shootings, TV and radio appearances, then briefings and their own meetings and the oncoming tour, you started fearing how it would end up with you and Yoongi: your relationship had blossomed in fits and starts through Yoongi's determination and commitment, and your curiosity towards him. It had kept going because of the incredible attraction, the sense of balance and the sacred quiet and respect that you could reach in each others' company.

"Home where?" You asked, shutting up your mind.

He turned with his chair. "This should be enough to show you that Namjoon is right about having her move in. And that I would be right too if I wanted you to."

He wanted to. After he'd come back home from Japan, you had spent the rest of the week going back to his place after dark, having dinner, taking care of each other, sleeping together. The week after that you basically went back home only to grab a few things before going back to his. Then on Sunday he told you he had rehearsals at BigHit, and usually those go on till late, so he would be staying at the dorms, promising you he'd spend whatever free time he had with you and that he would see you in the weekend, when the rehearsals finish earlier and they have less disturbing timetables.

That's how you found yourself in his studio, on Friday night at 10pm.

"How long do you have left there?" You asked.

"Mh, maybe twenty minutes. I was just doing a little bit of fact checking and research for some references. Almost done."

"No listening?" You asked, testing for any catch in your plan.

"No, i don't think so, why?" He kept scrolling on his screen.

As you quietly took off your trousers, you chirped out a "nothing" shedding your jacket too in the process. You sat on his sofa in nothing but a formal shirt, an undershirt and your bra, your lacy panties doing little to protect your skin from the cold bite of the leather. You grabbed your disinfectant gel from your pouch and poured a dollop on your palm. After that you passed a wet wipe on your hands, carefully inspecting the underside of each nail. Once you were satisfied, you neared the bin by the door and got rid of the used wipe.

You sat back on the sofa and bit your lip, hesitating before moving to the next step. You still forced yourself to ignore your pouch, focusing on cupping your crotch and staring at the back of Yoongi's head. His place smelled amazing, something like patchouli and lavender and amber and pine. It was very male. Sometimes you could even catch a whiff of scotch.

You were wet.

It felt uncomfortable and somehow disappointing that he was there but he hadn't yet looked for you. Uncertainty made you desperate and eager for confirmation on his side. Maybe that's why you were here, acting like this.

The moment your finger slipped against your clit you huffed out a heavy breath, trying to keep quiet and making sure that Yoongi couldn't hear you quite right yet.

You did it again, trying to arouse yourself fully, until the wetness became unbearable. Not only it needed to feel wet, but to sound like it too. It took little, especially considering that you had accidentally deprived yourself because of a combination of work and stress and waiting for Yoongi. On the brink of sanity, you slipped your panties to the side, the sound of typing stopping for a second, which had you stopping your finger with the tip hovering at your entrance.

Yoongi started typing again, slow but completely absorbed in his work. You pushed your finger in, your mouth opening in a breathy sob, which Yoongi didn't hear — or that maybe he ignored.

Crooking your finger, you teased your g-spot, immediately flinching as you realised how it felt almost too good. The sofa creaked underneath you.

At his desk, Yoongi was going on with his work, completely oblivious of the misbehaving happening on his couch, however he almost started thinking of working from home.

Oh, so you'll be in the same house as Kitten, with a bed, a sofa and a bathtub, and you're gonna lock yourself in the studio and ignore her. Yeah, right. He thought.

Therefore, on with his work.

In the meantime you had surreptitiously taken off your panties, your legs still open just barely enough to fit your wrist. The process had been an exercise in control, since the leather seemed to have glued to your naked backside, which made it creak at every single inch of skin trying to part from the surface. Your hand was now free to roam on your pubis, cupping the skin and parting the labia, dragging two fingers along the slit, wetting them properly before inserting them. This time you did moan a short staccato sound, it lasted maybe half a second before you regained control of your vocal cords.

Yoongi's ears immediately picked that up, however he deemed the sound a sign of impatience or tiredness and dismissed it altogether.

Licking your lower lip, almost expecting him to turn around, you waited a couple more seconds before moving your fingers inside, crooking them. You bent forward at the precision with which you managed to find your sweet spot, the seated position simplifying the operation. Your mouth parted in a silent cry and your hips buckled, once more making the sofa crackle underneath you.

Yoongi started getting suspicious: he knew you had something going on, but he decided against asking. Ignorance is bliss.

He went on with his work.

You started getting seriously upset at his lack of recognition. With insufference and discontent coursing through your veins, you fished out a smaller pouch from your bag, quickly undoing the strings with your clean fingers. You extracted one of your favourite gifts to yourself, a small vibrator, a rather practical one you had taken from your bedside before you came to see him. You were almost sorry it was a pretty quiet one. You switched it on, enjoying the light buzzing it emitted. It was like listening to a mosquito fly around your ears. You seriously doubted Yoongi could hear it.

You placed it on your mound, without even letting it close to your folds or your clit. You teased the outline of your intimate parts, gently drawing the lines of your labia. You were very careful when you reached your clit, still a whimper escaped your lips.

Yoongi placed it immediately. He could recognise that sound instinctively. Usually it was connected to his tongue curling around your clit when he started eating you out. It was the first-lick whimper. The other circumstance was when he slid inside you particularly good, with that smooth, all-in-in-one-go kind of thrust. You were probably touching yourself.

He didn't know what to do with that information. He wanted to turn around and look at you, of course, but he thought that if he ignored you, you would probably get louder, needier and messier, and he was all in for that.

In the meantime you had started drawing circles on your clit, your breathing erratic and your spare hand going up to cup your breast. Your eyes were still glued to the dark mass of hair emerging from the chair right before you. "Yoongi." You called.

"Almost done, baby." He replied. He wanted to smash his head against the table. No man in his right state of mind would do this. He wasn't a genius. He was a masochistic fool and the worst part of it all was how disgustingly lucid he was in his reasoning. How he was trying to get you so desperate that you would scream and beg for his attention.

You were fuming: you turned the power of the toy to the loudest setting you had, the buzz now propagating in the room, your cunt so slick it was almost too loud for your taste.

"Yoongi, please." You cried out, your juices dripping on his sofa. And then you snapped, your whole body bending forward as you moaned "so good, Yoongi", your body too weak to remove the vibrator from your overstimulated nerve endings, your orgasm too sudden and overwhelming.

Still, no sign from Yoongi. The back of his chair was the first thing you noticed as soon as you recovered from your small black-out.

You switched off the toy, laying it on your thigh as you laid back against the back of the couch. "Yoongi." You called again, upset by his indifference.

"Mh." He acknowledged. That was suspicious. Quietly you parted from the sofa, kneeling down and starting to crawl towards him, not entirely trusting your legs to not give out beneath you; however your crawling had a limping pattern, your soaked hand close to your chest, clutching the toy in your palm.

You were perfectly quiet as you closed up on him, hiding behind the back of his chair as you listened. He was making a noise similar to a low purr, groaning under his breath. Your eyes closed as you listened to him carefully. You knew that purring moan, the rushed pattern of breaths. You moved to the side of his chair, peeking at his lap.

He was touching himself, his other hand combing his hair back and moving down the side of his neck, lingering on his chest. His eyes were closed, his lips parted, his hips jerking up just a fraction of an inch with the tiniest thrusts. His hand looked glossy with spit and precum as he dragged it roughly from base to tip, where he gave two rolls of his wrist before heading down again.

It was his technique, milking upwards, double roll the palm around the tip and back downwards. It was the way he used to do it before you came around. Since then he had slowly grown accustomed to finishing by thrusting up into his fist, usually laying on his belly before cumming on your navel or kneeling, straddling your waist and spilling on your chest. He loved pressing his face between your boobs when he touched himself hovering over you, but he also enjoyed the view when kneeling over you.

Thinking of you like that had his lips parting in a slow, heavy breath that got you even wetter.

"Yoongi." You whispered delicately.

He didn't even get scared, he just opened his eyes and smirked. "You done with your little scene on my sofa?"

Cocking an eyebrow you sat on the balls of your feet, observing him. "Maybe I should go back home, where I can comfortably make myself cum on my plush bed without judgy, undeserving people around." You said with a petty tone.

He looked taken aback by your comment. "I had told you to stay put, still and quiet."

"Buy yourself a doll and she can do that for you. I've been staying put, still and quiet all week. I can assure you it's pretty boring." You reprimanded him, a bit upset.

"Are you horny?" He asked, slowing down his motion.

"I was." You clicked your tongue, catching his hand mid-stroke. "You lost your chance."

He chuckled mischievously. "You've had just one. You need minimum another." He ripped his hand from your grasp and started moving again.

"You were busy. How come you're jerking off instead of doing your fact check?" You asked, snarling a little.

"I finished my fact check but I didn't want to interrupt you. I reckoned I could use your little solo for selfish purposes." He said, groaning a bit as his slowed down movement reached a sensitive spot.

You wanted your mouth on him. You were ready to make him pay for it.

He stopped touching himself and moved his hand to your mouth to draw the line of your lips. You immediately opened up, slipping your tongue out to lick at his finger.

"Kitten." He breathed out.

You ignored his plea and sucked at his finger. His strong, slender, beautiful finger. He was enraptured by your expression: eyes closed, lips puckered around his knuckle. You looked peaceful. And beautiful. And well, erotic.

"Kitten, love." He murmured, turning his chair slightly, enough so that you could be more comfortable in your position.

You were finally facing his lap, his cock laying in front of you, covered in slick, so thick and delicious. He wasn't that long, but it balanced his body beautifully, the thickness and modest length making it the best dick you had ever taken in your mouth, which obviously made you twice as willing to suck him. All the time — not like frequency mattered.

With a bit of resistance on your behalf, he pushed his finger out of your mouth. "Are you that in love with my hands, Kitten?"

You pouted. "Tell me one good reason to take it away from me."

"I thought you'd like my cock better." He said, honest.

You frowned. "As if you deserved to get some after making me cum all alone, while you took advantage of my loudness."

“Are you angry at me, Kitten?” He asked. He knew it was a bastard move when he started it, but he hadn't thought it would affect you this much.

“A bit.” You admitted.

It was sort of hilarious to have this conversation while you were naked from your waist down, a bullet vibrator in hand and his erection laying out of his pants.

“Why are you angry at me?” He asked, being absolutely neutral about his state of undress. Unfortunately you weren’t an ounce as neutral as him.

You dragged the back of your hand up his calf, your knuckles grazing the soft stubble of his legs.

“I have been unfair to you, haven’t I?” He asked, caressing your head with his clean hand, tipping your chin upward. “I’m sorry, Kitten.” He said, holding your gaze. “I’ve missed you too, love.” He traced your lips. “I’ve missed making love to you.”

“I’ve missed you so much.” Your hand reached his crotch, scratching his thighs through the fabric of his trousers. “I’ve been wanting you all week, but i didn’t want to bother you. I kept reminding myself that you were busy, that I just needed to last a few days until it was the weekend and you could be all mine.” You bent down and kissed his knee. “But it took a toll on me, not hearing from you. Not having you near.” You pressed your face to his lower inner thigh. “You didn’t even say you love me.” You mumbled under your breath, feeling a knot in your throat.

“Oh, ____, love.” He bent down, trying to drag your face away from his knee, keeping you from hiding yourself. “I love you, ____. I love you, Kitten.” He kissed your forehead. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you, baby. I’m sorry I didn’t tell remind you.” He cupped your jaw and pressed your mouth to his. “I love you, Kitten. I’ll tell you as many times as you need it, baby.”

“I love you too, Yoongi.” You murmured against his lips. “I’m sorry for being like this.” You said. It was a flashback to all the times you had to beg your ex to declare his feelings to you, to all the times you had had to ask him to love you.

“Nothing to be sorry about, Kitten. Absolutely nothing, my love.” He whispered close to you face. “I’m not your ex, baby. I’m here for you.” He kept stroking your cheek. “If we keep going here we’re gonna make a mess, Kitten.”

“Is there any reason why we shouldn’t?” You asked, quiet and mischievous.

“I usually meet the guys here to record demos.” He objected.

You frowned. "It's not like I'm going to cause irreversible damage."

He pouted and nodded. Fair enough. “So…"

"Yoongi, please, I need to feel you in my mouth." You whined, biting your lower lip.

He chuckled, sitting upright. "You sure, Kitten?"

"Yeah, I'm sure, now stand up and take off your trousers please." You said, tugging at the fabric.

He snickered and pushed his chair back enough to stand in front of you and roll down his slacks. He sat closer to the edge of the chair and you tugged at the hem, finally removing his trousers completely. Now you were free to make him open wide and kneel between his legs.

You suckled the skin of his inner thigh, your hands skimming his calves. At the moment, your toy was laying between your thighs, switched off as you waited for the best moment to bring it into the picture. "Do you want me?" You asked, looking at him from under your eyelashes, batting them slowly, your lips curled up in a cute pout.

"Of course I do, Kitten. I'm so hard for you baby." He moaned, stroking himself. He lowered the tip so that it was closer to your lips.

"Can I?" You murmured, almost desperate.

"Yes, Kitten. It's yours, love, you know it." He said gently, longing for you so ardently and so composedly.

You licked his slit with delicate manners. You looked like the elegant cat you had reminded him from day one. And then your lips wrapped up around him, sucking his bulbous head into your mouth, your cheeks wrapping so tight around him with the pressure of your sucking.

"Fuuuuck, Kitten, that's amazing, love. ____, you're gonna make me cum."

Grinning like the devil, you took the chance to swallow him almost entirely, leaving only an inch out, and making him roar with pleasure. "Yes, yes. That's one hell of a mouth, Kitten. That's so fucking perfect, ____. I fucking love you so fucking much, babe." You loved when he started to swear during sex, it turned you on in a manner you couldn't quite understand.

When you felt him start to pulsate in your mouth you pressed two fingers at the base and pulled him out.

"You good, Kitten?" He asked, panting, trying not to cry at the vulnerable situation you'd left him in. He was on the very edge, one more second and he could have cum. But he didn't press you, you just came up for air.

Little did he know it was absolutely intentional. And you intended to do it again. You played a poker face. "Yes, I'm good, why?"

"Just checking on you." He explained, stroking himself at the base.

This couldn't do. You caught his wrist gently, blocking it. "Lemme take care of it all, babe." You licked his tip seducingly. "You know I won't leave you hanging."

He smiled and threw his head back. "I am at your mercy, ____."

He had all the power in the world when he spoke your name. You eagerly returned to your ministration, this time blocking his palm on his tight, underneath yours, while his other hand kept toying with his neck and chest. Not that you noticed: you were too eager bobbing your head on his length, focusing on the lewd moans he emitted, on the swear words he growled against the headrest of his chair, where he was currently pressing the side of his face.

"Kitten." He whined, almost endearing in the delicate inflection of his voice.

He was going to cum. You pulled him out as fast as you could, quickly heading to his underside to lay the softest kisses of affection.

"Kitten." He growled, but this time it was no joke. He was getting worked up. A bit angry.

"What?"

"Stop teasing."

"Me! Teasing! How could I? My priority is my boyfriend, Yoongi, and his well-being”. You grinned, delivering a long lick from the base to his tip. “I’m going to make you feel so good.”

“Kitten, I swear, if you’re edging me I’m going to make you pay for it.” He growled, fighting your grip on his hand.

You gripped his wrist harder. “This can go two ways, Yoongi. You let me do my thing on my terms, or I’m going to leave right in this second and go back home by myself tonight. Pick.” You used a tone so calm it sounded like the most sensual of threats.

He twisted his wrist gently, looking into your eyes, and lacing his fingers with yours, moving your joined hands to the armrest. With the other hand he gripped the edge of the chair behind his head. “Do your thing, Kitty cat.”

Smiling lasciviously, you placed open mouthed kisses to his inner thigh, moving from the left to the right side. You lifted your hand, previously on his lap, letting the edge of your nail draw a thin line from his hip to his knee to his ankle, where it met his sock. You were almost tempted to take it off and tease him there. Why not? You had the wipes to clean it afterward… Fuck it.

You caressed his ankle, teasing it with your nails.

“Kitten, that feels very good, love.” He moaned, squeezing your hand in his. “Want me to let go of your hand?” He asked.

“Maybe later.” You whispered, leaving sucking kisses at the base of his shaft. You blindly took off his sock. “Are you cold, baby?” You murmured softly.

“No, I’m shivering because it’s so good, love.” He praised you. “You are amazing, Kitten. Thank you so much for this, babe.”

You parted from his skin. “No need to thank me, Yoongles.” You licked his length. “I do it because I like it. Because it’s so good.” With your spare hand you tickled the underside of his foot, which had him tensing the muscles there, his whole leg jumping, trying to escape your sweet torture. “Too much?”

“Just… unexpected. Sensitive.” He hissed.

You removed your teasing fingernails.

“It’s– No, I liked it.” He clarified, his pretty face scrunched in a confused expression.

You smiled darkly. “I was thinking of this…” You placed your toy under his foot, switching it on on the lowest setting.

“Kitten. Fuck. Shit.” He growled. “What the hell!” He pressed his head against the back of the seat.

“Too much?” You asked, distancing it from his skin.

"No, good. God, Kitten. Just, please, your mouth." He begged.

You kissed his tip and swallowed him.

His back arched and his lips parted in a gasp. "Yes, love. Oh god."

The slight buzzing moved up towards his calf as you absentmindedly followed the outline of his leg. You were completely absorbed in pleasuring him with your mouth, squeezing him with your lips and tongue and stroking him with the tender skin of your cheeks.

"Please." He moaned, struggling under your assault. "Love you." He whined. "Let me." He was so hopeless, his broken thoughts exiting his mouth unfiltered.

You pulled him out, taking a deep breath, opening your eyes to look at him. "You look so pretty, Yoongi. You look so fucking high, babe.”

“Please,” he breathed, trying to grind up into your mouth.

“Come on, wait for me, Yoongi. I’m not done with you yet, baby.” You cooed, bringing the vibrator up to the inside of his knee, which made his leg start bouncing. Ever so gently, you brought the head of the bullet even closer to his inner thigh, making him swear under his breath. “I feel so good making you look like this,” you groaned, kissing his navel. “I know right now your head is so empty you’re only thinking about me. No drama going on inside your pretty head when I’m giving you head this good. ”

“Kitten, for the love of God.”

Just when you had reached his crotch with your toy-accidentally-turned-instrument-of-torture, you started again on the other side, from his knee. His hand was gripping yours viciously, his strong fingers constricting your knuckles with so much pressure you worried about him getting cramps right when you wanted him to feel only pleasure coursing through his body.

“I am begging you, Kitten. I ain’t too proud, please.” He howled, as you saw a glistening pearl of precum blossom on his slit. You immediately caught it with your tongue, using the occasion to suck his tip.

“Such a good boy. Lemme take care of you.” Your head lowered on him once more, this time not sparing an inch of him. Just as he quieted down from the deep moan he had just released, you moved the vibrator to the tender skin of his testicles, placing it there without pressure, which made the stimulation even more intense.

He growled your name. It was the most virile thing you had ever heard. You were ready to commit murder to hear him say it like that everyday for the rest of your life. The hand once tightly gripping the back of his chair was now hanging midair, as if ready to touch you. He caressed his sweaty fringe, combing his hair back and deciding on gripping the armrest instead of the back. You slipped him out once more and removed the vibrator.

He opened his eyes with the most pitiful expression he had ever made. “Kitten.”

“I know, baby, I just need to know if you want to cum in my mouth or if you have anything else in mind.” You said, tracing small circles with your thumb on the back of his hand.

He noticed that you were still wearing your nice shirt from work. “Chest.” He murmured.

You grinned. You had never allowed any man to do that to you. You hated the idea of it, but when you did it with Yoongi for the first time you just saw him lose his mind at it, stare at you in admiration, like you were the most beautiful thing in the world, and you just decided that the look on his face was a great prize for a relatively small sacrifice. Little did you know you would come to like it, the warm, sudden feeling of his semen sprinkling your naked skin, rolling down gently in the most erotic sort of massage you could ever dream of. Quickly, you let go of Yoongi’s hand, offering him the vibrator. “Hold it for me, baby?”

He simply nodded with a confused pout, his brain so fucked out that you giggled at how cute he looked. You undid a few buttons of your shirt to your stomach, then you stood up and took off your undershirt, slipping the thin straps off your arms through the hem of each sleeve and dragging the lower hem down from your waist, until you stepped out of it like a skirt. Yoongi looked a bit more lucid as you undid the clasps of your bra and removed the straps just like those of your undershirt, gripping the front of the bra and pulling it off from the opening of your shirt. Covered only in your white work shirt, you regained your vibrator from Yoongi’s obedient hand and joined your hand with his once more.

“Open it nice, I don’t wanna mess up the shirt.” He said, ever the caring, attentive one.

You slipped the shoulders off, the fabric slipping under your breasts and supporting them like some sort of a corset.

“Like this?” You asked.

He nodded. “Will you let me this time, please?” He said, his voice so fragile and broken that if you hadn’t already decided, he would have convinced you to offer him relief.

You let your actions speak. You started working the first few inches of his shaft, gently toying with the vibrator at the base, where his cock met his balls. His moaning soon became desperate, so incoherent that you doubted having one of the most talented rappers and songwriters in front of you. He looked like he didn’t know a word, like the best he could do were baby gurgles.

When you felt him begin to pulsate, you let him take the lead a little, choosing how deep he needed to go and how long he could keep going. You started teasing the underside of his cock with the side of the vibrator, running up and down the thick tendon there. “Kitten, I’m close.” He warned with a timbre so husky it almost scared you

You started going a bit faster with the up and down pattern of the toy. Your eyes were fixed on him when he started slowly moving his hips toward the edge of the chair with weak thrusts. He started opening and closing his mouth, gaping. His short groans became more frequent, getting higher and higher, his knuckles going white with how hard he was gripping his armrest.

“Now.” He said, letting go of the armrest, using his hand to pull out of your mouth while you scooted closer, offering him the skin of you bosom. Your inner walls began pulsating as he pushed his tip against the skin of your nipple, rubbing it while at the same time he gently pushed your hand and the toy aside to stroke the base. He kept licking his lips, delivering those small thrusts into his fist just as you moved the tip of the vibrator to the head of his cock, teasing the frenulum. He groaned and began moving faster, his grunts getting quicker until he finally screamed your name.

The first shot was usually the messiest, the pressure so high it often reached your neck and chin, but this time it stayed on your breast, probably because Yoongi was pressing up into you and the toy. You moaned yourself when the vibrator touched your nipple, Yoongi laughing gently and calling your name when he realised you were paying for this too, that you too were vulnerable, and that probably you were turned on enough to let him eat you out and possibly cum inside you before you both headed to his place for a hot meal and a shower. Not necessarily in that order.

He spilled twice more on your breastbone and your other breast before he calmed down, reaching for the toy and switching it off. “Kitten. I swear to God, I’m gonna die because of you.” He panted, heavily gasping for air.

Still no trace of the mighty rapper, just one very normal, very lovely young man.

With a fingertip you collected a drop that was dangerously rolling down towards your shirt. “A good way to go.”

“It would be sort of embarrassing to explain.” He blushed, looking at you sucking at his cum on your fingertip. “Come here.” He murmured, patting his thighs. “Can you straddle me?” He asked.

“Why don’t we move to the sofa?” You asked.

He nodded, using your still joined hands to help you up on your feet. As you both stood up, you found yourself face to face, however his eyes moved downwards, to the wetness on your boobs. Bending his head, he cupped both with his palms, cradling the underside in his hands before pushing his lips to your nipple, his tongue lashing out to lick away at his release. Still needy, he moved to the other side, cleaning the other stain too.

Your knees wobbled. He smirked. “Sofa.” However when he reached the black leather piece he noticed the mess you had left behind. “You’d better fix it. Immediately.” He reprimanded.

You hang your head low between your shoulders, hiding from his scolding. You put your toy on top of its pouch, fishing a couple wet wipes to clean the cushion properly, as you bent at the waist to check for the results, you felt his hand smack your ass heavily. “You’re lucky it’s not suede or you’d be fucked by now.” He stood behind you and bent over your spine, adhering to your backside. “And not in the nice way.” He stood up again. “Stay like this, Kitten, don’t you dare move.”

You heard the sound of the lid of your wipes coming off, then the sound of fabric. You didn’t dare move. Yoongi was very likely to look for revenge now, and you already had a high price to pay. In your peripherals you noticed him rubbing the wet wipe all over your vibrator, cleaning it up.

You knew it was your turn now. You just had to hope he was feeling merciful. He bent over you. “Stay put and it’ll be okay, love.” He said with lethal kindness. You heard a gentle thud to the floor, shorty followed by another. “I am kneeling behind you, Kitten. Are you okay with me eating you out like this?”

He was so attentive: it felt like he had a list of all your triggers memorised in his mind; he was always so careful when it came to your potential traumas and insecurities. You weren’t new to receiving oral sex, however to you sometimes it felt very intimate and your worries kept you from freeing your mind and enjoying the experience fully.

“It’s okay.” You mewled.

“You can stop me anytime, love.” He said softly, kissing the back of your thighs, licking the thin stretch marks there. He loved all those small signs, the way they showed the tide of your skin, the way it made sense, the way you looked realer than anything he’s ever dreamed. He was in love with all your freckles and moles, wrinkles, the squishy part of your belly and waist and hips, the little hairs on your navel. He felt real when with you. He felt a little bit less surrounded by that artificial, polished world that looked like a simulation. He felt like he was allowed some small chance of normality, of reality with you. No skinny models with made-up personality, no fame or ego, just being two people facing each other, telling each other how it feels to be human.

Throughout all of his meditation he delivered small bites and kisses on the skin of your thighs and ass, tracing the outline of your labia, enjoying the plush softness.

You moaned out his name, pressing into him. “I know I’ve been bad, just… Please.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologise for.” He murmured, kissing your slit. “I deserved it.” He licked you slowly, from your mound to your entrance, the tip of his tongue digging in and collecting the wetness oozing out of you. “I neglected you.” He licked you again, nuzzling the raw skin of your inner labia with his lips. He kept his lips there, breathing softly through his mouth. “I love you, Kitten.” He kissed you there. “Love you so much, baby.” He murmured before you heard the buzz of the vibrator. He wasn’t toying around with you: he wrapped his arm around your leg, nuzzling the toy against your folds until he heard you whine. "Found it?" He asked, referring to your clit.

"Right there." You moaned.

He flattened his tongue against your folds, rolling it until they were spread wide, exposing your most tender nerves to the violent vibrations.

"Yoongi, I'm gonna cum." You whimpered, pressing yourself into him.

He wanted you to. He didn't care, couldn't care less of the amount of times you edged him earlier: he wanted to see you undone. He wished he could tell you, however he felt like it was more important for his mouth to stay on your cunt. He wanted you to know that you were allowed, that he wasn't going to deny you. He simply reached for your hand, placing his on top of yours on the cushion. Suddenly you started grinding your hips, riding his tongue, your free hand wrapping around his wrist, helping him place the bullet where you needed it. The fact that you were almost silent, holding your breath and gasping every time he spread your slick to the apex of your labia, so that the vibrator could slide more comfortably.

Your high hit you like a tide, your knees buckling underneath you, Yoongi's hand leaving yours so he could use his arm to stabilise you. Your hand on his wrist invited him to remove the toy, your position not safe and steady enough to allow any type of overstimulation, meanwhile his tongue battled with the contractions of your inner wall as he slipped it in just enough to stimulate the small muscle at the back, where you were always most responsive. He felt proud at knowing these small tricks, these little details that he had discovered with keen exploration and observation. Every body has their shortcuts to pleasure, though not all people are the same. He had learnt that some things that set his exes on fire to you were completely indifferent, meanwhile stuff that his exes refused could turn you into putty in his hands.

"Yoongi, that's okay.” You moaned, slipping away from him. He parted from your skin, gently pressing a kiss to your labia.

"Are you okay, Kitten?" He asked before running his hand to your breasts, cupping one softly, secretly searching for your heartbeat.

"I think I'm a little shook." You giggled. "It was�� Very intense." You exhaled and laughed.

He kept kissing your thighs. You knew that that meant something. "I wanna try something but if it's too much we can stop here." He spoke delicately, his lips tickling your skin.

"Now I'm curious." You said, tired but mischievous still.

"Lemme show you." You heard him shuffle around a bit as he removed his sweater and placed it on the floor. He just hoped he wouldn't make a mess. From his kneeling position he shifted and sat on the oversized garment, thanking God that it wasn't as cold as he expected. He reclined his head on the seat of the sofa as your gaze met his.

"Am I going to ride your face?" You asked with a knowing smirk.

"Smart kitty." He said, mirroring your expression. "Knees on the cushion. Come on babe."

Shaking your head and smiling, you followed his order, your hands looking for support on the back of the sofa. "I'm afraid I'm gonna crush you." You said, even though you loved looking at him like this. His hair was a mess around him, his eyes so dark and intense that it felt like he was ready to drag you to hell and back with himself.

“It’s okay, you’re small. I can help you.” He said, placing his hands on your butt, squeezing. “I’m happy to help.” He grinned and you grinned back at him. You loved that both your brains shared the same perverted paths following the same dirty cues. “I wanna suck your clit, but I don’t know if it’ll work for you since you had the vibrator there.” He said, spreading small bites on your thighs.

“It’s okay. No need to make me cum.” You reasoned, openly refusing that a sexual experience can be successful only if culminating in an orgasm.

“I hate how you’re always ready to give up on your pleasure.” He said, getting argumentative. “I’m doing this to please you.”

“You can please me without making me cum.” You argued back. “It’s not like— Holy fuck!” You screamed, your shoulders giving out. His arm holding your ass up while his other hand held the tip of the vibrator against the underside of his tongue. “You’re fucking wicked.” You swore as your clit disappeared between his upper lip and his pink, filthy tongue. “Fuck Yoongi, you’re the best.”

He exhaled through his nose in some sort of a snicker, pushing on the small button to increase the vibration.

“Oh God. Yoongi— Fuck, like that.” You squealed as you felt him suck you in with wet, slurping noises. “Love.” You said, worry veining your voice. “I’m gonna make a mess.” You warned before raising your hips, parting from his mouth. “Wait.”

He removed the vibrator, opening and closing his mouth quickly before speaking to retrain his tongue muscles. “It’s okay.” He breathed, brushing his cheek against your thigh.

“You’re gonna get wet and smell like sex on the way back home.” You reminded him.

“I can rinse in the bathroom quickly, plus we’re driving by ourselves in the car.” He murmured. “We can if you want to.” He said, reassuringly.

“Get back in place then.” You teased, gently pressing yourself down on his pout and grinding coquettishly. He laughed with his mouth close, digging his fingers into your ass, which made you raise your hips with a small jump.

“I love you so fucking much, Kitten.” He murmured. “Don’t you dare forget that, ____.” He switched the vibrator on, all the way up. “Ready, kitty cat?”

“Bring it on, mister.”

He laughed and got to work. You were pretty sure that the moans you were emitting, joined with the wet, sucking sound that came from Yoongi’s tongue on your drenched clit would probably expose the two of you to the whole floor, and possibly more.

If you had been any more lucid you would have thought of poor mr. Kang guarding the building from the reception, but probably — hopefully — he was far enough not to hear a thing.

Yoongi sped up his game, willing and ready to bring you to the edge once more. He reduced the pressure on your clit, allowing the vibration to travel faster, with less resistance and more power. He shifted his grip from his plush upper lip to the edge of his front teeth, simply grazing your nub as he caressed it with his tongue.

“Yoongi. So sensitive.” You gasped through a muffled moan, your hand pressing against your mouth as you lowered your gaze. He was there, eyes closed, enjoying the feel of you, focusing on each movement, on the taste of you, on your sounds, your heat. Opening his eyes, he winked, realising that he had one last trick up his sleeve. He started brushing the vibrator up and down the underside of his tongue, the act mildly resembling a thrusting motion that had your hips undulating, your breath stopping in your throat.

The high built and built so that when it snapped, you didn’t even realise it, submerging you like a tide, like a small boat in a maelstrom: you felt each roll of your hips, each movement of the vibrator in that straight line underneath Yoongi’s tongue. The high was there, but you still hadn’t felt the peak. You were ready to give up when he slid the bullet off his tongue and into your entrance, pressing it against the tender spot of your vagina, rubbing it as his lips latched to your clit.

“Fuck. Cumming.” You whined before biting your palm. His hand smacked your ass, repeatedly, delivering four or five slaps as if spurring you into riding his face. When he felt your release spill, he stretched his tongue, trying to collect as much wetness as he could, using the bridge of his nose to tease your clit while his mouth was busy. You gushed two, maybe three times before you removed your hand from your mouth, squealing his name and a string of swear words, your hand reaching down, trying to slap his toy-holding hand from between your legs. He understood your gesture and parted from your cunt entirely, letting you recover from the experience while he shut the buzzing device.

“I need in, sweet thing.” He murmured, climbing up clumsily and a little bit helplessly. You rose to your knees, letting him sit on the cushion, helping him fit against your body. “I’m gonna slide in, Kitten. I just need in. Promise.” He kept his sentences short, both for his urgency and your almost shut down brain. Gripping himself steady, he slipped in flawlessly, your drenched walls welcoming his shape, clinging to it and making him swear with how tight you felt right after an orgasm.

“Kitten, so tight.” He groaned, his face falling forward, hiding in the crook of your shoulder. His hips thrusted up while his hands toyed with your breasts, sliding into the shirt you were still wearing. His whole face felt damp against your neck, and you didn’t know if it was sweat or your juices or his saliva as he began drawing a pattern of hickeys on the top swell of your boob. “I can’t hold on.”

“Cum inside, please.” You murmured into his ear, licking the shell and biting the lobe, your hand gently cradling his skull as you enjoyed his grunts and pants against your throat.

As he hammered into you from below, you felt him reaching your cervix, your inner contractions making him come undone, his hands gripping your waist and angrily pushing you onto his lap. The squelching, crude sound, mixed up with his deep groans and the smacking of skin made you close your eyes as you registered every detail. You would come back to this night, when he would be gone, and you would relive it entirely, from start to finish, from the loneliness and coldness of being alone on the sofa, to the anger and revenge of the armchair, to the selfless, devoted attentions you had received twice on the sofa again, and finally this boy-man, hiding against your chest as he vulnerably withered before you.

“God, Kitten.” He breathed out chuckling. “Thank you so much, love. You’re perfect.” He murmured, caressing your back.

“Thanks to you too.” You spoke softly.

“I’m sorry for the last one. I got carried away, I didn’t make you—”

“If you say the verb ‘cum’ I am going to slap your pretty cheeks.” You threatened weakly. “You can do that in a few hours. Wake me up at three am and make sweet love to me.” You propositioned. “Though if I fall asleep, I might sleep for the next ten hours with no chances of being woken up.”

“We need sleep. Both of us.” He hugged you, searching for your hand, twining your fingers together. “But first we need a shower. And we need to rinse before we leave.”

“Closest toilet?” You asked, groaning a little at the idea of getting up, cleaning yourself and all the rest.

“Two rooms away.” He mumbled, his eyes droopy, his head leaning into your shoulder. “Are you feeling okay about everything? I know I pushed it when I left you alone and when I went down on you.” He commented.

“I think we cleared up the air about you ignoring me. It reminded me of when I was with my ex, which is exactly the reason why I bought the toy. He wasn’t happy I used it, but he never said anything or kept me from searching for my own pleasure. Sure though, this was my first time using it with someone. I’ve had a few people before as I said, but it was never… this.” You said, referring to your whole situation with Yoongi.

“How did you feel about how I went down on you?” He asked, always sympathetic.

“I loved it. But that vibrating tongue thingie was sooo kinky. How the hell did you come up with that?” You complimented him.

He chuckled. “I wanted to suck you and I wanted it to be a bit hardcore. It tickled like hell though.” He kissed your cheek. “I didn’t know it would work for you. I had never tried it before.”

“The vibrator was a big ally tonight.”

“Definitely the highlight of the night.” He conceded.

You leaned down and sucked his lower lip in your mouth, releasing it with a snap. “I love tasting myself on your mouth.”

He cupped your cheek. “You were amazing on that chair, love.” He praised you, making sure that he gratified you for something that your previous significant other had awfully taken for granted. “I’ll never forget these two covered in me.” He said, bending down to kiss each of your breasts.

“Is your neck okay?” You asked, worried about the way he had reclined his neck before while you sat on his face. “Are you cold?”

“My neck is a bit sore, but some hot water and stretching will solve it. And yeah, I’m a bit cold but it’s okay. Let's fix this place, get dressed and head home, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

"Then get up, lazy cat." He teased, poking your sides.

"I'm sleeping on the couch tonight." You murmured, teasing him as you raised your hips, getting off him.

“You’re sleeping in my bed and we both know it.” He helped you on your feet.

Your lips bent downward as you nodded. “I hate it when you’re right.”

As you turned and bent to gather your wipes he stared at his cum dripping out of your hole, staining your thighs. “Such a shame you’re in love with me,” he replied. His hands gripped your hips, blocking you while his tongue moved between your folds, delivering tiny licks with the tip of his tongue before covering your labia in soft kisses. "All clean, Kitten." He murmured, caressing your naked legs.

"You're the worst." You teased, before his short nails caused goosebumps on your skin.

He stood up behind you. "Fuck, look at this mess." He said, looking at the sofa. "Do we have enough wipes?"

"Oh God."

"No one's gotta know." He commented, and once more you were partners in crime, hiding your thousandth mischief.

You headed for the chair, throwing him his underwear and trousers.

He caught them.

"Bottle of water?" You asked.

"Fridge." He pointed as he slid his boxers on.

You picked up your undershirt, glad that it was a cheap deal, and headed to the small fridge, where you found the water, opening the bottle and pressing your balled up garment against the rim, wetting the fabric.

Next you knelt by the sofa, getting to work.

Yoongi lit a scented candle on the low table, spraying some perfume with a certain desperate motion. "Jeongguk will know. He can smell anything."

You shook your head while you poured some more water on your improvised rag. "Dammit we fucked up."

"Shut up, it was your idea." He taunted you while he found his sweater on the floor, checking it quickly before putting it on with a shiver. "Freezing. Shit."

Once you deemed the damage mostly solved, you grabbed your wipes and used one to eliminate the traces of the water. Checking that no stain remained, you moved on to dressing yourself.

"Have you seen my bra?" You asked.

"No." He murmured, offended, just as you noticed a familiar frill coming out of his bag.

"Why is my bra in your bag?"

"Your bra is not in my bag."

You raised an eyebrow, hooking said frill with your finger and fishing the garment out of his personal tote. "What is this?"

"A fancy hat." He said, barely holding back a laugh.

"Oh, so you're gonna wear that later when we head home?" You asked as you pressed one cup onto his head, the other hanging from the side while you clasped it around his face.

He simply shook it off, bending to kiss your lips. "Don't wear it." He whispered on your mouth.

"I won't." You replied, kissing it once more before placing it back in his bag.

Wearing your panties and buttoning your shirt, you left a couple buttons undone for his viewing pleasure.

He fixed the last few things, opening your coat and helping you wear it.

He fixed his own jacket and caught hold of your waist, placing you in front of him and wrapping his scarf around your neck and face. He kissed your forehead sweetly.

"Get your shoes, I'll do a quick checkup."

While you exited the room, he noticed a small glimmering coming from the crevice between the two cushions. Pushing his fingers in, he managed to pinch the object and pull it out.

He snickered, placing his small treasure before his eyes. "You served well, soldier. You deserve a night of rest. I'll recharge you and keep you safe until next time."

"Who you talking to?" You asked from the corridor.

"Nothing." He placed the vibrator in his pocket. "Coming." He blew on the candle and closed the door.

———————————————

"Hyung, you look well-rested." Jimin greeted him the following morning as he entered the training room.

"I bet he does." Namjoon quipped.

"HE FUCKED KITTEN IN THE STUDIO!" Hoseok announced. "Sorry, couldn't hold it in, you know I can't handle secrets." He said with a sad face, looking at Namjoon.

"Good for him." Taehyung replied.

Jimin looked amused while Jin shook his head, “Is that a good reason to be late, Yoongi? We've been waiting fifteen minutes–"

"Hyung, you arrived two minutes ago." Taehyung replied quietly while Jin shouted, "Shame on you! The disrespect!"

Jeongguk neared Yoongi, patting his shoulder. "I'm sorry I rat you out. I came in last night because you weren't at the dorms. I didn't know. I accidentally said it to Namjoon, Hoseok heard, everyone knows." Guk shrinked in his shoulders. "Sorry." He chirped.

However it was still too early and Yoongi was still too fucked out to care. "Let's just kill this choreo. We better finish soon 'cause I've got Kitten home in my bed to go back to."

Namjoon smirked. "Let's get it."

[kjack89]

Determination of Death (pt. 1/2)

Extremely self-indulgent, and the kind of angst I haven’t written in a long while. Because I was having a bad week and figured, hey, why not make it worse :)

I split it in two because it was getting long; second part should be posted sometime later this week.

Former E/R, modern AU. CW: car accident, major injuries, discussion of end of life care, referenced major character death. Y’know. The good stuff.

Joly sighed, staring longingly up at the clock in the emergency room as if he could somehow force it to jump ahead four hours to the end of his shift. Not that he would ever voice the thought out loud, since doing so was the surest way to jinx it, but it had been a quiet night, and this was his last scheduled overnight shift in the E/R for at least a few weeks.

He tapped his pen against the counter, idly wondering if he could maybe sneak out a few minutes early and surprise Bossuet with breakfast in bed. Suddenly, another doctor ran past, donning a trauma gown, and Joly immediately straightened. “What do we got?” he asked urgently.

“MVC,” the other doctor called over her shoulder, using the acronym to indicate a car crash. “Multiple victims incoming.”

So much for a quiet night.

Joly grabbed a trauma gown and followed her out into the ambulance bay to meet the ambulance that screeched to a halt, its lights blaring. “Unrestrained driver,” one of the paramedics reported. “Lost control of the vehicle and crashed head first into oncoming traffic. Nonresponsive at the scene, and we’re gonna need a tox screen – we think she might have been drinking.” 

“I got this one,” his colleague told him. “Go deal with the second ambulance.”

Joly nodded and jogged over to the second ambulance. “What do we—” he started as the paramedic shoved a clipboard at him, but his question died in his throat as he saw who was strapped down on the gurney.

It was Enjolras.

The paramedic was telling him something but it was as if Joly had gone temporarily deaf as he stared down at Enjolras, barely recognizable from the injuries he had sustained. Joly catalogued all the injuries he could see with a sort of vague detachment as if he was seeing them on someone other than one of his closest friends, the man he had vowed to walk through fire for.

Penetrating head trauma. Multiple facial lacerations. Chest and pelvis crush injuries. Open tibia fracture. Almost guaranteed massive internal injuries.

It was a miracle Enjolras was still alive, and Joly’s hands started shaking so badly that he dropped the clipboard the paramedic had handed him. “Dr. Joly?” someone was asking, and Joly just shook his head violently and turned away to empty his stomach on the pavement of the ambulance bay.

Christ, he hadn’t puked at the hospital since he was an intern.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his still-shaking hand and straightened to find his colleague gripping his arm and staring at him with clear concern in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” Joly whispered. “I just...he’s a friend.”

Understanding crossed her expression, and she nodded. “Ok,” she told him, her voice calm, soothing. It was the voice they used for hysterical family members, and Joly hated her a little bit for using it on him. “Get in touch with his emergency contact, get them to the hospital. You can brief them when they get here, ok?”

“I want to help—” Joly started, but she shook her head before he could even finish his sentence.

“You’re not a doctor right now. You’re a loved one.” She hesitated for just a moment before adding, with genuine sympathy, “I’m so sorry.”

He hated her even more for that.

Then she was gone, she and the paramedics whisking Enjolras inside to do what they could – if there was even anything that they would be able to do.

And Joly had nothing left to do but to call Combeferre and tell him the worst news he had ever had to deliver.

----------

It was now four hours past when Joly had been supposed to get off of work, and there was no indication that he would get to go home anytime soon. All of Les Amis had trickled in during the night and were now all camped out in the waiting room, eager for whatever news Joly could tell them.

But unfortunately, he had nothing that he could tell.

He pulled his scrub cap off as he slowly made his way over to where they were all waiting, trying to school his expression to something less grim, but judging by the way Courfeyrac’s smile slid off his face as soon as he saw him, he hadn’t succeeded. “How is he?” Combeferre asked, scrambling to his feet.

Joly swallowed. “He’s alive,” he said shortly. “That’s all that I can tell you right now.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged glances. “What the hell are you talking about?” Courfeyrac asked, uncharacteristically blunt. “What do you mean, that’s all you can tell us?”

“I mean that I am required to tell Enjolras’s family first before I can share any details.”

Combeferre’s expression was ashen but Courfeyrac’s eyes flashed. “We are his family,” he started hotly, but Combeferre shook his head and squeezed Courfeyrac’s arm.

“Pontmercy,” he said, a little hoarsely. “We need to call Marius. He’s everyone’s power of attorney, remember? He can authorize them to share medical details with us.”

Courfeyrac quickly dug his cellphone out his jeans pocket, dialing Marius’s number from memory. “Come on, come on,” he muttered urgently as he waited for Marius to pick up. “Come on, damnit.”

A pile of coats that had been tossed onto a chair suddenly seemed to stand up of its own accord, and Marius emerged from under them, blinking owlishly as he clearly had just woken up. “Sorry, m’here,” he said between a yawn, and Courfeyrac looked like he was torn between wanting to hug him or throttle him.

Combeferre didn’t let him do either. “You’re Enjolras’s power of attorney, right?” he said in clipped tones.

Marius ran a hand over his face and blinked once more before nodding. “Yes,” he said.

“Then tell Joly that he can share medical details about Enjolras with all of us.”

Marius winced. “Ah,” he said. “Um, there’s a bit of a problem with that. I’m Enjolras’s power of attorney for certain things, mainly related to his estate and his trust fund, but I’m not designated as Enjolras’s medical proxy.”

Courfeyrac looked between Marius and Combeferre, his eyes wide. “What does mean?” he asked, a little faintly. “Who would make the decisions if Enjolras didn’t designate a medical proxy?”

“Well, generally speaking, the closest blood relative would—”

“His parents?” Courfeyrac interrupted, horrified. “He hates his parents!”

Marius shook his head. “No, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “The problem isn’t that Enjolras didn’t designate a medical proxy, so we don’t have to worry about that.” He winced again. “The, uh, the problem is that he did. And the designation is still legally binding.”

“Who?” Combeferre asked, his brow furrowed.

Marius just gave him a look. “You know who.”

Realization crossed Combeferre’s face, followed by something like rage. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

----------

Grantaire had been, up until that moment at least, thoroughly enjoying his evening. He had been hit on not once but twice at the bar, and had decided to take the second one, a thin, blond man (because Grantaire had always had a type, damn it), home for the night. They were right in the middle of making out like teenages on Grantaire’s couch when his phone rang.

Grantaire groaned and pulled away to reach for his cell, but the blond – Shane? Brendan? something? – pushed him back against the couch. “Ignore it,” he whispered before sucking on Grantaire’s earlobe.

He was only too happy to comply, but unfortunately, his phone had other ideas, ringing repeatedly until the best makeout session in the world wouldn’t have been able to hold his attention. “Let me just get rid of whomever this is,” he said, holding the man on his lap in place with one arm while reaching for his phone with the other. “Someone better be dying,” he said in lieu of a greeting, followed by a very confused, “Pontmercy?”

His brow furrowed as he listened to Marius, and he abruptly pushed the man off his lap, standing up and looking wildly around his apartment. “Yeah, ok,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He hung up and threw his phone down on his couch. “You need to go,” he told the guy he’d brought him, unusually brusque. “I have to get to the hospital.”

“Oh no, is everyone alright?” the guy asked, reaching out for him, but Grantaire brushed him aside, grabbing his shirt from where he had tossed it earlier. 

“No,” he said shortly. “It’s my husband. He was in a car accident.”

“You’re married?” the guy asked, sounding almost offended by the thought.

Grantaire closed his eyes for a brief moment, wondering how he had got himself in the position of needing to explain this to a one-night stand. “No, I mean my ex-husband,” he said with a sigh.

“You’re divorced?” the guy asked, sounding even more disgusted by that.

“You know what, I don’t really have time to debate this with you, so while I’m sure you would have been a great lay—” Sudden pounding on Grantaire’s door cut him off and he groaned. “Great,” he sighed, hurrying over to open his door.

He was only a little surprised to see Combeferre standing there. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering Marius’s phonecall,” Combeferre said shortly.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, I did, and I’m getting ready to go to the hospital, so you can just—”

Before he could finish telling Combeferre exactly where he could go, the guy he’d brought home snuck past him, pausing to kiss his cheek and tell him breathlessly, “Call me when you’re back from dealing with your ex.”

Combeferre watched him leave, his expression stony. “Nice,” he told Grantaire, who rolled his eyes again.

“You have no right to judge me,” he snapped. “Enjolras and I have been divorced for longer than we were married, so I’m allowed to do whatever and whomever the fuck I want.”

“Yeah, well, about that,” Combeferre started, and Grantaire frowned.

“What?”

----------

“What?” Grantaire said, his voice cracking. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Marius quailed slightly under his glare. “Well, see, the thing about it is—”

“Enjolras and I got divorced!” Grantaire interrupted loudly. “I signed the damned paper!”

“You did,” Marius told him. “But Enjolras didn’t.” Grantaire’s mouth opened but no sound came out, and Marius continued, “He didn’t sign them, and he didn’t file them, so legally, you two are still married. And legally, you’re still his next of kin.”

Grantaire shook his head, but he still couldn’t seem to manage any words, and Marius reached out to grasp his shoulder. “We can talk through this more later but for now, Joly needs to talk to you.”

Without waiting for Grantaire to reply, Marius spun him around to face Joly, who looked exhausted. “C’mon,” Joly muttered, glancing at all their friends, who were staring expectantly at them. “Let’s talk over here.”

He jerked his head towards a meeting room off of the waiting room, and Grantaire numbly followed. Joly pulled the door open and stepped back to let Grantaire walk in first before following him in, closing the door after them. “So,” Joly started, but Grantaire shook his head.

“No, before you start, I just want to say…” He trailed off, then took a deep breath. “Despite the circumstances, it is really good to see you. I know Enjolras got you and Bossuet in the divorce, but—”

Joly let out what might have been a wordless sob, surging forward to wrap Grantaire in a fierce hug. Grantaire froze before slowly patting Joly on the back. Then, abruptly, his hand froze. “Wait,” he said, his chest tight. “This isn’t a good hug, is it.”

He didn’t say it like a question but Joly still shook his head as he pulled back, his eyes wet and red. “No,” he said hoarsely. “No, it’s not a good thing. It’s—” He broke off and shook his head, his tone turning professional. “It’s not good, R. Enjolras suffered severe internal injuries, but those—”

Again he broke off, but this time, he didn’t seem able to start again. Grantaire swallowed and nudged him gently. “But those?” he prompted softly.

Joly shook his head once as if to clear it. “The internal injuries were severe but probably not fatal,” he said tonelessly. “But he suffered massive head trauma. Part of his skull was broken in the crash and his brain swelled drastically, and likely irrevocably.” 

Grantaire reached out wordlessly to grasp the back of a chair, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. “Oh,” he managed finally as he stared unseeingly at the wall in front of him.

Joly quickly wiped a tear off his cheek and cleared his throat. “I know that this isn’t what you expected to be dealing with, but as Enjolras’s next of kin, you have some decisions to make.”

“He’s an organ donor,” Grantaire said hollowly. “I don’t– I don’t know if, in his condition, any of his organs are—” His voice cracked. “—are viable, but if any of them are, he would want to donate that.”

“His heart, his lungs, maybe a kidney and part of his liver,” Joly said, giving Grantaire a watery smile. “He could probably donate those.”

Grantaire jerked a nod. “So then do it,” he said, more harshly than he intended.

Joly’s smile disappeared. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple,” he said. “It’s...I mean, it’s complicated.”

Grantaire couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up from his chest. “No shit, Sherlock.”

“No, I don’t just mean because of you and him,” Joly said impatiently. “I mean, it’s complicated medically.”

Grantaire blinked. “How so?”

Joly wet his lips. “In order to donate organs, a patient must meet one of two conditions. The easiest one is brain death. But unfortunately, we don’t know if Enjolras is brain dead yet.”

“How do you not know that?” Grantaire demanded. “Aren’t there tests?”

“Yes, and we’ve run all of them, but the tests revealed limited functioning. It could just have been an artifact of previous brain activity, so we’ll run the test again in a few hours.” Joly took a deep breath. “But if the repeat tests should even just the slightest amount of functioning, we legally can’t declare him brain dead.”

Grantaire shook his head slowly. “Ok, so what does that mean?”

“It means that him signing up to be an organ donor won’t be enough.” Joly met his eyes. “It means we would need your consent to withdraw life-sustaining measures and allow cardiac death if you wanted to donate his organs.”

Grantaire’s eyelids fluttered closed, and a muscle worked in his jaw for a long moment before he finally managed, his voice sharp, “Fine, whatever, I consent.” He opened his eyes to stare fiercely at Joly as if daring him to say anything. “Do you need me to sign something, or—?”

Joly just shook his head. “Again, it’s unfortunately not that simple.” 

“Why not?” Grantaire asked tiredly, feeling older than he ever had before.

“Because no matter how small a chance it is, if he isn’t brain dead, then there is still a chance—”

“That he could wake up,” Grantaire finished with sudden realization, and he hated himself for the way his heart leapt in his chest, hated that after all this time, the only person in the damn world who could still make him feel something like hope was Enjolras. 

Joly nodded. “Yes,” he said. “He could live in a comatose state for...well, technically indefinitely. And there have been cases where someone has woken up after a month, or six months, or a year, or—”

“But what are the chances of that actually happening here?” Grantaire asked, harsher than he intended, trying desperately to quash the hope he could still feel rising in his chest, that there might still be time left with Enjolras, time to at least say goodbye and tell him he was sorry, time to tell him he still – that he never stopped—

“In my medical opinion…” Joly hesitated. “Not high. The trauma that his brain has suffered...and even if he woke up, I don’t think he would be Enjolras anymore.”

Joly’s words hit Grantaire like a punch to the gut, and he sagged, still gripping the chair with all his strength to keep himself upright. “So then that’s that,” he said, his voice trembling, just slightly.

Joly just nodded once. “Like I said,” he said quietly, “you have a choice to make. Not even just in regards to donating his organs, but in regards to if you think he would want to live like this.”

A laugh burst unbidden in Grantaire’s throat, an almost hysterical sound, because that had been one of the last things Enjolras had said to him before telling him he wanted a divorce – “I just can’t live like this anymore,” Enjolras had said, sounding tired, and sad, and more defeated than Grantaire could possibly bear. “And I don’t think you can either. Or maybe you can, but that doesn’t mean we should.”

So Grantaire had signed the papers to dissolve his marriage to the only man he had ever loved and moved out, leaving Enjolras, and Les Amis, and his entire life behind. He had thought that chapter was over, but now—

He realized a moment too late that Joly had asked him something and was waiting for his answer, and shook his head once to clear it. “Sorry, what?” he asked.

“Do you want to see him?” Joly repeated.

Again, the words were like a dagger in him. “Until about three hours ago, my answer to that question would have unequivocally been yes,” Grantaire said, his voice low. “But now, like this…” He shook his head again. “But I have to, though, don’t I?”

He meant it more rhetorically than anything, but Joly shook his head, sympathy clear in his expression. “You don’t have to,” he told Grantaire. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“I should though,” Grantaire said with a sigh, scrubbing a hand across his face. “I can’t make this decision without seeing him – without it being real.”

He couldn’t, because no matter how things ended between them, he would never be able to picture Enjolras as anything other than alive, and perfect, and the thought of making a decision about ending his life when that was how he envisioned Enjolras still was frankly laughable. Absurd. Like the world’s sickest joke.

So he needed to see him. No matter how much it would break what was left of him in the process.

“Ok,” Joly said softly. “Then I’ll take you back to him.”

[holykillercake]

Hazy Justice - 02

01 03

pairing: Cop!Smoker x MilitaryDoctor!Reader

word count: 2k

summary: After eight years serving your country in a war, you returned to your hometown as the new head of Trauma Surgery in one of the best hospitals in the country. You were expecting a calmer life now, but suddenly you see yourself choosing between your brain and your heart, light and dark, justice and evil.

notes: I guess you saw the gif already! We have the introduction of a new character!

𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘, 𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖘, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊!

Stiff neck and a headache. This is what you get for sleeping on your living room floor. 

You took a quick shower and some painkillers before heading for another day of work. On your silent drive towards the hospital, your mind ran through various things. 

The first being the list of your patients, the ones you had to check upon first, their conditions, and find out the attending who took care of them during the night, ask them about possible complications and current situation. 

The second subject hovered your head as more of a question, though. Had you finally met your neighbor, or was it just a dream, the result of your exhausted state? 

You spotted a cute restaurant when you stopped at the red light, perhaps you´d have lunch there today, it was near the hospital, and the place gave you a ¨good food¨ vibe. 

The image of the man you dreamed about wandered its way back into your thoughts, despite your difficulty of seeing a perfect picture. His hair was actually the only thing you were sure about. White, a single lock was falling on his forehead, but it didn´t look like it was meant to be there. Maybe it was just ¨end of the day¨ hairstyle. 

You parked your car on your designated spot and looked around the parking lot. It was the first time you´ve seen it so crowded. It made sense, though. 

A yellow Jaguar drove in a couple of minutes after you did, and since that was the only yellow car you had seen so far, and you spot the small white stuffed bear hanging on the mirror, you knew it was Law. 

He left his car and walked over to you with a strange expression.

¨Y/N-ya, what are you doing here?¨ always so straight to the point.

¨Well, good morning, Law. How are you?¨ the man rolled his eyes, but you refused to answer until he learned how to talk to people properly. 

¨Morning, Y/N-ya. I´m good. What are you doing here?¨

¨What do you mean? I work here.¨ you gave him a duh face. 

¨Yeah, but not today.¨ your head tilted to the side ¨Today is your day off.¨

¨My day off?¨ you were so used to not having days off that it didn´t even cross your mind. You asked the HR person everything but days off. ¨What am I supposed to do on my day off?¨

¨I don´t know, Y/N-ya. Go explore the city or have some rest. Today you only get inside this hospital wounded or dead.¨ he said bitterly, patted your shoulder, and entered the building. 

The only thing besides work you had planned for the day was paying a visit to that cute restaurant, so it took you some good thinking to come up with a plan. Maybe Tashigi was free, and you two could do something together. 

<Mornin´ Tashigi! U free today?>

<Morning, Y/N-san! I just need to take somethings to the office then I´m free!>

<Do u mind if we meet there?>

<Of course not! Smoker-san will be there too I think. You said you wanted to meet him.>

<Perfect then! See you in a bit ~>

<See you, Y/N-san!>

Tashigi´s station was inside the Justice District, so it didn´t take long for you to reach it. The journey was peaceful, and the view was something to take note of. Beautiful leafy trees were strategically planted on the sidewalks, offering shadows for those who preferred to walk, no scratched paint in any house, store, or building. They all looked recently finished. The asphalt was shiny and without bumps or holes, making every car trip smooth.

You entered the Police Department and couldn´t help but feel a bit lost.

¨The new Commissioner made quite a few changes in the place.¨ you mumbled to yourself. 

Back in the day when Sengoku was the Chief of the Police Headquarters, the halls were lighter and brighter, the furniture was softer, and it smelled like spring - if that is possible. After he retired, a man named Sakazuki took his place, and to be honest, he seemed pretty decent, but he deals with justice differently, and the place shows. 

First, it was damn cold; the AC was making his money worth it; the smell was the second thing that hit you. The strong odor of bleach, the freezing temperature, and the morbid LEDs on the bleak grey ceiling made you feel like you were in a morgue. Everything else was made out of either leather or metal. 

This Sakazuki guy was definitely on the list of the people you didn´t want to meet. 

¨Hi, can you help me? I´m looking for-¨

¨Y/N-san!¨ Tashigi yelled, almost losing balance and falling on her face. 

¨Hey, careful there!¨ you hugged her. ¨You´re good to go?¨

¨Yeah, I just...¨ she turned her head around a couple of times, looking for something. She smiled and waved at someone ¨Smoker-san! Here!¨

The man was getting out of a room, sunglasses on and a cigar on his mouth. He was tall and seemed muscular under the leather jacket, but what caught your attention was his hair, the same white hair you remembered from last night. Only this time it was completely put back, no loose locks. 

The change in his expression made you think he had recognized you as well, and the thought of Tashigi´s boss being your front-door neighbor made you chuckle. 

¨That´s what I call a coincidence.¨ he said and took off the shades. You struggled not to gasp when his light-brown eyes met yours.

¨Right? I was so tired last night that I thought you were a dream.¨ you giggled, and he broke a smile. 

¨You know each other?¨ Tashigi asked.

¨We´re neighbors! It took a while for us to meet, though.¨ 

¨Tough week.¨ he touched the nape of his neck. 

¨Yeah, it was. We even saw you yesterday, Y/N-san!¨ the young officer said, confusing you ¨The Sora park, we were there too! But since you looked so busy, I didn´t want to interrupt.¨

So much happened, but you couldn´t recall anything. 

You just focused on starting the triage process. Determining the severity of the patient´s condition, assign a priority level, taking care of those who could be assisted in the local, and having the severely injured ones being sent to the hospital where you knew Marco would take good care of them. 

You were immensely wrong when you guessed that the triage process would be easier, thinking that the majority of the victims were fatalities.

 Apparently, the park was celebrating its 5th anniversary, so people from not only the different districts but other cities were all gathered in the park. 

¨Sorry, I didn´t... see you guys.¨ you said a little apologetic and lost. 

¨No apologies needed.¨ Smoker said ¨It was pretty intense. Although we were not supposed to spread knowledge of our presence in the scene.¨ he gave her a disguised rebuke, and you watched your friend get redder than a bell pepper, apologizing. 

You stared at each other for two seconds before you burst into laughter.

¨You´re still as clumsy as I remember, Tashigi.¨ you wiped a few tears ¨But don´t worry, this information dies with me.¨ you turned to Smoker, and he nodded, trusting you as a military. 

¨S-Should we go, Y/N-san?¨ 

¨Yes, of course! Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Smoker.¨ 

¨Pleasure is all mine, Y/N.¨ you shook hands again, staring each other in the eyes. 

His eyes slowly traveled to your lips, and you noticed that you were biting it, blushing more than Tashigi. 

¨Well, see you, then!¨ you let go of his hand and rushed to the door. 

¨Y/N,¨ you turned with an audible hm? and raised brows ¨knock if you need anything.¨ you nodded and smiled. 

¨Will do.¨ 

~

¨I´ll have the Kenafa, please.¨ Tashigi told the waiter with so much of a look in the menu. 

The cute restaurant you drove by earlier was called Terracota, and it was specialized in foreign cuisine. Even with the names and ingredients, you couldn´t figure out something you´d like, so you decided to order the same thing as the officer. 

¨That´s what eight years of ration do to you.¨ you joked.  

¨What have you been eating these days?¨ 

¨Whatever they have on the menu at the hospital. Sandwiches, pasta, sandwiches, sandwiches, chocolate bars, sandwiches...¨ you laughed ¨Haven´t had time to think about cooking yet.¨

¨Take outs are simpler, right?¨ you nodded ¨So, what do you think about Smoker-san?¨ 

¨Looks decent, polite, hard worker-¨

¨Aw, come on, Y/N-san! That´s not what I asked!¨ she gave you a suggestive look ¨He´s not taken, you know.¨

You open and closed your mouth a couple of times, words refusing to come out.

¨What? Tashigi!¨

¨I´m just saying!¨ she held her hands up, defending herself in the middle of giggles ¨But seriously, Y/N-san, I think he liked you too.¨

¨Ok, first, I never said I liked him, and second, I just got here. Can´t really think about this stuff.¨ 

¨Well, you should consider, at least. He doesn´t go out a lot, so...¨ she prolonged the last word ¨...maybe it was fate that put you two as neighbors.¨ you scoffed.

¨You believe in this stuff?¨

¨I do. Sometimes we see some crazy things...¨ her expression frowned ¨...it helps if I believe in fate. And the reason behind things... you know?¨ you nodded when she looked at you, even though you didn´t.

For your salvation, the waiter came back with the amuse-bouche, breaking the uncomfortable moment.

 You didn´t want to tell her that you stopped believing that everything happens for a reason a long time ago.

¨But you said you have a brother here, right? Have you seen him already?¨

¨Unfortunately, no. He´s out of town now, so I´ll have to wait. God, I miss him so much!¨ a smile grew on your lips with the idea of seeing him again. 

¨Oh yeah, you told me he runs businesses. Do you know the names? Maybe I know or visited before, or even know him!¨

¨Of course! There´s the Casino Verde, the Hotel Verde and a restaurant called Suna. I´ve never be-¨ 

The girl in front of you turned purple as she choked on her food, a raucous cough called everyone´s attention while one hand covered her mouth and the other smacked her chest. 

¨Y-Your brother is C-Crocodile?¨ she asked with a hushed voice, still trying to fight her food from coming out. 

You were expecting her to know him, but the explosive noodle reaction caught you a little off guard. 

¨Yeah... are you ok?¨ you offered her a napkin which she gladly accepted.

¨I´m sorry about this, it´s just...¨ she paused a bit, brows furrowing while her fingers tore the napkin you gave her. Then she took a deep breath and recomposed herself ¨... he´s very famous, you know? He basically runs the Light District!¨

You knew he was rich and powerful, but to say that he ran the most extravagant district was a surprise. A good one, though. You couldn't help but feel proud of him. 

You remember all the sacrifices he made when you were two just kids lost in this world. All the humiliating jobs he´d work at to buy you food. The pain of having his childhood taken from him at such young age. 

He became a man to protect you. He never let anything or anyone hurt you, he never let you starve even if that meant he´d be going to sleep with nothing but a glass of tap water in his stomach.

You felt a burning sensation on your nose, and your eyes started to water, bringing a genuine smile to rise on your lips and tears roll down your cheeks. You didn´t mind it, though. You were too happy.

¨Yeah... he is my brother.¨ 

[kjmsupremacist]

guys my age (yuta/taeyong)

Taeyong, fresh off of his first year of college, finds himself in a new city for his summer internship. He keeps running into a beautiful man, and Taeyong can’t help but be attracted to him. The problem? This guy is around 40, and Taeyong only just celebrated his 20th birthday.

Chapter 2 - if you don’t get it, then forget it   |   Chapter 1   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 5   Chapter 6   Chapter 7   Chapter 8   Chapter 9   Chapter 10   Chapter 11   Chapter 12   Chapter 13   Masterlist

Characters: Taeyong, Yuta; the rest of nct intermittently

Genre: fluff, smut (lots of smut)

Warnings: AGE GAP (like taeyong is barely legal), daddy kink, mild dom/sub 

Rating: Explicit

Length: 7.1k

official playlist here!

Note: when we talk about age in this fic, it’s all in korean age since this is set in an ambiguous city in korea. As far as I know, age 20 in korean age (19 in international) is considered an “adult”; im also operating under the assumption that people can enter clubs at an earlier age than it is legal for them to drink; they just can’t, you know, drink. Ah, the hoops I jump through to contort the world to my liking.

And, yeah, it’s mentioned in the warnings but there’s an age gap in this fic! I would just like to make a little disclaimer and say i don’t really support age-gap relationships in real life, just because the inherent power imbalance usually leads to bad things. But, for some godforsaken reason, I still really like age gap (probably due to some of my own unprocessed trauma that we dont need to talk about now or ever). Basically, what im saying is this fic is depraved, and I know it’s depraved, and I know I’m depraved, so you don’t have to tell me. If you think you won’t like it or think it might trigger you, then please don’t read it.

(divider cropped from a photo taken by @ / double_cats on twt!)

It’s really strange, honestly. It’s not a small neighborhood, and it’s definitely not a small city, but somehow, later that next week, Taeyong sees Yuta again. This time, they’re at a bookstore—Taeyong is on an errand for one of his supervisors, and Yuta looks like he’s just browsing. He catches Taeyong’s eye, and gives him an amused smile.

“Are you following me?” Taeyong asks.

“Maybe I should be,” Yuta says, somewhat severely. “You scared me the other night.”

“I’m sorry,” Taeyong says. Why is it that every time I see him, I’m apologizing? “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“I don’t mind. I mean, you’re lucky it was me,” Yuta says. “You have to be more careful, though.”

“I know.” Taeyong sighs. “It was just… a combination of ill-thought-out decisions and unfortunate timing.”

“Maybe you should give me your mother’s contact information or something,” Yuta says. He’s got the same unreadable expression hidden under a thin layer of politeness, and Taeyong doesn’t know what to call it. He does know it makes the pit of his belly burn. “So I can help her keep an eye on you.”

Taeyong blanches, for multiple reasons. “Oh, please don’t.”

Yuta laughs. “I’m just joking.” He reaches out and smoothes Taeyong’s shirt collar, which Taeyong only just realizes is sticking up. He keeps his hand there longer than he really needs to, pressed over the line of Taeyong’s clavicle. “Aren’t you in the middle of your workday?” he asks.

“Yes, I’m just here on an errand,” Taeyong explains, trying not to gasp a little when Yuta finally draws his hand away.

“Well, I won’t keep you then,” he says. “See you around, Taeyong.”

Is it odd to say Taeyong feels giddy? But he does, and he can barely hide it even after he steps foot back in the building. His neck burns next to where Yuta touched him, and he can’t explain it, but it’s like his fingerprints sear themselves into Taeyong’s skin. He might be delusional, but he swears Yuta is doing it on purpose. For all his guardian-like care, he doesn’t miss the way Yuta’s eyes flick over his face and his body when he sees him. He tries to hide it, but Taeyong can tell he’s looking, and Taeyong might be going to hell for it, but damn it, he likes it.

Taeyong doesn’t have the highest self-esteem, but he also can be objective, and he knows he’s pretty. He knows guys like him because of it, and he adores it when men fit their hands around his tiny waist and call him beautiful and delicate, like a perfect little doll. He likes it even better when they treat him like it. And Yuta, with his big, mysterious smile, his lingering touches, his sharp eyes—he’s everything Taeyong could ask for. Taeyong knows he shouldn’t—there’s plenty of guys my age around here, he thinks as Jaehyun waves in greeting, giving him a sweet, dimpled smile—but he can’t help it. It’s Yuta he wants. And all he needs is a little encouragement for him to take.

His birthday passes inconsequentially. Some of the guys take him out drinking that night, even though they have work the next morning. He takes it easy this time, and wakes up without the trace of a hangover. It’s not out of self-preservation, though; all night, he has his eyes peeled for Yuta. But if he’s out, he doesn’t see him. Still, he knows it’s only a matter of time before they run into each other.

“You’re smiling at the air again,” Jaehyun informs him the following Friday. “What’re you thinking about?”

“I’m not allowed to be happy for no reason?” Taeyong asks. “I just love work so much.”

“Don’t be a jackass,” Jaehyun snorts. “Seriously, what is it?”

“Nothing, I’m just in a good mood,” Taeyong says. “Don’t ruin it.”

“Okay, weirdo,” Jaehyun says. “Well, I’m heading out. Don’t wait too long before you leave, okay? There’s a rainstorm coming.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Taeyong says absently. “Have a good weekend.”

He leaves shortly after Jaehyun, detouring to a grocery store to pick up a few things. Jaehyun was right, though—the sky, which had been bright and blue just that morning, is an oppressive grey. The air feels thick with tension, and Taeyong tries to make his shopping trip quick.

It’s in vain, though. About halfway through his walk home, it starts raining in big, fat drops, almost soaking him through instantly. His hair is slicked to his forehead, the cute, curly hairstyle he’d taken such care to create this morning is immediately ruined. Luckily, all his groceries are protected, but it doesn’t make the walk any less miserable. Dumbass, he thinks to himself as he sidesteps a growing puddle, nearly losing his balance from the strength of the wind. You should listen to people more.

Beside him, a horn honks, and Taeyong nearly jumps out of his skin, almost dropping his groceries. The driver rolls the window down, and Taeyong is rather unsurprised to see that it’s Yuta.

“You’ve got to be following me,” Taeyong says, coming up to the car and bending over to talk. “Where’d you put the tracker? On my phone? In my hair?”

Yuta affords him a short laugh before jerking his head to the empty seat beside him. “I was just picking up some supplies. Get in, I’ll drive you home.”

Taeyong doesn’t need to be told twice. He opens the door and slides in, dropping his groceries at his feet, and reaches back to the seatbelt. “So you’re just always ‘in the neighborhood’ when I am, is that it?”

Yuta laughs. “No, I really was shopping. Look at the backseat.”

Taeyong cranes his neck around and sees bags of food and alcohol, along with a couple of household supplies. “Nice alibi,” he says, laughing as he turns back around. “Take a left at this light.”

A flash of lightning makes them both flinch. “See, it’s a good thing I happened by,” Yuta says. A crack of thunder punctuates his words, and as they round the corner, Taeyong sees a small tree on his street has been bowled over by the wind, taking the nearby power lines down with it.

“I live up there,” Taeyong says timidly, pointing past the tree to his dark apartment complex.

Yuta raises an eyebrow as he pulls up to the curb. “Do you guys have a generator?” he asks.

“I don’t think so,” Taeyong says, moving to get out.

“Hey, wait,” Yuta says. “Listen, they probably won’t get around to fixing your power until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. Probably later. And you won’t be able to run the water—or, well, you shouldn’t, but you need a shower, or you’re gonna catch a cold. Plus, you won’t be able to cook anything, and you need a hot meal now more than ever. Why don’t you—why don’t you come to mine? At least for an hour or two, so you can shower and eat.”

Taeyong blinks, trying to shove some very, very inappropriate thoughts far into the back of his head. “Um,” he says. “That’s really kind of you, but I don’t want to impose.”

“No, please, I don’t mind,” Yuta insists. “It’ll spare me some worry, in any case. Go on, run in and put your things away. Grab a change of clothes, maybe your perishables. I don’t want you to have to replace them. I’ll wait here.”

“Okay.” As hesitant as Taeyong is, he knows a chance when he sees one, so he hurries into the building and up the stairs to his room. Sure enough, all the power is out. He changes quickly, so he can at least be somewhat dry and warm, and so he can stop soaking Yuta’s nice leather seats, and puts together a little bag. Luckily, his fridge is pretty barren, so he puts a couple of things in a little plastic bag, and hops back down the stairs, drawing his hood up to protect him from the rain as he runs from the shelter of the porch to Yuta’s car.

He throws his bag in the backseat, careful to avoid Yuta’s things as Yuta shifts the car into drive.

“Sorry for dripping on your nice car,” Taeyong says. “And I’m sorry every time I see you, I seem to have something to apologize for.”

Yuta laughs. “That’s alright,” he says. “I think that’s the universe’s way of telling us we were meant to meet.”

Taeyong giggles a little at the thought, and contents himself to watching Yuta drive out of the corner of his eye. He briefly considers texting one of his friends to let them know where he’s headed, but that would probably cause more trouble than it’s worth. Besides the questioning he knows it would prompt, if something were to happen between him and Yuta tonight, it would make hiding it all the harder.

A thought occurs to him that he realizes stupidly he probably should have considered before. Turning his head slightly, he asks, “Your wife won’t mind? Me?”

Yuta glances at him, a little smirk on his lips, almost like he knows exactly what game Taeyong is playing. But he doesn’t mention it, just replies, “I don’t have a wife. I live alone.”

“No girlfriend?” Taeyong presses.

Yuta definitely knows what he’s after; Taeyong can tell from the look on his face. “No,” he says simply.

“I see,” Taeyong says, satisfied. “Do you get lonely?”

“Sometimes,” Yuta admits, and Taeyong is surprised by his honesty. They climb up the side of the mountain, the scenery getting greener as they get further and further from the city. “But I have my friends, and I have my work. And when I just need to be around people for a while, I go down to the town and go shopping.”

“I was wondering why I was seeing you so often,” Taeyong says. “That’s kind of sweet.”

“I think it’s just human nature,” Yuta replies, turning onto a new street. It’s lined with pretty trees, and every single house looks gorgeous and stately. Taeyong can barely see for all the rain, but he squints, trying to take in his pretty surroundings.

Yuta pulls into his garage, and as soon as the garage door shuts, the roar of the storm fades, and Taeyong is left with his breath. “Do you want help with your groceries?” he asks Yuta as they open their doors.

“If you have a hand to spare, that would be nice,” Yuta says. Taeyong nods, and together they carry everything inside. “You can leave that there by the counter,” Yuta says, nodding at the bag of clinking sake bottles Taeyong is holding. “Let me show you the bathroom.” Taeyong adjusts his bag on his shoulder and follows Yuta down the hall and then up the stairs to the bathroom. Taeyong stares at the walls as they pass. There’s so much art. The general design of the house is simplistic, but still nice. It doesn’t feel bare, but it’s not cluttered either.

Yuta pulls a couple of towels out of the closet just outside the doors and hands them to him. “There should be shower gel and things in there already,” he says. “Just shout if you need something. I’ll cook.”

“Thanks,” Taeyong says softly, putting his bag down on the floor and closing the door behind him.

He stares at himself in the mirror, and bites back a bubble of delirious laugher. “Oh, Yong,” he says to his reflection fondly. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

He showers quickly, more just to get the chill out than anything else (though he takes special care a certain somewhere, just in case). He checks himself over in the mirror as he dries off, and then pulls on cute pink underwear, some very distressed skinny jeans, and an oversized black and white sweater, soft from wear, with a too-low neckline. He fluffs his bright blue hair in the mirror until it falls nicely, and then picks up his things and steps out of the bathroom, making his way back down the stairs.

The kitchen smells delicious. He tells Yuta this after dropping his bag by the couch in the living room, leaning back on the counter next to the stove.

Yuta gives him an almost imperceptible once-over. “Thanks,” he says. “It’s my hidden talent. I’ve always been a good cook.”

Taeyong peeks at what he’s stirring. He’s making a rich kimchi stew, and his mouth waters a little. “Well, I’m a pretty good cook, too. Anything I can do to help?”

Yuta smiles and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Have a seat. I’ll be done in just a minute.”

“Okay,” Taeyong agrees easily, slipping into one of the dining table chairs.

“So what year in university are you?” Yuta asks nonchalantly.

“I’m a rising sophomore,” Taeyong says. “But I’m a little young for my year. I just turned 20. My birthday was yesterday.”

“Ah.” Yuta nods. “I see. Well, happy belated birthday. I’m sorry this shitty weather is your introduction to adulthood.”

Taeyong laughs. “Honestly, if it weren’t for my power going out, I wouldn’t mind it so much. I like the rain. It’s kind of soothing.”

Yuta grimaces, turning the fire out and taking bowls down from the cupboard. “Well, I don’t. I think it’s a nuisance.” He carries everything to the table, and seats himself across from Taeyong, dishing out the soup with an ornate, stainless steel ladle.

“Thank you,” Taeyong says. “This looks really good.” Yuta just smiles.

They eat in silence for a little, both too absorbed in not burning their tongues to focus on much else. Taeyong doesn’t mind the reprieve, taking the chance to look Yuta over. He’s taken off his suit jacket, and unbuttoned the top couple buttons of his stuff white button down. He can see a delicate silver chain resting against his sternum. It complements all his earrings, glinting when Yuta moves his head. His hair, which had been carefully slicked back once again, falls in wet strands in his face when he bends down, coaxed out of place by the steam from the soup.

Yuta looks out the window, humming at the sheets of dark water running down the glass. Taeyong hadn’t realized that the sun had set. “It hasn’t let up at all,” he observes. “Reminds me a little of this Japanese animation—I don’t know if you’ve seen it, Ponyo? It’s for children, but—”

“I love Studio Ghibli,” Taeyong says quickly, lighting up. “My favorite is Howl’s Moving Castle, but I like Ponyo, too.”

Yuta smiles. “Oh, some common ground, then. I’m a big Miyazaki fan.”

The way he pronounces Miyazaki clues Taeyong in. “I don’t mean to sound rude,” he says, “but are you Japanese?”

Yuta laughs. “I am, yes,” he says. “I’ve lived in Korea for many, many years now. People say I barely have an accent anymore. But yes, I am from Japan. Osaka, to be precise.”

“I thought so!” Taeyong says even though it only just occurred to him. “I always wondered, because Yuta isn’t a Korean name. But I didn’t know how to ask. Not that it matters. I was just curious.”

“I understand,” Yuta says with a warm smile. Another bolt of lightning illuminates the sky. “Anyway, I bring up Ponyo because I’m worried the storm may last all night. If it doesn’t get better in the next hour or so, I think it may be best for you to stay the night. I just don’t love the idea of driving through this mess in the dark.” He looks back at Taeyong. “I have a guest bedroom, which you’d be more than welcome to use.”

“Thank you,” Taeyong says. “I—that would be nice.”

“Very good, then.” Yuta stands, taking their empty bowls to the sink and covering the leftovers, sliding the pot into the fridge. “Do you have any work to do?”

“No,” Taeyong says. “Even if I did, it’s Friday, so I wouldn’t be doing it anyway.”

Yuta laughs. “At least you’re honest. Want to come watch some TV with me, then, while we wait out the storm?”

“Sure,” Taeyong agrees, and he follows Yuta into the living room.

Yuta drops down onto the couch, leaning back, stretching an arm along the back of the sofa, and crossing his legs, nodding for Taeyong to take the seat beside him. Taeyong’s been feeling bold, but he sits curled up against the opposite armrest. He doesn’t want to get too comfortable, too fast.

It’s hard, though. Yuta flips through the channel and settles on an old Hollywood movie. Taeyong watches his pretty fingers as he lays the remote back down on the coffee table and folds his hands in his lap. Taeyong mirrors him, clasping his hands so tight his knuckles turn white to discourage himself from doing anything rash. The peek of Yuta’s chest that Taeyong can see at the top of his shirt is making him a little dizzy with want, and moreover, his skin is pretty and unblemished. Taeyong would love nothing more than to change that. But for now, he’ll just look. Yuta’s talking about something and Taeyong nods along, pretending to listen. And then—

“Taeyong,” Yuta says, and his voice is low, with a hint of humor. Something about his tone sends goosebumps scattering across Taeyong’s arms. “My eyes are up here.”

Taeyong flushes, and for a second he considers walking home in the rain at eleven p.m. “Sorry,” he stammers out, ears burning. Get it together, dumbass, he thinks to himself.

“I don’t mind,” Yuta says, leaning back and appraising him. “But I think you do.”

“How can I not?” Taeyong asks, voice dimming to a whisper. “I mean, Yuta…” But he trails off. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Yuta says, maddeningly calm. He moves to turn away.

“I think we should,” Taeyong says. “If I’m staying the night.”

“Then what’s the matter?” Yuta tilts his head.

Taeyong wants to laugh. He feels crazy. “You’re like twice my age.”

Yuta does laugh. “You think I don’t realize that?” he says. “I thought if I ignored it, it would just go away. But I just kept seeing you. I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

“I don’t know where—where to go from here,” Taeyong says uncertainly. God, he just wants to touch him, but he knows once he starts, he won’t be able to stop. He’s getting the impression Yuta feels the same way, and in spite of everything, it sends arousal sparking across his skin.

Yuta shrugs. “Listen, I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do,” he says. “You’re welcome to stay either way. The guest bedroom door even has a little deadbolt, if that makes you feel more comfortable. But if both of us agree, what’s the harm?” Taeyong’s head is swimming. “Tell me, honey. Whatever you want.”

Taeyong swallows, and decides to do something equal parts brave and stupid. “I want you,” he says, voice rough, and Yuta’s smile widens.

“Then what are you doing all the way over there?” Yuta asks, opening his arms.

Taeyong wastes no time scrambling into Yuta’s lap. Yuta cups his cheeks and brings him in for a sweet kiss, and Taeyong moans a little into his mouth. He’s such a good kisser, and Taeyong lets himself get lost in it, draping his arms over Yuta’s shoulders. He rolls his hips before he can think to stop himself, but Yuta just laughs darkly, nipping at his bottom lip before pulling away. Taeyong whines, gasping when Yuta drops his hands to Taeyong’s hips, flipping up the hem of his sweater and holding him in place by his waist.

“Fuck, baby, you have such a pretty little body,” Yuta murmurs, and Taeyong preens, smiling to himself. “You know that though, don’t you? That why you wore these tight jeans, this sweater? If the neckline was any lower I could see your belly.”

“I wanted you to look at me,” Taeyong says softly. “I wanted to look nice for you.”

“Sweet of you,” Yuta coos. “What do you like, baby? I said whatever you want. Just say the word.”

“Want you to fuck me,” Taeyong says immediately, and Yuta laughs again.

“Well, I thought that was given,” he says. “We’ll get there, be patient for me. What do you like?” Taeyong doesn’t know how to answer that question, so he just tries to grind down in Yuta’s lap, hoping it’ll get him what he wants. But Yuta’s grip on his waist just tightens, holding him in place. “You don’t wanna use your words like a good boy? Need me to work it out of you? I didn’t think you were so shy.”

“No,” Taeyong protests immediately. He’ll be good. “I just,” he says, breathlessly. Yuta’s left hand is inching higher and higher under his sweater, mapping his body out. The pad of his thumb runs over Taeyong’s nipple, and his breath hitches in his throat. “I just don’t know where to start,” he finally manages to explain. “Help me.”

“Oh, you just wanted my help?” Yuta smiles indulgently. “Sure, baby. Do you like it when I hold you like this?” He squeezes the hand on Taeyong’s hip, and Taeyong gasps in surprise, nodding. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” Taeyong says. “Yes, I like it.”

“Okay.” Yuta’s tone is playful. “Would you like it if I pulled your pretty hair?”

“Mm-hmm, yes,” Taeyong agrees, nodding fervently. Yuta’s still playing with his nipples, and it’s sending shocks of pleasure through his body. He feels his cock straining a little in his pants. “You don’t have t’ treat me nice. I can take it.”

“So you’d like it if, when you’re bad, I spanked you?” Yuta asks. “Choked you? Kept fucking you if I wanted, even if you were already spent and crying?”

“Yes, yes,” Taeyong chants. “Please, I want it.”

“You wanna be my little fuckdoll, is that it?” Yuta asks. Shame burns on Taeyong’s cheeks, but he loves it, nodding. “Who knew you could be so dirty, with a face that angelic?”

“Did you ever wonder if I was?” Taeyong asks, and Yuta draws a sharp breath in beneath him. “Did you ever think about how I’d be in bed?”

“And if I did? Would you like that, too?” Yuta asks, and Taeyong whines in affirmation. “Would you like it if I said I imagined you just this way when I was jacking off—my beautiful little boy, moaning so nice for me in my lap?”

Taeyong shudders at little boy. “Yes,” he whispers.

“Because I did,” Yuta says, leaning back so he can pull Taeyong’s sweater up over his head. Taeyong shivers a little, but it’s more from the knowledge that Yuta can see him than from the chill. “Did you think of me, too, baby?”

“Yes,” Taeyong admits. “I did.” Yuta’s hands have moved to the buttons of his own shirt, and Taeyong tries not to drool as the fabric falls back, off his shoulders, revealing a sturdy chest and toned stomach, and, to his surprise, a belly button piercing. Yuta notices him looking.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong giggles. “It’s pretty. I didn’t think you’d have one.”

“Well, I’m full of surprises, it would seem,” Yuta says.

“Can I?” Taeyong hovers his hands just over Yuta’s chest, and Yuta nods. Instead of using his hands, though, Taeyong curls over, pressing his lips to Yuta’s collarbone. He makes a little row of kisses there, and then goes lower, mouthing hotly over the skin.

“You can leave marks if you want,” Yuta says, one hand coming up to thread through Taeyong’s still-damp hair. “I don’t mind if you bite.”

“Good,” Taeyong says. “I don’t, either.”

“What did you think of, baby, when you thought of me?” Yuta picks his little interrogation right back up as Taeyong goes to work sucking marks into his skin.

“Thought maybe you could, you know, teach me how to suck your cock right, and then you could fuck me till you’re satisfied, even if it makes me pass out,” Taeyong rambles. Yuta groans, tightening the fist that’s in Taeyong’s hair, making him whine. “And in the morning you could do it again. I wouldn’t mind, even if I was sleeping. I mean it.”

“Yeah? Want me to use your pretty little hole?” Yuta brings his other hand around to Taeyong’s ass and squeezes. “Anytime I want? What if I’m working, would you sit on my cock and keep it warm for me?”

“Yes, yes, I want it,” Taeyong says. He shifts forward in Yuta’s lap, smiling to himself when he feels Yuta’s cock pressing hard against the cleft of his ass. “Please, daddy, please lemme suck your cock.”

Yuta shakes his head in disbelief, groaning. “You ask me nicely like that, I’ll give you anything you want. Who taught you to talk like that, huh, baby?”

“Nobody,” Taeyong protests. Yuta lifts him up a little so he can find his footing, and he steps backwards and then sits on his knees at Yuta’s feet. “I’ve always been like this. Learned it all on my own.”

“If you learned it on your own, why do you need teaching?” But Yuta sounds amused; there’s no accusation in his voice. He scoots forward a little, widening his stance so that he’s kind of caging Taeyong in.

“Don’t wanna do it on my own anymore,” Taeyong pouts.

“Want daddy to take care of you?” Yuta pushes some of Taeyong’s hair out of his face. Taeyong nods, loving that Yuta picked the nickname right up, and pouts harder, making his eyes big and pleading. Yuta unbuckles his belt, lifting his hips so he can pull his pants and underwear down and off.

Yuta’s not the biggest Taeyong’s ever seen, but his cock is pretty, and thick, which is all that really matters. Taeyong crawls forward, until his knees are touching the bottom of the couch. Yuta coaxes him up, motioning for him to brace his hands on Yuta’s thighs. Taeyong gets settled, dropping his jaw and sticking his tongue out. Yuta hums in the back of his throat, pleased, and pushes two fingers into Taeyong’s mouth.

Taeyong lets his jaw go completely slack, letting Yuta test the waters a little. He likes to surprise people with his lack of a gag reflex, and when Yuta presses down on the back of his tongue, Taeyong doesn’t even blink, just breathes, in-out, in-out, and gives Yuta a sweet, innocent look.

“Jesus, baby,” Yuta says, withdrawing his hand from Taeyong’s mouth and wiping the spit off on his discarded shirt. “You’ll just let me do anything, won’t you?”

“I want anything you’ll give me,” Taeyong answers honestly.

“You’re so good,” Yuta murmurs. He grips his cock with one hand. “Open, baby.” Taeyong complies, and he slaps his cock against Taeyong’s flat tongue a couple of times. “Want it?”

“Please, daddy,” Taeyong whines, and Yuta nods. Taeyong pushes himself up a little more to get a better angle, and then sinks down on him, just the head at first, suckling sweetly, and then taking him deeper, hollowing his cheeks as he bottoms out. The head of Yuta’s cock is crowding out his throat, but he just keeps breathing, holding there to show off.

Yuta runs a finger over Taeyong’s Adam’s apple. “Shit, you feel so good,” he says. The praise makes Taeyong dizzy, and he sucks a little harder, moaning prettily around Yuta’s cock because he knows it’ll feel good. He bobs his head, setting a little rhythm, and Yuta’s hand falls from his throat as he sighs. “Just like that, baby.”

Taeyong moves faster, not caring if he can barely breathe, not minding if he gets messy. He wants to prove how good he can be, gagging softly at each thrust but not caring, even when his head fills with static.

“Okay, fuck, Taeyong, you’re gonna make yourself sick or pass out,” Yuta says breathlessly, taking a hold of his hair and pulling him off his cock. Taeyong wheezes a little, gasping for breath, looking up at Yuta with shining eyes. Yuta raises an eyebrow. “You’d probably like that, though, wouldn’t you?” he asks, and Taeyong just blinks, giving him a serene smile. Yuta catches a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. “Nasty,” he says, fond.

“Want you to fuck me, daddy,” Taeyong replies, petulant. He rests his cheek on Yuta’s knee. “Wanted it since I first saw you.”

“If I’m gonna fuck you, maybe we should move to my bedroom, hm?” Yuta stands, pulling Taeyong to his feet. Taeyong feels a little torn, honestly; on the one hand, he kind of likes the idea of being fucked into Yuta’s couch, like he’s just some slut, like he doesn’t matter. On the other hand, the bed would be more comfortable, and it’s kind of nice that Yuta cares. It seems like Yuta can kind of tell where his mind is at, because he smiles and pulls Taeyong close. “We’re gonna be tired when we’re done,” he explains, and Taeyong really likes that idea. “And as long as you don’t mind, this doesn’t have to be a one-time thing.”

“I thought we already established that,” Taeyong says, wrapping his arms around Yuta’s shoulders and leaning in for a kiss. Yuta grabs the backs of his thighs, lifting him up. Taeyong squeals a little, giggling and clinging tight. Yuta looks strong, and Taeyong’s so glad that it isn’t just for show. He carries him all the way up the stairs to his room, only letting go when Taeyong’s back has hit the soft mattress.

“Get these off while I grab a couple things, okay?” Yuta says, tugging a little at Taeyong’s jeans. He moves to his dresser, opening a small drawer and rummaging around. Taeyong undoes the button, wiggling his hips to slide them off. Yuta turns his head back to Taeyong, watching him undress. “Baby, are you clean? I know I am.”

Taeyong nods. “Mm-hmm, got tested right before I left home,” he says. “Haven’t had anyone since.”

“Perfect.” Yuta closes the drawer with his hip. “No condom, then, if that’s alright.”

Taeyong nods, reaching out for Yuta as he comes near. Yuta laughs, setting the bottle of lube next to him on the bed, and bending over him, slipping a hand behind his neck, and giving him a kiss. Taeyong brings one of his hands up to Yuta’s cheek; anything for more contact. He sighs when Yuta pulls back, straightening and reaching for the discarded lube.

Yuta spreads Taeyong’s legs, forcing him to bend his knees so he can fold his thighs on either side of his stomach. “You’re so flexible,” Yuta notes as he presses the tip of a lube-slick finger against Taeyong’s hole.

“I dance,” Taeyong explains breathily, and Yuta makes an I see noise in his throat, nodding.

Taeyong doesn’t know where he wants to be looking the most. The sight of Yuta’s cock, still wet from Taeyong’s spit, hard and red and drooling precome, makes Taeyong’s mouth water. But then he’s distracted by Yuta’s biceps and his gorgeous hands, and then by his hair, still partially slicked back, so handsome. The silver chain Yuta is wearing dangles low when he bends over him, pushing his index finger into Taeyong. It burns a little, but the feeling quickly subsides and is replaced by warm pleasure. Taeyong lets out a breathy moan, and Yuta looks up at him.

“Feel good, honey?” he asks, and Taeyong feels like he’s going to melt into the mattress.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Feels g-good.” He arches his back a little, trying to take Yuta deeper, but Yuta just moves with him, laughing a little when he whines.

“Don’t wanna hurt you, baby,” he says, using his other hand to hold Taeyong’s hips down so he can pump in and out uninterrupted. He bends down so he can press kisses to Taeyong’s inner thighs and Taeyong trembles under his lips.

“You won’t hurt me,” Taeyong argues. “And I wouldn’t mind if you did. Please, daddy, I want more.”

“Fuck, Taeyong,” Yuta says, giving exactly what he wants, slipping a second finger in alongside the first. “That is gonna be the death of me.”

Taeyong just hums happily, clenching down around his fingers to get him to move. The glide is easy, and wet; each thrust makes a squelching noise, and even though it’s gross, Taeyong loves it. Yuta pushes in, curling his fingers, and Taeyong’s eyes roll back in his head.

“Da-ddy,” he moans, long and drawn out, as Yuta does it again, his sharp, wide smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, ah, right there, there.”

He gasps in breaths, but all he can do is whine and cry while Yuta takes his time opening him up. He can feel each stroke in his whole body, and he whimpers high and loud when Yuta pushes his fingers over his prostate. It knocks the wind out of him each time, and he knows it won’t be long before he starts crying.

“You sound so good,” Yuta says, adding another finger. Taeyong’s cock drools out more precome, where it’s quickly collecting into a little puddle on his tummy. It doesn’t slip Yuta’s notice. “So messy already. You sure you can take my cock?”

“I’m sure,” Taeyong insists. “If you would hurry up, I could show you.”

“Don’t be a brat.” Yuta crams his pinky in, shoving his fingers deep and then flexing them outward to make it stretch and sear. Taeyong cries out, more from shock than anything else. The pain goes straight to his head with the pleasure, and his hips twitch against his will. His head already feels fuzzy and slow, and he’s not even aware of the noises he’s making anymore—not that he could do anything about them, anyway. Yuta walks the careful line between too hard and too soft, between too much and not enough, so Taeyong thinks he’s allowed to lose his mind a little. He’d always had a thing for older guys (though never this old, never this experienced) and now he knows exactly why.

Faintly, he realizes Yuta’s asked him something. “S-sorry, what?”

Yuta laughs a little. “Already a little dumb?” Taeyong can’t deny it. “I asked if you were ready.”

“Yes,” Taeyong says before Yuta’s even done asking the question. “Yes, I need it.”

“Oh, need it?” Yuta’s just saying it though; he withdraws his fingers and Taeyong watches him spread lube over his cock. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

“It’s not,” Taeyong insists. “I mean it.”

“I think you’re just greedy,” Yuta says, but he lines his cock up all the same, pressing slow into Taeyong’s hole. It aches, but he doesn’t care, just smiles when Yuta presses his knees back further so he can fuck him deeper. “Happy now?”

“Mm, yes,” Taeyong breathes. “‘M so full, fuck.”

Yuta just huffs above him. His hair is finally really falling from where he clearly so carefully gelled it into place that morning. He looks absolutely gorgeous, and it’s so unfair. For a second, Taeyong feels like a stupid little kid in comparison, but then Yuta thrusts back in and hits his prostate dead-on, and Taeyong wails, all thoughts flying out the window. Yuta grabs his hips and shifts them up a little so he can get a better angle, so he can really drill into him. Taeyong’s blood feels like honey in his veins, warm and slow and sweet.

“Take me so well,” Yuta praises, rolling his hips, grinding into him hard and dirty. The pool of slick on Taeyong’s stomach is obscene; he hiccups in breaths, barely managing to keep his head above the waves of heat coursing through his body. He’s shaking with it, so close already, fleeting thoughts barely registering as they flash through his head—he hopes to god they’ll do this again, and for longer, because all he wants is for Yuta to make him come on his cock again and again, until he can’t speak, until all he can do is cry and beg, daddy, daddy, please. He wants to feel it everywhere; he wants to feel it for days after, doesn’t mind if his fellow interns catch him limping. Right now, he wouldn’t even mind the shame of one of them finding out. Because, after all, he’s the one that pulled the middle-aged man who’s built like he’s sculpted from marble. He’s Taeyong’s perfect fit—Taeyong almost giggles at the idea. Yuta is the museum exhibit, and Taeyong is like the gift-shop miniature, fragile porcelain, more common, but still pretty. They’re a matched set.

“Oh,” he mewls, caught off guard, when Yuta wraps a hand around his cock. “Fuck, daddy, ugh, it’s so—so—“ He can’t finish the thought, too caught up in how everything feels to speak. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth and he blinks slowly, realizes there’s tears welled in his eyes. They roll down to his temples, but he can’t be bothered to swipe them away, even when it gets a little uncomfortable.

“So what, babydoll?” Yuta asks, mostly just to tease.

Taeyong doesn’t bother answering, just grabs a fistful of the sheets, letting little ahs of want escape his lips in time with Yuta’s thrusts. Yuta doesn’t let him catch his breath, just keeps going, petting the back of one of his thighs with the hand that isn’t jacking him off to comfort him, even while he’s railing him within an inch of his life—Taeyong wonders faintly if it’s possible to die from fucking, but if it is, he’s not sure he minds.

“Daddy,” he whimpers. “I’m close, pl-please, faster.”

Yuta obliges, speeding up both his fist and his hips, and Taeyong knows he asked for it, but he screams, letting it trail into a sob. It’s so much, and it’s so good, and he really wishes he could warn Yuta, but he’s too far gone to form words now.

Luckily, Yuta has him. He leans forward a little, and though he’s smiling indulgently, Taeyong can see the undercurrent of desire rippling beneath the surface. He dips even closer, mouthing over Taeyong’s neck. His breath and tongue are hot on Taeyong’s skin, and his voice is silk when he asks, “You gonna come for daddy, little boy?”

And, god, it’s so fucked up of him, but Taeyong hears the words little boy, and he’s done. He recognizes faintly that he’s crying himself hoarse, but it’s not as important as the way he’s spilling over Yuta’s fingers, hips jerking weakly, pleasure washing over him with heat so intense he thinks he may very well pass out. It subsides, though, and gives way to a semi-numbness. He can’t feel his toes, and as he comes back down, he finds himself giggling.

He reaches up and tucks a lock of Yuta’s hair behind his ear, keeping his hand there on the side of his face. “Mm, daddy,” he breathes. “You look so handsome.”

The look in Yuta’s eyes is dangerous, and he just growls in response. Taeyong knows he’s going to be playing that sound back in his mind, over and over, for the next forever. Now that he’s come, he realizes how sore he is, but he doesn’t want Yuta to stop, so he tries to stifle his little hurt noises. If Yuta notices, he doesn’t say anything about it, just keeps fucking into him, chasing his own release.

“Gonna make me come, baby,” he grits out, low and thick.

“Want your come, daddy, please,” Taeyong begs. “Wanna feel you.”

“Fuck, baby.” Yuta’s grip on Taeyong’s waist is bruising; his nails dig into Taeyong’s skin, sure to leave little crescent-shaped red marks. He moans breathily, and then he stills as he comes, head of his cock pressed snug to Taeyong’s swollen prostate, filling Taeyong with sticky, wet heat. And Taeyong, nasty just the way Yuta had accused, fucking loves it.

The air is filled only with the sound of their breathing for a minute. Taeyong runs his hands through Yuta’s sweaty hair, making little content noises. He kind of wishes Yuta didn’t have to pull out (again, nasty), but they have to shower, and then sleep. And besides, he thinks to himself, there’s always tomorrow.

Yuta raises his head, reaching up to wipe away some of Taeyong’s drying tears. “Hey, baby,” he whispers, and Taeyong giggles.

“Hey, daddy,” he says back, and Yuta rolls his eyes, pushing himself up and off, pulling out gingerly as he goes. Taeyong gives him a discontented look, but struggles into a sitting position so Yuta can pull him to his feet.

“You’re ridiculous,” Yuta says when they’re nose to nose. Taeyong giggles again, biting his lip a little when he feels some of Yuta’s come drip down his thigh. “We need a shower, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong says softly.

“Come on, then.” Yuta takes his hand, leading him into the master bathroom and starting the water. He gives Taeyong a series of quick, chaste kisses as they wait for the water to heat up.

Yuta helps him clean up, since Taeyong’s limbs don’t seem to be wanting to cooperate. He leans his head against Yuta’s shoulder, cradled against his body as he rinses him off, Yuta’s lips pressed to his ear. Yuta even dries him off after wrapping a towel around his own hips, his touches gentle. Taeyong watches him drowsily. He isn’t any less beautiful now, even after Taeyong’s gotten the good fucking he was looking for.

“What is it, honey?” Yuta asks as he fluffs Taeyong’s hair with the towel.

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” Taeyong asks.

Yuta coos, and kisses his forehead. “Yes,” he says. “I’d like that.”

Warmed, Taeyong lets his eyes flutter shut, lets Yuta finish drying him off, lets him guide him back to the bedroom and slip a soft t-shirt over his head, and then wrap him up under the duvet.

He curls into Yuta’s chest, breathing in his scent. He’s barely known him two weeks, but already it’s comforting and familiar, just like the way Yuta is running his fingertips up and down over his spine. A pang of anxiety hits him, though, and he looks up at Yuta to find him looking back, expression unreadable.

“Yuta?” he says softly. “What happens now?”

Yuta shrugs with one shoulder. “We go to sleep,” he replies. “Tomorrow, who knows? Anything we want. We’ll talk about it, okay? But it won’t do any good to try and sort it all out now. Is that okay?”

Taeyong closes his eyes again, tucking his chin back down, one hand splayed against Yuta’s sternum. “Yeah,” he murmurs sleepily. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

[doof-doofblog]

"Another Time, Yeah?"

Tuesday 15th June 2021

(Part One & Part Two)

Hello again everyone, as promised I'm back with another post - 3 blog posts from me this week, that's more than I did last week!! But anyway I'm going to review everything from Tuesday's episodes in this post.  

So without further ado, I'm going to begin with mentioning Ruby. The day after her second miscarriage, Martin is surprised to learn that once again she has every intention of going to work and forgetting about the events that have occurred. Martin tries his best to convince his wife to rest for the rest of the day but as Ruby tries to explain her reasons for wanting to go to work, she notices the screen on Martin's laptop, it shows that he's been looking up options for IVF.

Understandably, Martin is trying to help in any way he can to make sure he and his wife have they family they've been longing for. However Ruby makes the valid point that it's not the getting pregnant that's the problem, it's being able to stay pregnant. Martin tries to explain that if they really want to have a family they can consider other options available, but Ruby then drops the bombshell that after everything she's gone through she really can't bring herself to go through any more trauma and loss. She informs Martin that instead of trying to fight to have a family, she's going to embrace the family she already has.

However, later Ruby is seen alone, visiting the memorial that she and Martin created for their lost baby, she gently adds another stone to commemorate the second baby she has lost. As the camera spins we see that just across the patch of grass, Jean is sat on her own but as she turns around and notices Ruby, she joins her. Jean realises exactly what's happening and speaks softly to her. Informing Jean about the decision to not try for another baby and to accept the family she has, Jean makes a very touching statement - "You know what I see? I don't see a woman who's given up, I see a woman who's grieving, and I believe there's still a lot of fight in you!" - as beautiful as those words are, it completely hits Ruby to the core and she softly begins to cry, such a moving moment.

--

The next thing I'm going to mention is Tiffany and Keegan. It's the day of their photoshoot and Tiffany is completely excited about the press and media attention. Wanting to get her name out there also, she informs Keegan that she's come up with a name for their joint business - Something along the lines of "ButcherBakerBeauty-Baps?" ... (I'm sure they'll come up with a better name eventually!) Suddenly when Tiffany sees herself in the mirror she's horrified to see that the day of their photoshoot she been graced with a spot on her chin, frantically she begins to flap, claiming that she needs to look good for their photoshoot - I have to be honest the main thought that was entering my mind at this point was "The photoshoot isn't even meant to be hers so why is she making such a fuss?" - without meaning to be mean, but I don't know I guess it just didn't sit right with me, she shouldn't be focusing on her and should be supporting her husband instead.

As Tiffany calls her friend in desperate need of some assistance, it seems that her friend manages to get someone round to do Tiffany's make-up. However when Tiffany compliments the stylist's skin, the lady informs her that she does cheat by using injections such as Botox and fillers. Realising that injecting herself with something could change her appearance to the way she wants, Tiffany urges the beautician to use the injections on her for her photoshoot - even though the beautician warns her it can be very pricey! Again, I have to be honest - as soon as I realised that Tiffany was going to ask for injections my mind just went racing - how much do you want to bet that Tiffany is going to become addicted to beauty injections?! It could be a possible new storyline for her which could end with serious consequences?

Even though she is thrilled with the end results, Tiffany is shocked to see the price she has to pay for the treatment and asks whether she can pay half now and pay the rest within in the next couple of days. Later as Keegan and Tiffany are enjoying the photoshoot - the photographer is keen on focusing on Keegan and asking him questions about his business. But when Keegan tries to turn their attention to Tiffany so she can promote her business/brand - you can see that the photographer is the least bit interested.

The next day, as everyone is gushing about the article in the newspaper about Keegan, Tiffany buys herself a newspaper hoping to see a whole page spread of herself and her husband in the newspaper. But she is visibly devastated when she realises that she hasn't even been mentioned and the whole article is about Keegan and his business. She later voices her annoyance and devastation to her friend Chloe, claiming that she has spent a fortune on injections for nothing! But worse still, how is her husband going to react when he finds out she's spending money on things she doesn't need!

Chloe then suggests that in a way to make as much money as she can so Keegan won't suspect anything is for her to flog diet pills. She claims she doesn't know how they work and has never used them but manages to sell them and get decent enough money for doing so. For a split moment I had hoped that Tiffany would know better than to sell some dodgy diet pills, but it looks as though she is very tempted. Later when she meets up with Bernie, she confides in her friend about the money she has spent on fillers to make herself look good for the photoshoot.

Of course Bernie is sympathetic towards her friends, but then suddenly Tiffany starts rummaging in her bag for something and empties out the contents of her bag, quickly Bernie notices the tubs of diet pills she's in possession of and asks where she got them from and whether they work, it's then that Bernie drops the bombshell that she needs to lose weight quickly, and Tiffany is a bit surprised by her choice of words, asking why "Quickly". It's then that finally Bernie feel able to tell someone about her plans and informs Tiffany that she's agreed to be Rainie and Stuart's surrogate, much to her best friend's shock. Tiffany warns Bernie to be careful where Rainie and Stuart are concerned because when she offered to be their surrogate she recalled that they didn't leave her alone. But Bernie is adamant that she needs the money for her family and claims that her Mum believes that she'll be getting a bonus from the call centre. Eventually she practically begs Tiff to allow her to use the diet pills, she claims she can be her guinea pig in a way and will pay her once she's made her money from the surrogacy. Tiffany looks really reluctant to do so but makes Bernie promise that she'll read the instructions before taking them.

Honestly, I fear this is going to be a massive downward spiral for the both of them. Tiffany getting hooked on beauty injections and then Bernadette getting addicted to diet pills and both making themselves ill. What do you guys think?! I'm really intrigued to hear your thoughts on this one!

--

Elsewhere on the Square, Shirley is still reeling about the news of Linda's pregnancy, she still can't understand why she wasn't told much earlier on when she arrived back in Walford. She admits to Nancy and Frankie that she feels as though her family are shutting her out. I have to say though I loved the banter between the three of them in this scene. Nancy tries to swerve the conversation from her parents sex life to Shirley's own love life and happens to point out that she hasn't been with anyone since Buster!!!

Oh my goodness, do you guys remember Buster??? It was proven that he was in fact Mick's biological Dad, which makes him Nancy and Frankie's Grandad. Hearing that Frankie has a Grandad seemed to excite the girl, but she and Nancy still continue to make fun of Shirley - claiming that for her next birthday they're going to buy her a pair of slippers and a throw as they claim it's time for her to hang up her knee-high leather boots. I do love the jip that Shirley snaps back at them, it makes the whole scene much more comical and the dynamic between them all is just brilliant!

It's then they Frankie points to Terry sat on his own and urges Shirley to ask him for a drink, at first Shirley shows no interest but after being goaded by her Granddaughters, she eventually gets the courage to approach Terry and (in not so many words) informs him that he will be buying her a drink. The one thing that completely confused me though was that Terry called himself by the name "Rocky" as he introduced himself to Shirley, can anyone explain to me why? His name is Terry right? I don't understand where the "Rocky" came from? - Unless it's similar to Callum's name - Callum "Halfway" Highway?!

Meanwhile, as Terry agrees to have a quick drink with Shirley, Sonia is at home prepping a lovely roast dinner meal for herself and her Dad to celebrate and early Father's Day. But back in the pub, as Shirley and Terry begin to chat and get to know each other, Nancy and Frankie keep showering them with drinks. As the sisters notice that they appear to be getting on, Nancy places down another drink in front of them claiming it's on the house, while Frankie sneakily changes the time on the clock.

Terry is adamant he can only stay until 1pm as he has a lunch date with Sonia, but as he looks at clock to see he still has plenty of time, he continues to drink. Unfortunately though, both Frankie and Nancy reveal to each other that instead of giving them single vodka drinks, they've been serving them triple vodka's all shift. Eventually as things get a bit loud, Nancy and Frankie realise their mistake. Shirley and Terry are both drunkenly singing along to "Come On, Eileen!" and then eventually "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)".

I have to admit, even though it was hilarious watching drunk Shirley singing along to the music and having a laugh with Terry, you do feel sorry for Sonia as you realise that Terry has accidentally stood her up for her meal. Arriving at the Vic and seeing the drunken state her Dad is in, she demands Terry to leave Walford and to never come back. Over the next day or so, Terry is desperate to make it up to his daughter and he appears to think that the only way he can do it is to roll out the red carpet in her house for her and make her a meal of her own and instead of calling it "Father's Day" makes it a "Daughter's Day".

As Sonia agrees to give him one final chance, they make it up by taking a selfie together. But when Terry leaves his phone on the table and Sonia takes a look at the picture, she begins to scroll through his phone and sees that there are other photos of houses on his phone. What could these mean? Is he planning on moving to Albert Square for good? OR is he in some kind of business where some of the local properties are going to be knocked down? Who knows?!

--

The next thing I have to mention is Kat and Phil. Kat is completely excited to learn that things are on the move where her business with Phil is concerned. Phil has confirmed that he has bought the laundrette for their business opportunity and they're just waiting for the paperwork to go through. Only her happiness doesn't seem to last for long as when she enters the café and is confronted by Sharon, it seems that Sharon warns her that anything that Phil is involved in is never legit. Although Sharon's relationship with Phil was completely different compared to Kat's relationship with him, it seems that Sharon's words fill Kat's head with doubt. Eventually she takes it upon herself to confront Phil, claiming she wants to see the paperwork to make sure everything they're doing is legit. She claims that she has already been prison once and doesn't want to end up there again, she needs to be completely certain that going into business with Phil is the right thing to do. I think people are too easy to judge Phil, they should give him a break, he informs Kat that he shouldn't listen to a word that Sharon's said and to trust him, he wants to focus on their future and having something in place for both of their children, but more importantly if she is wanting this as much as he does, then she needs to learn to trust him. I still think that if all goes well for these two, Kat and Phil could potentially be the new power couple on the Square! What do you think?!

--

Lastly, Callum is still appearing to struggle with the trauma of what happened with his partner. The one person he's been able to confide in is Whitney. After anxiously waiting to hear news about his partner's condition, he was completely relieved when Ash informs him that Fitzy's operation was a success and he should make a full recovery.

As he excitedly informs Whitney about the good news, Whitney reminds him that he should tell Ben now, considering that Fitzy is going to be okay. Callum kind of shuts that comment down and asks Whitney whether she'll accompany him to the hospital to see his partner. However, without their knowledge, Ben sees them from across the Square getting into a cab together, I have to say Ben & Callum's married life hasn't really started off well has it? They've come back from their honeymoon, Phil is still reluctant to talk to either Callum or Ben as he stills holds a grudge against Callum for going behind his back, and Callum has had to deal with the trauma of witnessing his partner being stabbed on the job.

But even though Callum maybe wants to tell Ben about his, Ben did at the start find it hard to accept Callum in the police and had the cheek to ask him to quit, but realising that he loves Callum for who he is and not is job, changes his mind and just requests that Callum never speaks about work to him. So of course, with that in mind, Callum must feel that he has no one else to talk to about recent events, which is why he has leaned on Whitney over the past couple of days. But when Ben sees them getting into that car together, you can tell he's beginning to speculate what they could be up to.

Unfortunately, after returning from seeing Fitzy in the hospital, it looks like it hasn't really helped Callum cope with it, he begins to fret and lash out claiming it was his fault that he's in hospital with wires all attached to him. Almost hurting himself on the garden gate, Whitney acknowledges that she has seen Callum this way before, and it's all down to his PTSD - (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) - we know that he went through it when he was in the army, but now it appears to be resurfacing. The one thing that crossed my mind was, is Ben aware about Callum's PTSD? Has that always been a thing that Ben has known about, I'm a bit unsure?

However, it seems that Whitney is eager for Callum to inform his husband now more so than ever that what's been happening. But when Callum arrives home and Ben asks him how his day at work was, Callum lies to him once again claiming he's had a really busy day and just wants to have a shower alone. Now Ben knows that Callum is lying about being in work, so obviously he's going to be wondering what else he's lying about or not telling him. As Callum makes his way into the shower, Ben grabs his opportunity to search his rucksack and it seems he's completely stunned to find an engagement ring - of course he's going to be completely clueless and wondering why his husband has an engagement ring, but we know that before Fitzy was rushed to hospital, Fitzy gave it to Callum to give to his girlfriend.

I think Callum really needs to talk to Ben soon before he jumps to conclusions and lashes out, accusing Callum of something he's completely innocent of. Overall a good few episodes I have to say, I've really enjoyed being able to type up a couple of blogs this week, I was getting myself a little stressed out that I was so far behind and hadn't posted in a while, but again I want to thank you all for continuing to follow me and show your interest in my blog, it really means the world. Please feel free to send me any thoughts or opinions you may have on the current storylines. Enjoy the rest of your week and I'll be back very soon! Love you all xXx

[kri-babe]

A Bad Experience ᅳ Word Count: 2143 Summary: TAKE THE TRASH OUT. Warning: Implied Sexual Assault. Murder.

I was a pretty average kid. I wasn’t excessively popular, but I wasn’t an outcast either. I liked my silence and my own company, but I didn’t mind the company of my friends either. I had my own little pack of misfits that I ran with but we were average kids. We hung out where we could, but it wasn’t all that often between our classes or after school. My best friend in school was… sort of unorthodox, and a lot of people would have probably questioned it, and had my mom been any better, she would’ve told me to stay the fuck away from him.

And with good reason…

Mr. Rhodes was the school janitor; dressed persistently in a dark blue jumpsuit, and jingling whenever he walked because of the keys he carried on his belt. He was a fairly recluse guy, and the other kids thought he was pretty creepy. I think that was because of the fact that he had this weird tendency to turn up in random places, or… maybe it was the scars that mangled the side of his face. Hell, now that I think back on it, it could’ve even just been the vibe he put off. The smile that was just a little too friendly… the dark eyes that were just a little… too happy.

I guess I was a bad read of people…

But for whatever unfortunate reason, I liked Mr. Rhodes… I spoke to him regularly whenever I saw him, treated the guy like he was just another friend of mine. He was friendly enough, and he didn’t treat me like I was just some dumb fuckin’ kid in his way, wasting his time.

I never told him about it, but I think he put it together anyway - the problems back at home. He’d told me one day that I could hide out in the janitor’s closet if I ever needed a place away from everyone else. I hadn’t thought anything of it. Just a friendly gesture from a decent guy everyone overlooked because he had an unsavory job, and scars on his face.

I never once stopped to wonder why he was working at that school, why he was a janitor, and why the other kids avoided him… why the teachers avoided him. I never really thought beyond the idea that they were just mean. That maybe it was pack instinct that kept the flock together, safe in their numbers where the wolf couldn’t easily get to them.

No, I had to be the black sheep - the one that sticks out like a sore thumb, all the easier to snatch.

Too bad I didn’t see his fangs until he found me in the janitor’s closet one day. It’d been a shit day, mom was off her meds, had thrown away some of my stuff because it was ‘Satanic’. I didn’t want to put up with the teachers, nor the other kids, so I hunkered down in that little, cramped closet to just ride the day out. Where the fuck else was I going to go? Home? As if. If only I’d thought of some place else. If only I’d refused to trust him too.

He asked how long I’d been there, and I told him since school started. Guess that meant no one would notice one missing kid. The minute he closed the door, I felt something. A sinking brick in my gut and it only got worse when Mr. Rhodes knelt beside me, rubbed my back and told me that it’d all be okay. He could make it better. … I must’ve been twelve.

I stayed in the closet for the rest of the day. I was too scared to come out until well after school had ended….

I told her anyway. I knew she wouldn’t hear it, I knew she wouldn’t believe me. I knew she wouldn’t be on my side. But sometimes… just… sometimes. She was mom. I told her anyway. I felt the strike far before I had seen it coming.

“No son of mine will be an incubus, not in this house. God will excise this evil from you, you pustulant seductor.”

I still have scars from the whipping.

So… what now…

What do you do when your childhood fucking rapist comes into your place of work… and recognizes you…?

“Well, well,” Chimed a familiar, snake-like voice from just a few steps behind.

Alby blinked tiredly a few times, staring at the bleary image of the DVD cases in the cart and in his hands. As per the norm, the night had been slow - Blockbusters wasn’t really what it used to be, and the few customers he did get were often high as hell, and just looking for cheap movies to rent. He’d had maybe one other customer earlier that evening, before he’d set to putting back the returns.

Another blink, Alby slowly frowned as it pushed its way back to the surface - that rotten, fetid trauma he’d buried years ago. The boy straightened, blinking, and turned his head to peer over his shoulder as Rhodes stepped nearer, grinning just like the wolf he’d always been. Alby’s frown hardened as his good eye slowly cleared from the haze of the pot that clouded his head.

“If it isn’t little Alby… and you’ve grown up to be so handsome too… I’m honestly surprised to still see you around, kiddo… I was so sure your mother would be the end of you…” He reached closer, tilting Alby’s chin in his direction with a finger to better see the patch that was taped over the young man’s right eye. “Looks like she might still be,” He smirked, releasing him then, and instead, placed his hand over Alby’s back.

Broad, slender - he’d shot up like a beanstalk since they had last seen each other. Rhodes looked no different somehow, and Alby wasn’t sure how to take that. But the hand over his back summoned something from the depths of his being. A cold sweat broke out over his porcelain skin and Alby could feel a tremble push its way into his arms and fingers.

“So, how’s life been, kiddo…?” Alby frowned again, staring silently at Rhodes. Was this a joke? Was this guy just… playing fucking stupid? Like they’d always been buddy buddy? Like he fucking hadn’t raped him all those years ago? What was this? Was he trying to get cozy with him so he could do it again?

“What’s the matter, Alby~? Cat got your tongue?”

Rhodes’ hand slid lower, and whether that was to withdraw or not didn’t matter anymore when Alby suddenly exploded into motion with a left hook that connected directly with Rhodes’ jaw. He fell like a sack of bricks and Alby stood there in total silence once more - naught but the sound of his own shaky breathing to accompany him as he glared down at Rhodes’ body. He must have hit him just right… and certainly just hard enough, his knuckles protested about it.

Fuck…

What the fuck was he going to do with this fucker… call the police? But for what… a crime he’d committed twelve years ago? This was assault… and he was positive that his boss wasn’t going to be happy about his one fucking employee assaulting a customer…

The walkie-talkie on the back of Alby’s hip crackled and popped, and there it came: his boss’s chipper voice.

“Hey, Al, you there, bud~?”

He’d never seen the guy’s face, but his manager was always so weirdly happy… it was unsettling at best.

“Fuck…” Alby breathed, still shaking as he pulled the walkie-talkie off his belt and brought it to his lips, “Y-yeah, what’s up?” Just… be calm. Act normal. Everything was fine. He never even came into the store, and it was late. They were just between the shelves. No one would know.

“Hey, Al, there ya are! Listen, bud!” Popped the walkie.

“Remember what I told you about the trash? Those no-good lay-about trash guys don’t come by anymore, so there’s an incinerator in the basement of the building you can use to take out the trash! It’s pretty big, too, remember? So don’t fall in!”

Alby shook harder, blinking widely.

He was so sure he could hear something else just under his boss’s peppy voice. Something unnatural, just under the static, like worms in the dirt, whispering the earth’s secrets into his ears.

‘T̴̨̥̥̮̖̮̠̰̗͖̘̺͒̂̿̅͠Ā̴̫̖̬̜̝̟̠̥̿͌̃͐ͅK̶̟̻̤̼͇̭̻̗̖̖̮̤̺̺̅̐̐̊̀̅̔̈́͑̔̄̀̕̚͝ͅE̶͔̥̺̩̖͓̗̱͉̤̮̭̲͎̺̫̋͛̋̒̊̄̕ ̶̧̬̙͉̮̦̮̭̘͙͌̈́̈Ţ̶̨̛̛̫͖̙̫̺̘̰̘̳̮̘̞̊̏̅͊͋̍͂̄̅́̌͜͠͠͝ͅH̸̨̟͕͍̝̠̫̔̏̓͘͜͝Ě̶̡̨̨͖̫͚͇͍̰̻̪̭̰̃̈́́̈́̌̇̔̒̂̑́̉̿̓̑͘ͅ ̴̭̮͍̟̩̯̍̉͂̂̒͗̀̈́̐̒͘T̷͓̱͎͔̦̫̲̹̰̠̬̤̹͂R̸̡̹͔͓̳͎̣̗͙̥͙̱̯̂͊̌̽͗̈́̎̅̇͘͝A̴̳̳̤̣͐̑̄͘ͅS̷̩̲͖͒̏́̆̋Ḩ̶͔̥͉̪͓͉͇̠̭̓͋̀͒͘͜ ̸͇͎̘̮̀̊͐̈͋̽̑̇̔̄̋̈́͜͝͠Ơ̷̡̳̰̳͈͙̙̞͔̹̦͍͋̋̑̿̿͂̾̊̀̓͑̎̕̕͘̚U̶͔̩̘͖͖̗͚̞̲͓̬̟̥̺̅̓̂͑̏́͝͠͝T̸̺̹̤̮̆̓̽̈́̀̒̉͒̄̓̀̒͒͠,̶̪̤̯̖̩̯̘̾̒͊̇̂͂͗̑̂͋͋̈́̏͐̏͜͝ͅ ̶̡̡̣͓̠̭̫̟̫͕̔͆͋̈́̈́̌̊̓̈́̍͌̈́̔̐́̾͜͝A̵̲͓̝͚͚̖͖͙͉̹͍̗̦͙͔̭̞͑͊̃̓̿̑̓̑̾̃͊L̵̨͖̣̜̬̜̮̲̦̞̥̑̓͑̄͌̎̿͛̈́̈̂͝Ḇ̷̯͎̝̮̯͖͈̰͔̦͕̫̭̬̙̉̉̅ͅY̵̡̪̹̲͚̭͈̞͚̆̓͒̍̚͘͝͝͠.̷͚̳̘̜͙̺̝̳̌̀̔̑͒͗̐̌̈̃͌͝͠͝’

Alby swallowed, and looked back down at the body that lay sprawled across the carpeted flooring, lips working to form words he couldn’t find the ability to add noise to.

“Still there, Al!?” He jolted.

“Y-yeah, yeah, sorry, I’m here. I-I -- I’m on it, boss.” The walkie was hooked back onto his belt and Alby slowly exhaled.

Did he… know…? There was no fucking way this was coincidence. Trash day was usually at the end of the week… it was fucking Tuesday.

Could he do this…?

The basement door swung open, and Alby panted softly, grunting as he readjusted the man draped over his shoulder and slowly began down the steps into the blackness of the basement. There were lights, but the incinerator was often just bright enough that its orange glow was more than enough to light his way. That… beast of a machine. Steel and fire - the belly of a dragon, and the teeth to match.

When he first came to work here, there was no basement. There was no incinerator. There were large trash bins outside that the garbage men would occasionally come get, because the Blockbuster didn’t produce enough trash. Alby was the only employee. But after a time, he’d gotten word from his boss that the garbage men wouldn’t be stopping by anymore. They’d decided the place wasn’t worth the stop anymore, due to how infrequently they had to pick up from it.

The next day, there was a note about the basement. The incinerator. The shop never shut down. There were no construction workers. There was no equipment. No signs that the building had been added onto. It was just… there.

Every step thunked down the stairs as Alby disappeared down into that blackness, and squinted the moment he came around the corner to face the incinerator. It didn’t often make much noise… but it was growling now. Like a ravenous beast, it’s teeth clanking against its jaw in anticipation. Alby hesitated. He often wondered if this fucking thing was alive… the way it acted. But it was so easy for him to chalk it up to the fact that it was probably just funky machinery. He swallowed, and drew nearer, pulling the lever to open the jaws of this hellbeast which roared hungrily, releasing a burning belch of hot air into the basement. Alby squinted against the blast, and stared into those roaring flames.

The weight on his shoulder never felt heavier… and he wasn’t sure he could do this…

The guy… raped him but… this was murder, and no one would ever know…

But they never knew about his rape, either, did they…?

The walkie talkie crackled and popped, fuzzing loudly against the rumbling of the incinerator. There were no words that spilled through the static, and yet… he could hear that distant sound once again. As if there was just… too much interference, or the frequency wasn’t

quite right.

‘T̴̨̥̥̮̖̮̠̰̗͖̘̺͒̂̿̅͠Ā̴̫̖̬̜̝̟̠̥̿͌̃͐ͅK̶̟̻̤̼͇̭̻̗̖̖̮̤̺̺̅̐̐̊̀̅̔̈́͑̔̄̀̕̚͝ͅE̶͔̥̺̩̖͓̗̱͉̤̮̭̲͎̺̫̋͛̋̒̊̄̕ ̶̧̬̙͉̮̦̮̭̘͙͌̈́̈Ţ̶̨̛̛̫͖̙̫̺̘̰̘̳̮̘̞̊̏̅͊͋̍͂̄̅́̌͜͠͠͝ͅH̸̨̟͕͍̝̠̫̔̏̓͘͜͝Ě̶̡̨̨͖̫͚͇͍̰̻̪̭̰̃̈́́̈́̌̇̔̒̂̑́̉̿̓̑͘ͅ ̴̭̮͍̟̩̯̍̉͂̂̒͗̀̈́̐̒͘T̷͓̱͎͔̦̫̲̹̰̠̬̤̹͂R̸̡̹͔͓̳͎̣̗͙̥͙̱̯̂͊̌̽͗̈́̎̅̇͘͝A̴̳̳̤̣͐̑̄͘ͅS̷̩̲͖͒̏́̆̋Ḩ̶͔̥͉̪͓͉͇̠̭̓͋̀͒͘͜ ̸͇͎̘̮̀̊͐̈͋̽̑̇̔̄̋̈́͜͝͠Ơ̷̡̳̰̳͈͙̙̞͔̹̦͍͋̋̑̿̿͂̾̊̀̓͑̎̕̕͘̚U̶͔̩̘͖͖̗͚̞̲͓̬̟̥̺̅̓̂͑̏́͝͠͝T̸̺̹̤̮̆̓̽̈́̀̒̉͒̄̓̀̒͒͠,̶̪̤̯̖̩̯̘̾̒͊̇̂͂͗̑̂͋͋̈́̏͐̏͜͝ͅ ̶̡̡̣͓̠̭̫̟̫͕̔͆͋̈́̈́̌̊̓̈́̍͌̈́̔̐́̾͜͝A̵̲͓̝͚͚̖͖͙͉̹͍̗̦͙͔̭̞͑͊̃̓̿̑̓̑̾̃͊L̵̨͖̣̜̬̜̮̲̦̞̥̑̓͑̄͌̎̿͛̈́̈̂͝Ḇ̷̯͎̝̮̯͖͈̰͔̦͕̫̭̬̙̉̉̅ͅY̵̡̪̹̲͚̭͈̞͚̆̓͒̍̚͘͝͝͠.̷͚̳̘̜͙̺̝̳̌̀̔̑͒͗̐̌̈̃͌͝͠͝’

There it was again - that compulsion. This subtle… feeling. Like someone or something was just… gently pushing on his mind. On his thoughts. Compelling him, his wants. With a deep breath, and another soft grunt, Alby bounced the man from his shoulder, and into the blazing fires of the furnace, tossing in his legs to follow the body as embers shot out in every direction. He hadn’t even fully straightened when those steel jaws banged shut, and Alby threw a widened brown eye over the lever. Was it faulty…? Holy shit.

The blow to his jaw wasn’t enough to keep Rhodes down now… the screaming started shortly after, and Alby couldn’t take his eyes off the furnace as that blackening silhouette within thrashed and struggled frantically for an escape that would not be found.

It couldn’t have lasted for more than a few minutes… but those minutes felt like an eon, and Alby knew Rhodes suffered… too bad it was over so soon.

He stared quietly at the furnace as the roaring dulled to a soft, content rumble, fingers shaking by his thighs as he searched in vain for signs that Rhodes yet remained within that beast’s blazing belly.

The walkie talkie popped and fuzzed.

There were no clear words again… but he could have sworn that he heard the faintest sound of a voice… just… just out of range.

'̶̡͙̗͔̒̄͒͛̆̈́͐̏̐̃̈́̎͝Ṋ̷̱̙̝̋́͐̑̀̋̐̽̽̐͂̆͐͝Ơ̵͔̒̀͋̋̌̂B̸̖̞̘̬̥̺͓̜̘̟͙̥̑̍͑́̍̈́̿̉̈́̽͑̏̀͘ͅO̸̡̬͉̞̱̪͚̭̼̬͉͊̉̆͛̍̒̊D̷̥̩̮̈̃̊̈́͂͊̔͑̈́̽̇͘̚ͅẎ̵̦̺̯̣̦̲̣̐̽̀͆̽̊̏̃ ̷̨͖̖̪̥̹̣̠͕͔̤͎͍̹̽̈̕͝L̵͔̜͇͖̮̰͙̤̰̠̂́̄̓̌̑̄̐̈̚͝Ǐ̸̗̭̬͍̬͙̗̘͔̃͝͠ͅK̸̙̼͙̳̹̫͚̩͎͍̈́ͅȄ̵͙̏̉̏͛̈̎̒̐̆̿Ş̴̧͙̤̳̤̅̿̈̉́̌͂̐̿͠͝͠͠ ̵̢͙͍̮̳̐̅͐̀͐̅͗͂̈́́̈́A̸̧͉̟̯͔̠̮͚̻̭͑̿͒̈̿̅͒͛͛̽͠ ̶̡̢̹̭͉̳̙̣̺̘̍͂́̏͝K̵̻͉̳̘͍̩̦͎̱̙̩̝͍͌͒̈́̐̃͘͜I̵̺̝̣̩͕̱̱͇͔̊̅͒D̴̨͔̘͎̝̫͕͙͚̥̦̘̙̳̀̔͑͘D̵͔̤͓̗͈͍͕̱͎̭̀Ī̴̱̲́̇͂̐͠Ē̶̡̪̅́̑̃͊̎̐́͐̂̊̓ ̵̨̱͎͚̣͖̘͓̻̬̗͖͊̊̉̇̽͑̓̋͊̾̾F̶̡̡͈̭̼͇͇͎̙̂̽͛͐͒̈́̅̉̎Ḭ̷̧̛̮̤̣͓̖͈̐̏̀̅͗́͘͝D̸̛̦͊D̸̡̢͈̞͙͔̜͖̖̮̻͖̒͆̆̒̆̿͋̌̒́̅̚͘͠Ļ̵̻̼͚̝́̿͋̚E̸̝͎͍͂̇̽̃͋͊̐͌͝͠ͅR̶̡̞͉̞̩̱̝͚̗͙̦̐́̉̑̈́̆̀͌̀̾̅͘ͅ'̷̨̧͔̣̜̺̪̰̜̦̮̖̺͑̂̃̊̔͂̈̀͐̃͜