#Fuck this shit. Just fuck this shit so hard with a rusty chainsaw.

[averbaldumpingground]

The weather hasn't changed much since you left, there's still a rainy drizzle in the mornings. The school bus stops just up the street from here, they haven't fixed the crack along the sidewalk. I'm not sure that you ever cared enough to learn the neighbors' names, but Anna says she hopes you like Seattle. I hope you've gotten everything you wanted. There's more space in the basement now, without your boxes filling up the shelves.

#April 22 2021 #This is hastily written garbage. #I am just so worn out and my insurance is being awful about getting me my medication. #I pay these fuckers an exorbitant amount of money each month and they don't want to cover the drugs I need to literally be functional. #Meanwhile my hormone levels are 5 times what they should be. #I do not have the spoons for this shit. #Give me my fucking overpriced gel caps. #Which I already have a stupidly high copay on despite having both medical and prescription insurance. #Fuck this shit. Just fuck this shit so hard with a rusty chainsaw. #Did I mention this is half-assed garbage? #This is complete and utter crap but I'm too tired.

[keelywolfe]

Drabble: No Hard Felines (baon)

Summary:  Sans knew living with Red wasn't going to be all shits and giggles, but he wasn't expecting this flavor of bullshit on the menu.

Tags: Kustard, Fluff (as fluffy as these two get), Some Sexy Teasing

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Read it here!

~~*~~

Despite his bro’s reassurances that Sans was making the right move, (and he still wasn’t convinced, leaving Paps while he was still wobbly on wheels after that attack was sticking in his craw like a fishbone on steroids) Sans still knew there were gonna be, eh, challenges was a good a word as any and sounded better than bitchfest.

What he hadn’t figured on was an ongoing war with a fucking cat over a sofa.

Sans didn’t know a whole lot about cats. His experience was limited to Cat Monsters and Temmies, all of whom could be expected to act reasonably decent and not shred a t-shirt just as it was getting into the comfortably overworn stage where even washing with Tide didn’t get out all the stink.

Damn cat, Sans really liked that shirt and if he wore in now, all he’d need was leather pants and some glitter eyeshadow and he could join a punk band.

Socks vanished wholesale before anyone even had a chance to put down a sticky note. Someday, somewhere, a sock graveyard would be found, and the haunting stench would follow whoeverso discovered it to the end of their days.

Anyway.

Sans didn’t know shit about cats, but what he did know was that he was already sick of living with the cat and hadn’t even properly moved in yet.

Dogs at least could be put on a chain and sent outside to sleep for a while. Red didn’t let Ozzy out, said he was all indoor cat, all the time, which was probably for the best because the little shit would probably decimate the local bird population overnight. Red said he was probably a mixed breed and Sans agreed with that assessment; half cougar, half pain in his tailbone. That little kitten grew to the size of a small Saint Bernard and didn’t even have the grace to wear that little collar with booze barrel on it. Being able to take a slug or two anytime he was around the little shit would be about the only thing to endear Sans to it.

What did not endear him was the fucking brat stalking him every time he walked around the house. It would wait, staring out from the shadows until Sans let his guard down by some minuscule fraction and then it would lunge out and try to take a chunk out of his ankle before scrambling off to the next stalking checkpoint. It was a good thing his HP took an upward hike when they came to the surface because dusting by ankle attack was exactly the kind of humiliating death Sans would expect the universe to have out for him.

If it wasn’t hiding, it was on the sofa, busy taking up as much sitting room as possible and that left them here, the two of them staring at each other like gunslingers in the old west, waiting to see who drew first and all Sans was armed with was a pillow.

Sure, Sans could go sleep upstairs in the bed. Hell, he could sleep on the floor if he wasn’t worried about not being able to peel himself off of the carpet later. But it was the principle of the thing. He was moving in, you gotta start as you intend to go on, and Sans intended to go on sleeping on the sofa whenever it took his fancy. Starting now.

“okay, look, cat,” Sans said. He held up his pillow, his only line of defense. “i’m gonna lay down on this side of the sofa. you stay on that side and things’ll go fine, you get me?”

The cat didn’t say anything, which was fine because if he’d started singing ‘hello my baby’, Sans was moving back in with Paps. Instead, it stared at him with those all-seeing eyes, ugh, no wonder Stretch hated cats. Sans was more used to being on the other side of that look and that’s where he preferred to stay, thanks.

If Ozzy was waiting for him to blink first, he was going to be sitting there until reveille because if there was one thing that skeletons didn’t technically have to do, it was blink. Sans moved slowly, first setting his pillow against the sofa arm and then easing onto the seat cushion. He lay back, still meeting that unblinking stare, waiting to see if his socks were gonna take the punishment for his hubris.

Ozzy yawned, showing a row of teeth that were remarkably similar to their owner. He blinked slowly, once, twice, and didn’t move an inch.

Sans relaxed, leaning back into the pillow and muttered, “just don’t murder me in my sleep.”

He was about halfway down the path into the land of nod when an unexpected weight in his lap jostled him back awake. Sans opened his sockets and looked down in disbelief at the cat loaf settled right on top of his femurs. Loaf, hell, the damn thing was the size of a furry watermelon, eyes closed and rustling up what Sans guessed might qualify as a rusty purr. Or an electronic can opener freshly liberated from the dump, either worked.

“okay, i know it looks like i’m melding into the sofa, but i’m not actually part of it. get off.” Ozzy didn’t move, still purring along. “c’mon, move, you furry brick!”

That purr rose threateningly in volume to something right below a chainsaw and Sans was trying to decide what finger he was willing to lose to push the damn thing off of him when from behind came. “see, you two are getting along just swell.”

He craned his neck enough to see Red leaning against the doorjamb leading to the would-be kitchen, if it ever got anything resembling appliances. Coulda, shoulda, woulda, whatever, Paps and Edge always had plenty of goods in the fridge and it tasted a lot better than whatever concoction either of them tried to rustle up.

“oh, yeah, we’re old pals,” Sans drawled irritably, “don’t worry, pretty sure all the scratches’ll heal over eventually and probably won’t leave too many scars.”

“good, i hate to mess up that pretty face. g’wan, oz, you’re in my seat.” Red wandered over to shove the cat off and instead of taking off a limb, it only let out an offended meow and went to loom like a resentful gargoyle on the recliner. Red took his spot and he was only a little lighter but a helluva lot more welcome to be straddling Sans’s femurs. Red squirmed, grinding their pelvises together until Sans grabbed his hips and stilled him, clenching his teeth together around a groan.

“wellie well well,” Red murmured. His crimson eye lights gleamed mellowly, his grin wide, and the way he ran his thumb lightly along the line of Sans's collar dragged a shiver up from the depths of his soul. Somebody was in a good mood. How kind of him to share it. “feels like you might be a lil’ happy ta see me.”

“it’s a pencil in my pocket.”

“yeah, feels about the right size for it.”

Whatever retort Sans might’ve come up for that was muffled under Red’s mouth against his own and those razor teeth of Red’s never left behind too many scars, either.

Welp, so much for the nap. Sans did crack open one socket to look around even as Red’s hands were starting to test the theory of just what kind of pencil Sans was smuggling. The cat was pointedly not looking at them and Sans smirked against Red’s mouth.

Take that, you furry little interloper, put a point on Sans’s side of the scoreboard.

Then he bit off a yelp as a clawed finger ran deliberately down his femur, hard enough to draw a beaded line of marrow. He shifted his glare to Red, who cooed out, “aw, do i have your attention now?”

“undivided and multiplied, if you wanna do the math.”

“i leave the math to stretch, now are you gonna get in the game?”

“yeah, let me get the ball.” It was Red’s turn to yelp as Sans cupped a hand firmly between his legs. Pretty soon Sans was forgetting all about the cat, because this, yeah, hell yeah, this was why moving in was the right idea.

Besides, the battle for the sofa always worked better when it was two against one, and Sans wanted Red against him for a long damn time.

-finis-

#kustard #spicyhoney #sancest #keelywolfe #underfell #underfell sans #by any other name

[ddaenggtan]

give and take | knj

when your beloved jeep breaks down, you have no choice but to take it to a mechanic for once instead of trying to fix it yourself. you fully expected to empty your wallet or get told to just buy a new car. you don’t expect to meet kim namjoon, nor do you expect him to be hot like burning, sweet as honey, and interested in you.

pairing | kim namjoon x reader

genre/warnings | mechanic!namjoon, fluff (seriously so fluffy), smut: hickeys, oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all), dirty talk, dom!namjoon, brat!reader if you squint, creampie, slight mentions of choking

word count | 10.5k 

cross posted to ao3

a/n: ayyyyyy i’m finally finished with this monstrosity!! it was supposed to be a short smutty drabble and yet HERE WE ARE bc i’m a slut for namjoon, both emotionally and physically. pls pls pls let me know what y’all think!! i’m doing my best out here in the world, but i always love to hear what people think about my work!! 

You groan, for possibly the millionth time that afternoon, as your jeep sputters to a halt once more. You’ve had JeepJeep since you first got your license, a gift from your parents since they were getting a new car anyway. Held together with duct tape, prayers, and more than one swift kick to the bumper, the thing has gotten you through your entire school career and then into the big wide world of adulthood.

Now, as you sit in the nearly-empty lot of a mechanic, not even properly parked because your jeep died not two seconds after you pulled in, you feel like crying. Fixing this will cost everything you have. There is no doubt in your mind that this is going to be expensive. Probably expensive enough to wipe out what little you still have in your bank account after grocery shopping yesterday, if you aren’t forced to dip into the meager savings you have put back.

With a resigned sigh, you pop off a quick text to your best friend, heave yourself out of the jeep, and head through the open garage door. There’s a couple of cars up on lifts, parts strewn around them haphazardly, and faint music thrumming from somewhere, but you don’t see any actual people around.

“Hello?” You call hesitantly into the large room. There’s no response, which irritates you a little. First your jeep dies - possibly for the last time, not that you want to think about that right now, keep hoping, you remind yourself - and then you spend four hours getting ten miles to the closest mechanic so you didn’t have to pay for a tow only for there to be no one fucking here.

“Fuck this,” You tell yourself, sidestepping what looks like a car battery, and make your way further into the building. Music is still vibrating through your bones, there has to be someone in this rusty old shop somewhere, and you are on a mission, dammit. JeepJeep requires immediate attention, especially if you want to get home at any kind of decent time tonight.

The shop, you discover as you follow the sound of deep bass, is a minefield. There’s a truly ridiculous number of parts and tools you couldn’t name even if you wanted, all of them just thrown about like a four-year-old’s discarded toy. You think you may see a chainsaw in the corner and for the first time, you wonder if wandering around a potentially-abandoned-but-possibly-still-inhabited auto shop alone is a good idea. Do it for JeepJeep, you tell yourself, steeling yourself as you pass the Maybe A Chainsaw. Light gleams off grimy windows just past it, and the music seems to be coming from there. You give the tools - and the possible murder weapon - a wide berth, making your way to the lone door that you see. It’s nearly impossible to see through the windows of what looks to be the office, but the door itself is open, a lone figure sitting at a desk inside.

You knock gently against the open door and plant a friendly smile on your face. “Hi, sorry to bother you, my car died and I was just wondering if you could take a look at it?” The words rush out before the person - a guy, you belatedly notice - can tell you to get lost. When he spins around in the chair, your breath catches in your throat and you think you may actually physically choke.

He’s honestly gorgeous. Like…the hottest person on the face of the planet, gorgeous. Warm eyes blown wide with surprise and framed by strong dark brows, a jawline that makes you wonder why he needs the chainsaw lying around, bleach-blonde hair hidden away under a dark blue cap that matches the jumpsuit hanging around his waist revealing the most beautiful sight of that chest in just the white tee with grease stains that shouldn’t be so attractive. It’s all beautiful, but what gets the heat pooling between your legs is the sight of the long fingers. They aren’t even doing anything erotic, just wrapped around a thick book and a pen, clearly having been in the middle of writing something when you interrupted.

“Sorry,” He says quickly, fingers reaching out to slide over a button somewhere. The music softens, no longer shaking your bones, but that only makes you more aware of how hard your heart is beating. “I thought I had the closed sign on the door, I must have forgotten. You said your car died?”

It takes you a second to find words, and you’re grateful when he doesn’t judge. “Yes,” You say, filling your voice with the confidence you usually save for unruly customers at work, “Yes, my jeep. It’s out front, I just kind of left it since it wouldn’t start back up again. I really just need someone to take a look at it and tell me what to tape together so it’ll run again.”

He laughs, soft and sweet, and you never want to hear another sound in your life, but he sets the pen and the book to the side and stands. “I can certainly try,” The guy says, waving for you to follow him out to the lot.

You do, though it becomes quickly apparent that the wide berth you gave the chainsaw should have been saved for this walking hurricane. He manages to run into or knock over nearly everything on the way out, barrelling through areas you’d avoided due to clutter and just sliding things out of the way for you. He’s got a pretty blush on his cheeks when you finally emerge into the waning sunlight, and it warms you more than you expected. You’ve never seen someone so clumsy be so damned endearing.

“So, what exactly has been going on with your jeep?” He asks. You give him a brief rundown of all the things that have been patched in the years you’ve had your darling vehicle and go into more detail about the chinkchinkchunk sound it made right before it died in the middle of the turn lane outside the store where you worked. He tells you to pop the hood and you do. You don’t even take offense to the choking noise he gives upon seeing what’s left of the engine block and the several rolls of tape holding everything together. He manages to cover it with a cough, but you know what your engine looks like, and have no illusions about the disaster it must be to a mechanic.

“Uh…no offense, but I’m honestly a little surprised that it ran at all,” His voice echoes as you exit the car and come to stand by him. He scratches at his jaw, leaving a small trail of grease behind that your fingers itch to wipe off. You startle a little as he makes eye contact, but you can’t help but return the soft, shy smile that he wears. “I can definitely try, we’ll get her up on a lift to take a better look at everything, but I can’t make any promises. Uh…hold on, let me-” He stops and pats at his clothes before he turns, jogging into the garage once more.

You sigh a little as you turn to look back at JeepJeep’s engine, patting the side lightly. There are so many memories in this jeep, you don’t want to go buy a new car, nevermind that you can’t even afford it. Just a quick look and you can see where you hot-glued two of the tubes back together when they split outside your school, where you had to tape a belt back into one piece on the side of a highway at 3 a.m. with an ex-boyfriend holding the flashlight, the time you got stuck outside a McDonald’s and had to use no less than a hundred straws and four rolls of tape to form a funnel so your coolant could fill enough to get the thing home without catching fire. And that's just the engine, there are so many more things that happened in this jeep, so many memories and milestones that you don’t want to end up in a junkyard somewhere.

A loud crash from inside the garage breaks you from your thoughts, and you start to get worried by the suspicious silence that follows it. You wait a few moments, but there’s just a deafening silence hanging in the air. It takes a second but eventually you decide you cannot in good conscience wait by your dead jeep while this random, insanely hot mechanic bleeds out under some Honda. It’s just as you step forward that said mechanic stumbles out of the garage, clipboard in one oil-smeared hand while his other massages a spot on his (incredibly strong looking, holy shit) thigh.

He lights up when he sees you still there, as if he thought you would leave while he was gone. Your heart skips a beat at the thought.

“Okay so! Just fill out some quick information for me here, as best you can,” He hands you the clipboard and a pen and you dutifully start writing down your name, number, and information about JeepJeep. “As I said, we can’t guarantee we can fix…all of this, but we’ll do our best. The diagnostic will help figure out everything that’s really important to get her up and running, so we’ll do that first thing, and then call you with an estimate for labor and parts.”

“That sounds perfect, thank you so much,” You reply, truly grateful. Every other mechanic you’ve been to in the last two years had taken one look and immediately written the thing off as a lost cause. It’s touching to know this guy was at least going to try. You hand the papers back with a smile, ignoring the slight flush that comes over you when you look up to see him already looking at you. He turns a pretty shade of pink and averts his eyes.

“So, all I need now is your car key, if you don’t mind.” He says. You hurry to comply, sliding it off your keyring just as a horn honks behind you. You turn to see Taehyung’s car idling just outside the lot, the man himself waving at you before settling in. He's entirely too accustomed to this routine, and you decide to buy him some noodles soon to pay him back.

The sound of your name coming from the mechanic’s lips has you turning around, pink-cheeked, and you give an embarrassed smile. “Yep, that’s me,” You joke. “I gotta go, but take care of her…?” You trail off, never having gotten the guy’s name.

“Namjoon,” He says quickly, almost dropping the clipboard in his haste to pull his jumpsuit up and show you the name stitched into it. “Kim Namjoon. I’ll take care of her, don’t worry. We’ll call you soon.” His smile is blinding, and you want to dive in headfirst to the dimples that appear but Taehyung’s horn beeps before you can.

“Thank you again, Namjoon, so much,” You say as you grab your bag from the passenger’s side of your jeep and hurry off to slide in beside Taehyung, who immediately starts whining about how his own shift at work had gone.

You can’t stop yourself from looking out the side mirror as Namjoon’s image gets smaller and smaller, and you find yourself looking forward to when you'll see him again. 

As it turned out, that would be much sooner than you originally thought. The shop calls you the very next day, a very bubbly sounding guy who introduces himself as Hoseok telling you that it won’t be nearly as expensive as you first thought and that though it'll take a week or two, they have faith that they can get JeepJeep running again.

You could cry, you'e so relieved. How they’re going to do such a thing is a mystery to you, especially for such a cheap price, but you aren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Any other shop in town would’ve been sure to charge you out the ass for such a thing, and your bank account would never have been able to recover from such a hefty price tag. You would’ve paid it, of course, because JeepJeep is everything to you, but you would’ve been back to your diet of instant noodles for a while if you had.

You can’t help but wonder if this is normal for their garage, or if it's a special case. As much as you want to think that it's because Namjoon is interested in the same way you are, it’s more likely whoever runs the place took one look at your heap of wishes and hushed prayers and was intrigued at the challenge of fixing such a piece of junk. Or that they were just cheaper in an attempt to poach business from other shops, because if they do manage to fix JeepJeep then you’re never going to another mechanic again in your life. Especially if Namjoon keeps working there, because that man-

You force the thought out of your mind, focusing instead on the work ahead of you.

You last four days. Four whole days before you finally cave and go to see how your jeep is doing without your loving kick to the rear and possibly also catch a glimpse of Namjoon while there. Taehyung applauded you on your restraint, though it was somewhat sarcastic, but you honestly don’t care. You love that jeep and you have to know if it’s in pieces or if they’re actually fixing it. Taehyung had no idea what he was talking about when he asked dryly why you’re wearing the shorts that cling in all the right places and the top that highlights your chest in all the ways you love just to go check on a jeep.

You mentally rescind your earlier note to buy him noodles as you make your way to the garage.

What you’re expecting to find at the shop, you aren’t entirely sure. In the deepest part of your heart, you want to see JeepJeep looking shiny and new and running perfectly already, but you are fully aware of how unlikely that is. You’re already getting a miracle, you don’t need to tempt fate. Still, the idea has planted itself so firmly in your mind that walking up to the shop at three in the afternoon and seeing your precious baby up on a lift with the parts you’d lovingly taped or glued back together thrown to the side in a haphazard pile almost brings tears to your eyes.

Indeed, it likely would have, had you not immediately heard a beautifully rumbling voice barking orders.

You step forward again and contain your surprise at how different the garage looks when it’s full of people. At first glance, you don’t see him, but after getting close enough to stand right at the edge of the open garage door, you spot him. You expect the rush of blood to your face, but you don’t expect the way your knees go wobbly and the sudden flip of your stomach.

If you thought he looked good the first time you met, it was nothing compared to now. The jumpsuit is buttoned halfway up his chest, giving the slightest peek to the white shirt underneath. The long sleeves running down his arms are pushed up to his elbows, which only highlights the way the material hangs off his biceps and complements the tan of his forearms. He still has that blue cap on, but the shy smile is gone, as is the pretty redness on his cheeks. He looks much more serious now, barking orders out to a couple of his coworkers as he looks up from the heavy book in his hands to the undercarriage of your jeep. The lid of a highlighter is stuck in the corner of his mouth, and his brows are drawn together in complete focus.

As you watch, doing your very best to not think about how absolutely hot like burning this guy is, he calls another guy over. The new guy is pretty, too, as they all seem to be, but nothing can outshine the sight of Namjoon, serious and laser-focused as he gestures to parts of your jeep and then to the heap of parts they’d removed, circling a couple of things with the highlighter. He speaks quietly to the other guy, who nods and also looks up at your jeep before disappearing down a set of stairs you hadn’t noticed before.

You’re not to be mistaken; you’re a strong, independent young woman, and you have no need to have a man around to tell you how to live or what decisions to make. But seeing Namjoon, looking like that, barking orders at people…well, you’ve always had a thing for authoritative men, and now you can’t help but wonder just how it would feel to be on the receiving end of Namjoon’s no-nonsense attitude. Him telling you to drop to your knees in such a firm voice, leaving no question that he was to be obeyed, and running one of those long fingers along the column of your throat before wrapping his whole hand around it and giving just enough pressure to make your head spin before he slides his-

“Can I help you?” A voice calls, and you just barely catch yourself before actually jumping in shock. Turning to find a third guy - also gorgeous, what is it with this place? - you plaster a smile on your face.

“Yes, hi!” You say quickly, hoping the redness on your face can be attributed to the afternoon sun and not the very lewd thoughts you were just lost in. “This is my jeep, I was just coming by to see how things are going.” It occurs to you halfway through the sentence that it might not be considered normal to check in on a vehicle and perhaps you should have readied a better reason.

The guy - Jungkook, by the name stitched into his plain grey tee - just nods, though, and gives you a quick once-over before turning. “Hey, hyung!” Nearly everyone in the garage turns except for a couple of people, but Jungkook makes instant eye contact with Namjoon. You only barely register the vague wave that Jungkook gives you, and you can’t hear whatever he says next past the rush of blood in your ears, because holy shit. The focused gaze was powerful enough to make your knees weak before, but having it leveled straight on you is another thing entirely. Your stomach is in knots and you honestly think you may just collapse right there and then, just from the sheer power that Namjoon radiates. You’re so focused on him that it’s impossible to miss the way his eyes rake up your form, lingering on every curve and leaving a heat behind that you hadn’t felt in much too long.

You give a shy wave and can see the moment he snaps out of whatever he’s thinking. He takes a breath and tries to speak at the same time, which mostly just results in him nearly swallowing the highlighter cap. You stifle a laugh as he spits it out and caps the marker, stuffing it in his pocket as he makes his way over. There’s a clear path to the lot that you have a sneaking suspicion is there entirely because of his penchant for disaster, and you meet him at the entrance. He’s got a wide smile on his face, yet again showcasing his dimples, and you find yourself returning the smile before you can stop yourself.

“I just came to check on JeepJeep,” You say before you can actually tell him how you think he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your entire life. “I’m a little attached, and I wanted to be sure you all didn’t need any other information or anything like that.”

“Ah, well, we’re actually doing alright with her. We stripped out everything that needed to be replaced,” He points to the pile of parts you’re intimately familiar with, “And now it’s just a matter of putting in the new ones and making sure there isn’t anything else going on. We’re gonna go ahead and do an oil change, fill your coolant, and clean all the parts that didn’t need to be stripped, so she should be almost good as new when we get her back together.” Your heart swells at the news, and you beam at him.

“You have no idea how much this means to me, Namjoon,” You tell him. He turns slightly pink and rubs the back of his neck, ducking his head. “Seriously, I never expected you to do so much for me. Anyone else would have just written her off and told me to go buy a new one. Are you sure you’re charging enough? It seems like a lot more work than I’m actually paying for.”

Namjoon just waves a hand, looking up at the jeep. “No, it’s the least I can do. Your Jeep really isn’t in terrible condition, just a lot of wear and tear, and it’s so obvious that you love it. What kind of mechanic am I if I turn down something like this?” He goes quiet, and you can feel him looking at you even as you watch several men hand parts back and forth.

You’re both quiet for a long while. You aren’t sure what’s going through his head, but you’re hoping that eventually, he’ll say something else to keep the conversation going.

“Well, I’ve got to get going soon, I’ve got a meeting in about an hour,” You say eventually, resigned to the fact that Namjoon isn’t as interested as you thought he might be.

“Oh, yeah, of course, don’t let me keep you,” He says quickly. Your heart sinks as you give him a smile and wave. You’re halfway to the sidewalk when he calls your name, and you turn to see him jogging after you. He’s got a white-knuckle grip on the book in his hands but his voice is steady.

“If you really want to pay me back, let me take you out to dinner,” he says. “Friday night at seven.”

The confidence in his tone surprises you, but not in a bad way. Your first instinct is to immediately agree, but the memory of that blush from four days ago has you biting your lip. You want to see it again, and you wonder how far you have to push him to bring it out.

“I dunno,” You say teasingly. “Just a dinner? That doesn’t really feel like I’m paying you back much, honestly. Shouldn’t there be more of a…I don’t know, a give and take?”

Something sparks in the mechanic’s eyes. Namjoon steps closer to you and traces the curve of your wrist with one finger. Your skin burns where he touches it, and your breath catches in your throat. “Friday at seven,” He says. His voice is low and lingering and you can feel it deep through your skin and sink into your bones. “Have dinner with me, and then we’ll see just how much give you can take.”

You clench your teeth again the urge to whimper as he slides your arm forward and uses a marker to write something on your arm. He backs up after he’s finished, a cocky smirk coming over his features that makes you want to bring him to his knees and drop to your own in equal measure. He presses a light kiss to your knuckles before he drops your hand entirely.

“Text me your address, I’ll pick you up,” He tells you as he disappears into the garage once more, barking for someone named Jimin to get off his ass and keep cleaning parts. You stand there for another few moments until you’re sure you can walk without tripping over your own feet. When you finally are able to breathe once more, you book it out of the lot and down the street. It takes ten minutes to realize you walked in the complete opposite direction from where you’re supposed to be meeting your friends for a late lunch.

Friday night comes with nervousness that you haven’t felt in a long time. With every one of the last few dates you’ve been on, you’d been the one to pursue things. You asked out the last three dates you’d been on, and the last time you’d gotten laid - months ago, unfortunately, which could explain the very visceral reaction you had to Namjoon - had been because you’d approached the most attractive guy you’d seen at the bar and blatantly asked him if he wanted to go home with you that night. It’s been a while since anyone bothered to chase you, and the fluttering in your chest just reminds you of how much you really do love it.

You’re wearing your favorite date outfit, a cute ruffled top with an A-line skirt that grazed the tops of your knees, and a pair of truly adorable flats that you got for 75% off the last time you went shopping. You’ve put more effort into your hair and face than you had in a while, making sure everything is the best it could possibly be for your date.

A knock on your door at exactly 7 o'clock has you grinning and rushing to grab your clutch. After you make sure you have everything you needed - phone, keys, wallet, condoms, as usual - you open the door. The sight that greets you has you almost wishing you’d offered to cook just so you could keep him locked inside.

You’ve only ever seen Namjoon in his work clothes, and whatever you expected his style to be, it wasn’t this. A gorgeous seafoam button-up tucked into white pants and his hair styled so well you aren’t sure why he wears a hat ever. None of it compares to the beaming grin he’s giving you, though, dimples on full display as he looks you up and down.

“You look amazing,” He says as he takes your hand and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Really, I’m…I can’t believe I get to take you to dinner.”

“Well, you’d best believe it,” You tease. “I don’t get this dolled up for just anyone.” You turn to lock the door behind you, glad for the millionth time that you were lucky enough to find a good townhouse that wasn’t wildly out of your price range. He laces his fingers with yours and guides you to the street where he’s parked.

“There’s a pretty nice place close to the shop that isn’t too fancy or anything, if that works?” He tells you. His brow furrows and he bites at his lip just slightly, and you melt a little. “I wasn’t really sure what you liked, and it’s got a bit of everything, and it isn’t that super stuffy atmosphere, so I thought it would still be casual enough for us to be relaxed and talk, but if you’d like, we can go somewhere else, it really isn’t a big deal so-”

“Namjoon,” You stop him and squeeze his hand a little. “That sounds lovely.” He smiles at the same time you do, relief clear on his face as he relaxes slightly beside you. When you reach his car - a nice, obviously well-kept model you don’t recognize - he opens the door for you to slide in. Within minutes, you’re shooting off into the fading sunlight. There’s soft music playing - some old-school American hip hop you’ve never heard - and Namjoon is tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat. He looks effortlessly attractive, one hand on the gearshift and the other on the wheel, and it makes heat pool between your thighs. You rub them together just barely, trying your best to soothe the ache; the night has just begun, and at this rate, you’ll be a sopping mess before you even order your food.

Namjoon’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, and as you turn to look at him, you realize he’s not actually speaking to you, but instead quietly rapping along with a new song that’s playing. Your brows shoot up and you grin.

“I didn’t know you could rap,” You say, delighted. Namjoon turns slightly pink and his grip on the wheel tightens a little.

“Ah, yeah, it’s just…a hobby, I guess.” He says. There’s a shyness, a humility, that makes an emotion swell in you that you can’t name. It almost seems like he doesn’t think he’s very good, and you decide then that you’re going to show him he is.

“You’re good,” You tell him, and he shoots you a disbelieving look. “No, really, you are. Do more, c'mon, I wanna hear you.” You reach for the stereo and turn the volume up so that it throbs through your chest, and then turn to him expectantly. He looks away as best he can while driving, scratching at the back of his neck as he starts to quietly rap along. It takes a minute, but he gets louder, more confident, and the excitement in your belly only grows.

“That is so sexy,” You say under your breath. You don’t expect him to respond, but the flush on his cheeks tells you he definitely heard you. He glances at you, curious and searching, and before you can ask why, his hand is settling hesitantly on your thigh.

It’s an innocent gesture, he doesn’t tease you or anything you could expect; he just leaves it there. The heat from his palm is scorching through the material of your skirt, and you catch yourself daydreaming several times about what exactly that hand could be doing to you. The rest of the drive is spent with the two of you talking about what music you listen to and your favorite artists, yet you find it impossible to completely focus on what you tell him. The weight of his hand on your thigh is too distracting.

Get it together, he isn’t even touching your skin, you tell yourself as he finally parks and rushes around to open your door for you. You beam at him in thanks and take his hand when he offers it. Together, you walk into a cute restaurant, already filled with people. You’re worried you won’t be able to get a table, and you start to voice your concern, but Namjoon just holds a single finger up and flags down the host.

“Reservation for two, Kim Namjoon,” He says easily, as if he dined at restaurants that required reservations every night. The host is quick to lead the two of you to a table in the far corner by a window, giving you an excellent view of the street. You can’t help but rake your eyes over Namjoom as he pulls your chair out for you and then takes his own seat. The light is soft and complimenting, making him almost seem to glow with obvious happiness as he perused the menu.

You do the same and find that several dishes look appetizing. You’ve just said as much to Namjoon, who agrees, when you notice the print at the bottom of the menu stating that this is apparently a Michelin-rated restaurant, and with a quick review, you’re shocked to find that there aren’t even prices listed on the menu. Your eyes shoot up to Namjoon, but he’s completely focused on his own menu, lost in the decision as he debates aloud what to get.

“Namjoon,” You say after a second. He looks up, eyes shining in the light, and smiles at you. “Not to be ungrateful, but you know you could’ve taken me somewhere else?”

He frowns, looking around. “If you don’t like it, we can leave,” He says quickly, and is clearly about to stand when you stop him with a hand on his wrist.

“No, it’s not that, this place is lovely, and the food looks delicious, I just…” You trail off, unsure how to verbalize the emotions swirling in your chest. “This is just a lot more than what a lot of guys would do for a first date.”

“Then I pity their dates,” He says without hesitation. He twists his wrist to catch your fingers in his and run his thumb along the back of your hand. “I want to treat you the way you deserve. If you want to leave and go somewhere else, we can. But I asked you out because I want to treat you, and this is how you deserve to be treated.” His expression is soft and earnest and the complete honesty in his words has you floored.

“Okay,” You say softly. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” He says firmly. He keeps his hand on yours as the server comes, and Namjoon proceeds to order each dish you’d mentioned an interest in, silencing your protests with a single hard look that has your legs shaking. The waiter disappears, and you force yourself to relax. Even if whatever this is doesn’t go anywhere, you’re getting excellent conversation and Michelin-rated food. Like you would turn that down.

As the food appears, the two of you settle into a rhythm of conversation. You learn that he’s only at the garage part-time, the rest of his days spent pursuing one Master’s degree in Business and a second in Engineering and that while he originally interviewed at several other auto shops, none would hire him because they were so worried about his knack for destroying things around him. You tell him about how you got your jeep, how it got you through a Bachelor’s degree that you haven’t been able to put to use yet and a job that sucks most days but pays the bills well enough that you can still afford your Netflix account. Namjoon is ridiculously easy to talk to, so much so that by the time you’re digging into a fruit custard pastry dessert, it feels like you’ve known him your entire life. By the time you get back to your apartment and he’s walking you to your door, you can hardly believe you’ve only known him a week.

“So tell me,” You finally say as you stand in front of your door, key in hand. “How does a mechanic that’s studying for two Master’s degrees afford a restaurant like that? And you have to tell me, no backing out. I told you about the Great Flubber Incident of 2014, you owe me. Just don’t tell me you’re secretly a mafia lord or something.”

He laughs, and you memorize the sound. “No, it’s nothing like that. I’m just lucky, honestly. My parents were fairly well off and set up a trust when I was born so they put back a bunch of money for me my entire childhood, but then when I went to school, they were supportive and weirdly excited, so they’re covering all those expenses as well. The garage pays really well, and I split costs with my roommate at home, so that trust has mostly just been gathering dust. I like to bring it out every so often, just to treat myself and my friends.” He smiles, lacing his fingers with yours once more. “And really beautiful girls with remarkably awful jeeps that are somehow interested in going out with me.”

You can feel your cheeks turning pink even as you grin and step closer to him. “Well, I have to say, the whole ‘humble and clumsy yet gorgeous mechanic with a heart of gold’ thing is really working for me.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Mhm.” You tug gently at his hands and he lets you pull him closer until you can slide your hands up his arms to rest on his shoulders. His arms automatically wrap around your waist, hands lingering innocently on your lower back. “I have to admit, though, you gave me a really good first date. I just expected there to be more of a take.” You chance a look up at him and delight in the way his pupils are dilated and slightly hazy.

“I’ll have to make a note of that for next time,” He says. You cock an eyebrow and you don’t miss the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“You seem confident that there’ll be a next time,” You tease. His hands slide to grip your hips, tight and unyielding, and your breath catches in your throat.

“There will be,” He says. His nose is brushing yours, and you aren’t even sure when he got so close, but you know you want him to get even closer. The heat between your thighs is enough to make your legs weak, and it only worsens as he reaches up and glides his hand along your cheek and neck. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“Will you please just kiss me, Joon, before my neighbors can come out and comp-” He does, then, cutting you off in the middle of your sentence and you can’t even remember what you were going to say because his lips are so soft and they’re moving against yours so perfectly that you can feel your actual soul expanding and filling every inch of your being. His hand slides to cup your cheek, tilting you so he can deepen the kiss and slide his tongue along yours, and his grip on your hip tightens so hard that you know you’re going to have bruises the next morning and you relish in the thought.

Your own hands are busy exploring; they slide up to grip Namjoon’s biceps - firm and strong and you want to bite it - before moving to feel along his chest, finally getting to touch the muscles that you know are there. You whimper slightly as your fingers dip along the edges of his pecs, and your legs are threatening to give out completely.

Namjoon kisses you like he won’t get to do so ever again; it’s sweet and exciting and hesitant and dominating all at once, much like Namjoon himself, and your skin feels like it’s going to melt off your bones if he doesn’t run his hands over it, and you don’t ever want this moment to stop because your heart is beating out of your chest and your stomach is doing somersaults but your head is spinning and you also need to unlock your door if you want to get him in your bed, but you can’t feel your keys in your hand anymore and you don’t even know when you dropped them.

Eventually, he pulls away, eyes still closed as he leans his forehead against yours and just breathes. His chest is heaving in time with yours and you can feel his hands trembling slightly where they rest against your cheek, and you want to kiss him until they’re steady again but you also have a sneaking suspicion that it would be counter-productive.

“I really should get going,” He whispers, and he winces like he can feel your heart drop to your feet. “I know, but I have to open the shop in the morning, and I wanna get there early to finish a project.” The grimace on his face is more than enough to tell you that he wants to leave just as much as you want him to - which is to say, not at all, you’re almost to the point where you’d like him to come in and then never leave again. Nevertheless, you know the pain of opening shifts and deadlines, so you force yourself to nod.

“I get it,” You tell him, though neither of you has made any move to let go of the other. “I’ve got work tomorrow anyway,” true, though not until the afternoon, “And my apartment could use a clean,” false, you cleaned it that day so it was perfect if he happened to come in, “And…and your job is important.”

He sighs, grip tightening once more before he takes a single step back. He bends down to grab your dropped keys and slides them into your still-somewhat shaky hand.

“Text me?” He says, and his voice is hushed and tentative. You wonder if he expects you to say no.

“Like you can ever stop me now,” You reply with a grin, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. He grins and this time you don’t hesitate to poke at the dimples that appear.

“I’ll see ya,” He says with a grin as he presses one last kiss to your hand before turning and heading back to his car. There’s a lightness in his steps, and even from here you can see his grin.

“See ya,” You call into the night before heading into your apartment.

That one date quickly turns into two which turns into three which turns into so many you can’t count. It seems like every time you both have time off that overlaps, you’re out. Movies, dinner, an afternoon at a museum exhibit, even a picnic by the river. It’s wonderful and your heart flutters with joy every time you think about it, and even Taehyung had commented about how happy you seemed recently. You kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but the worst thing that happened was that they had to wait for a part to come in to finish fixing JeepJeep, and that couldn’t be helped. Namjoon was even paying out of pocket to get it expedited, despite your protests that he didn’t have to and that you’d be happy to pay for it yourself.

Still, as adamant that Namjoon was that he treat you at every turn, you had your own plans. You’d paid for several meals before he had the chance, bought him more than one gift that made his eyes crinkle in delight, and frequently brought him dinner on nights where he worked late.

This was one such night. Bag of takeout in hand as you walk the short distance from the bus stop to the garage, you can see the light inside even from here. The music can be heard even as you step into the lot, a thudding bass that drowns out all other noise around it - not that there’s anything nearby open at this time of night. You can just barely see Namjoon’s legs sticking out from under the back of some Kia, and you hear him muttering along to the song playing. He’s the last one here, as you’ve discovered is the usual schedule in the garage; it gave him a multitude of time to work and study, and he seemed to prefer it when no one was around. The garage was warm inside, a combination of heating and the industrial lights that kept everything blazing, but tonight you were grateful for it; the cool breeze of the afternoon was just starting to turn that bit too chilly, and the sundress you’d put on earlier was just shy of being warm.

“Hey,” You call, “I brought you some dinner. You wanna eat in the office?” He rolls out from under the Kia, and as usual, you’re floored by just how sexy he looks in his work uniform. Jumpsuit rolled down to his hips to combat the heat in the garage, white tee sticking to his chest and highlighting the muscles that make you drool, the cap on and turned backwards so the oil and gunk doesn’t get in his hair. He gives you a dimpled smile as he stands and wipes his hands on a nearby rag.

“Nah, we can eat out here, give me a second to wash my hands.” He disappears into an employees-only area, and you can hear the faint sound of water running as you pull over a couple of stools and get the food set up on one of the workbenches. Namjoon reappears, drying his hands on a clean rag that he tucks into the waistband of his uniform. “I actually have a surprise for you,” He says as he sits.

“Oh really?” Your mouth is stuffed full of chicken, and he laughs at the sight. You make a face at him before swallowing. “What surprise?”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you ahead of time, would it?” He makes a face in return and digs into his own food. You huff a little; you’ve never been very good at being patient, especially when you know you’re getting a present. You were notorious for sneaking into Christmas presents early, to the point where your parents started keeping them at your grandparents’ house to keep you from breaking into them.

The two of you eat in relative silence, only broken by the occasional anecdote of your day. When the food is finished, you both clean up the trash and Namjoon stretches as he leans back against the workbench. The position highlights his body and you can’t help yourself wondering what it looks like without the layers. As many dates as you’ve been on, there’s always been some reason or another why neither of you could spend the night; one of you worked too late, the other worked too early the next day, his roommate was home, you were dogsitting for Taehyung. It was frustrating and infuriating and you’d been about five seconds from ripping his clothes off the last time you’d seen him.

“So,” You drawl, giving him an expectant look. “What’s my surprise?”

“I really thought you’d last longer than that. Is the pleasure of my company not enough for you?”

“Joon, please, I’m dying, I waited for you to finish eating and everything because I’m such a good girlfriend.” You pout at him, but you don’t miss the stifled grin when you call yourself his girlfriend. He heaves a dramatic sigh and pushes off the workbench to take your hand.

“Alright, close your eyes,” He says. You obey immediately, following carefully as he leads you through the garage. You hear the bay door closing as you pass, and you assume the automatic timer kicked in to close them all for the night. You’re distracted from your thought as a soft clunk echoes in the garage and Namjoon lets out a soft curse. Still, he’s careful to keep you from any hazards as he guides you, eventually stopping you at what you figure is the other end of the garage.

“Okay,” He says, apprehension ringing through his voice. “You can open them.” You do, and you nearly sob at what you see.

JeepJeep, in all its glory, polished and waxed and shined, and looking nearly new again. You step forward and run your hand along the hood slowly. You whip around to face him with hope in your eyes.

“Go ahead, start her up.” You rush into the driver’s seat and find the key on the dash, ready and waiting. You slide them into the ignition but find yourself hesitating before you start it. You’re so hopeful, so ready for her to work the way she did when you first got her, that you aren’t sure what you’ll do if she doesn’t. Apprehension settles in your chest, clawing its way up your throat. You glance to Namjoon again and at his encouraging grin, you turn the key.

Your jeep absolutely roars to life, immediately, and she sounds beautiful. Better than the day your parents handed over her key, better than you’ve ever heard her, and you could weep, you’re so happy.

Instead, you turn her off, exit the vehicle, and stride the few steps to the hood where Namjoon is standing to pull him into a heated kiss. Your hands tangle in his hair immediately, pulling him in as close as you can. Words aren’t enough for this, can’t express the sheer and immense gratitude that you feel, the absolute elation at having your jeep back. He returns the kiss, surprised but content as his hands settle on the curve of your hips.

You deepen the kiss, surging upwards and pressing your body flush against Namjoon’s until you’re almost stumbling forward. He steadies you and, without breaking the kiss, walks you back until you’re resting against the hood of your jeep. You can feel the beginnings of his arousal against your hip, and you want more. You want to show him how grateful you are. You part from his lips to ghost your lips down his neck until you get to his throat, at which point you bite. It’s gentler than you usually would be, but it still makes him hiss, and you lap at the mark left to lessen the pain.

When Namjoon’s hands start sliding down, dangerously close to your ass, you bite again, this time suckling at the skin. You don’t stop until he hisses your name and tangles a hand in your hair, loose and wild, and when you finally do pull back, you give him the most innocent smile.

“We’re in the middle of the shop, are you seriously trying to-”

“Do you want me to stop?” You interrupt, cocking a brow at him. His eyes are blown wide and there’s a quickly-forming hickey on his neck that you take great pride in, and he looks like he’s struggling with himself.

“This isn’t how I pictured this,” He finally admits, and you smile.

“It’s not how I pictured it, either,” You agree. He looks slightly relieved that you had other plans as well, but at this point, you’re too far gone to care about those plans. Your nice, comfortable bed is ideal, yes, but it is also so far away, and you really can’t wait that long.

You maintain the eye contact with him as you slide down to your knees, hands massaging up and down his thighs. “Do you want me to stop?” You ask again, softer, as your hands hesitate just shy of the hardness you can feel through his uniform. Your breath ghosts along it, you’re that close to it, but you refrain from touching it at all until he gives you a sharp look.

“Fuck, no, I don’t,” He finally says, and you grin. You can hardly believe you’re about to do this, honestly, even as Namjoon unbuttons the next few clasps to his jumpsuit to reveal all he’s wearing under it is his boxers. You don’t wait for him to take them off, instead sliding the band down just enough for his dick to spring free.

You’re not ashamed at how your mouth waters at the sight.

You’ve never thought of dicks as being anything attractive, in and of themselves. For everyone else you’d been with, they were merely a tool to be used, attached to an attractive man and attractive in their skill, but not in their looks.

God, you were so wrong.

Namjoon’s dick is glorious. Seriously beautiful. It’s long and thick and curves just barely, and you clench instinctively at the thought of it inside you. You’d be worried at how you’re going to fit it if you couldn’t already feel the wetness dripping down your thigh. You were so turned on it could probably slide right in, and you clench again at the thought before reminding yourself that you were on a mission.

The first brush of your hand against his dick has Namjoon huffing, impatient and ready to feel your mouth on him. It’s the first you’ve seen of his authoritative side all night, and you decide that you want more of it. You glide your fingers along the length of him, ghosting over the tip just enough for him to know you were there at all before repeating the motion, again and again. He thrusts forward just a small bit each time, chasing the feeling of your hand, and you can’t stop the smirk on your face as you look up to find him glaring down at you.

“I thought you were going to do something down there,” He growls. You do your best not to shiver at the sound of it.

“I am doing something,” You reply cheekily as you slide your thumb along his slit. He hisses again and shudders. “Isn’t there supposed to be a give and take?”

“If you don’t put that mouth of yours to work, you’re going to see exactly what take means,” He tells you, and you grow hotter at the thought. It must show on your face because he raises a brow at you. “Oh, is that what you want, baby? You want me to take it?” You moan a little at the thought, and though you’re never going to admit it, he knows, just by that small tell.

“Then I’ll take it.” He tightens the grip he has in your hair. “Open your mouth for me, baby.” You comply, and he slides in completely. You can feel him hitting the back of your throat and your nose is buried in the small patch of dark hair at the base of his dick and you don’t even care. Your eyes roll back a little as he slides himself back out before thrusting in once more, and you moan around his cock.

The sound makes him shiver, and he repeats the action, tip hitting your throat once more, and you moan again. He hisses your name and it sounds like music to your ears. You slack your jaw, allowing him more room, and run your tongue along the underside as he slides in and out, groaning softly at the feeling.

“Fuck, you like this baby?” He asks you, falling forward slightly to brace himself against the hood of your jeep. “You like it when I use your mouth like this? Like it when you’re just a little cockslut for me?” You whimper and do your best to nod, though it’s difficult when he’s shoved his dick so far back in your throat that you’re swallowing around it. The taste of his pre-cum hits your tongue as he slides back out, and you’ve honestly never tasted anything so good in your life.

“You’re so good for me like this, baby,” He says. “You’re so pretty like this, on your knees for me. So fucking gorgeous, god, I could cum just like this.” You whine at that; if he’s going to cum inside of you, you sure as hell don’t want it to be down your throat.

He stops the next time he slides out, a soft pop echoing through the room as he does. There’s a trail of spit connecting your lips and the tip of his cock and it’s so erotic you could cum just from that. He’s dripping pre-cum and you give small kitten licks to lap it up before it can fall to the ground. His free hand cradles your chin and he pulls your face up to look him in the eye.

“Get up,” He commands. You obey, scrambling to your feet and glad to get off the cool concrete floor of the garage. He pushes you back until you hit the hood of the jeep, hands running along your legs and up the skirt of your dress. He grips the backs of your thighs and lifts, with more strength than you realized he had, until you’re sitting on the hood, legs splayed around him. He darts forward and sucks a mark into the skin of your collarbone, and you whimper at the feeling of his lips on you.

His hands slide up your thighs, teasing and light, and they drag the skirt of your dress up with them. By the time you can feel the air against your clothed core, he’s pulled back, and when you open your eyes, you find him staring straight at it.

“Shit, babe,” He hisses, “Lace? Fuck, I almost don’t wanna take them off.”

“Then don’t,” You reply without hesitation. He looks up at you, and a crooked smile slowly comes over his face.

“God, you really are fucking perfect, aren’t you?” He mutters. He leans in again and kisses you hard. It’s unforgiving and sloppy and hot and when added to the heat of his hands against your inner thighs as he slowly strokes your skin, it has you grinding against the air for some form of release.

“Please, Joon,” You gasp, hands grasping desperately at his shirt. “Please, please, I need you.”

“You’re so pretty when you beg,” He whispers, laughter clear in his voice as one finger moves to slide against your slit. Even through the fabric, the friction makes you buck, and you can’t stop the moan as he flicks at your clit. “You’re so wet, baby. Absolutely soaked. Tell me, are you always like this when you’re around me?”

You whimper as he moves his fingers to the side to slide his fingers along your slit once more, collecting your wetness as he does. One starts to slowly rub circles just above your clit, close enough that it has you moaning, but so far away from where you need them to be. Your body is shuddering, and you’re dimly aware of your hips rolling to match his circles.

“I asked you a question.” His voice is harsh in your ear as his palm slaps against your thigh. The pain lingers, just enough to make you clench around nothing, and you can feel yourself getting wetter. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” You gasp. “Yes, I’m always this wet around you.” He smiles and slides a finger inside of you. It’s easy, and you contract around him,

“Good girl,” He tells you, thrusting his finger in and out. You whimper again, and he presses a kiss against your neck. Your hips are moving of their own accord, rutting desperately into his hand. “Now tell me, have you imagined this? Did you think about me fucking you in this garage, making you cum with just my fingers?”

You nod quickly. “Yes, yes, I’ve thought about it.” You moan as he slides another finger inside and begins you fucking with them, curling them just enough that they brush against the one spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. “Fuck, Joon, please, I need you.” You’re fucking yourself against his hand, hips grinding hard against his hand. The meat of his palm presses deliciously against your clit, and you feel like sobbing, you’re so close.

His fingers slide out of you, leaving you contracting around nothing, and the emptiness echoes throughout your chest. “Ssh, baby,” Namjoon says softly. You feel a finger against your lips and instinctually open your mouth. He slides his fingers inside and you suck, licking your own slick off of them. You look at him as you do it, and relish in the fact that he looks just as wrecked as you feel. “Fuck, I need to be in you. Do you have a condom?”

“No, it’s fine,” You say quickly. “I’ve got an IUD, we’re both clean, please just fuck me, Joon, I need it.” His grip on your thigh tightens at your words, and he nods.

“Yeah, okay,” He mutters. He pushes lightly against your shoulder and you let him. He lays you back on the hood, gripping your thighs and pulling your hips down to line himself up with your entrance. “Fuck, you’re so wet, baby.”

“I know, it’s all you, Joon,” You tell him, back arching as you feel the tip of his dick against your entrance. “It’s all because of you, you get me like this, just wanna fuck you all day.”

With a groan, he slams into you, and you gasp. Your back arches up off the hood at the same time your legs wrap around his hips to keep him inside you. The moan tears itself from your throat, echoing through the building, and you’re glad for the music still booming through the garage. Namjoon moves, one hand bracing himself against the jeep as he lets himself adjust to the feeling of your raw heat against him and the other keeping your hips steady in an iron grip.

“Fuck, Namjoon, move, please,” You whine, hips already grinding against him in an effort to entice him into following your wishes. He nods and starts shallow thrusts. The stretch burns in a way that makes you want more, and you can feel every inch of him inside of you as he begins to fuck you harder.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” He moans, and if that isn’t the best sound you’ve ever heard, you aren’t sure what is. “God, I fucking…fucking love the feel of your pussy around me, it’s so good, and you’re fucking beautiful like this, taking my cock so well, babe.” You whimper and roll your hips against his, hands scrambling for any kind of purchase against the hood of the jeep and finding none.

“Harder, Joon, fuck,” You pant, moving to grip your own thighs in a desperate attempt to release some of the energy building up in your gut. He complies, fucking you harder against the jeep. You think you can hear it moving, but you can’t be sure, because all of your focus is currently on the pressure against your pelvis, the way the rolling heat between your legs is expanding, and you can’t even be bothered to control the wanton moans coming out of your mouth. Namjoon is just as loud, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he pumps in and out of you. One of his hands moves and he shifts, angling so that he hits your sweet spot with every thrust while his other hands begins to rub hard circles on your clit in time with his fucking.

“Fuck, yes, come on, baby, cum on my dick, wanna see you cum for me, wanna feel you as I fill you up,” Namjoon hisses, slapping at your thigh once more. That does the trick, the rubber band in your belly snapping as you reach your high; your back comes off the hood completely and you shoot forward, hands gripping Namjoon’s shirt so hard you think it might rip, hips rocking against his as you ride out your high.

It only takes a few shallow thrusts while you’re spasming around him for Namjoon to fall over that edge as well, and you can feel the hot liquid settling inside of you. There’s more of it than you thought there would be, enough that even as he slides out, you can’t miss the way it drips out of you.

You’re both panting as Namjoon slides your panties back into place, a smirk on his face as he does. You look at each other, and you let yourself fall back onto your elbows.

“I’ll get the lights and the music if you get the door,” He says. You’re up in a flash, heading to the door controls by the bay your jeep is parked at as Namjoon hurtles through the garage to turn off the music and lights. It takes less than five minutes, and only a couple of minor incidents in which you hear something fall to the garage floor, and you’re speeding down the road to your apartment.

If you had to stop in the parking lot of your building and ride him in the backseat, then, well…no one needed to know but the two of you.

#fic: give and take #bts #bts fanfic #bts smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon fanfiction #rm x reader #mechanic!namjoon #mechanic namjoon #kpop fanfiction #reader insert #fluff #ddaenggtan #it's finally done!!! i'm so excited

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia – Learning Curve

Presenting the next chapter of my on-going, next-gen, My Hero Academia fic, Their Hero Academia!  

Earlier chapters can be found here

Old habits died hard. Since he was a teenager, Katsuki has almost always risen at 0500.  Sure, there were a few times, like after his first Sports Festival or after some more grievous injuries and hospital stays, where he slept later than that, but it was a discipline he’d engrained in himself for ages.  He’d rise, change, go for a run or engage in other intensive exercise, and still be back in plenty of time to shower, change again, and get breakfast started before Shitty Hair and the kids had even woken up.

He couldn’t go for the run anymore.  He was only a few weeks out from his… injury.  They’d been able to fit him for and fabricate a standard prosthetic in record time, the perks of being the Number Four Hero.  He should have refused the expedited process, done it fair like everyone else.  He felt guilty for it, but Eijiro had convinced him to accept.

“You’ve spent your life helping other people, Katsuki,” Eijiro had said.  “Let somebody help you for once.”

So he still woke up at the asscrack of dawn and there was nothing he could do about it.  Eijiro’s sleeping bulk next to him wouldn’t stir for at least another hour at best.  How he could love someone who snored like a rusty chainsaw, he didn’t know.

With nothing to do for it, he swung himself up into a sitting position, needing more effort than usual to maintain his balance as he slid his foot to the floor.   He can still barely bring himself to look at his… stump.  Katsuki has heard about phantom limb before.  There was little doubt in his mind now that it existed.  There were times he was certain his leg was still there.

But it was not.  The Nomu had broken him.  A fucking robot broke him in ways that all the Villains he’d put away over the years never had.  There were so many enemies he’d made over the years who would have killed to have hurt him this badly, and it had been a damn robot that had done it. Sure, the robot mad obviously been part of some bigger scheme, but he got the feeling he wasn’t the target. Just collateral damage.

Once upon a time, that would have been a big enough blow to his pride that he would have flown into a rage, angry that some crackpot Villain didn’t consider him the world’s biggest threat.

He’d had a lot of therapy since he was a shit-for-brains teenager.  It still hurt, still made him angry, but not in the way it would have once upon a time.

His prosthetic leg stood next to the bed, a reminder of everything he’d lost.  It took the work of several long minutes to put it on. First, he fit the liner around his stump.  It was some kind of high tech interface material, printed circuits on the inside and out, but with a soft texture to prevent chafing and other issues.  Then he fit the socket of the prosthetic on top of that.  Because of the nature of his injury, it wasn’t a clean cut, taking nerves and other muscle fibers with it.  The major of what would be his “knee” was worked into the prosthetic.  Finally, he made sure the prosthetic itself was locked into place and pressed the small button on the side.  

There was a small electric hum as the leg came to life and a warm feeling circulated through his stump.  If he wasn’t too active, he could make this circuitry liner last the better part of three days.  The time was significantly less if he was.  Even though his Quirk was concentrated in his hands, all his sweat had a level of nitroglycerin to it that would eventually cause the circuitry to degrade.  He had plenty of spares, of course, but it was one more reason why he was out of the game for now.

It was almost like having a leg again.  Emphasis on almost.

Eijiro would tell him that he should rest while he could.  Melissa Togata and Mei Hatsume were hard at work on developing a prosthetic that will hold up to his Quirk.  But that would take time.  It was time he didn’t know how to fill.  He’d never been an idle person before.  He wasn’t sure he could survive as one.

He looked over at his husband’s sleeping form and smiled.  He still didn’t think he deserved anyone as understanding and patient as Eijiro.  

The time on the clock said 0515.  Katsuki had let his thoughts wander long enough.  It was time to start the day.

***

“You sure you don’t want any help, Bakubabe?”

“I told you, I’ve got this!”

Eijiro’s question was meant to be helpful, a simple domestic request.  But Katsuki couldn’t help but wonder if Eijiro didn’t think he could cut it. Those were negative thoughts and he had to constantly remind himself that every offer of help was not pity, was not shameful.

Besides, he enjoyed cooking. And there was no way in hell he was letting Eijiro cook.  The last time his husband had tried making breakfast, he’d somehow set the cereal on fire.

Katsuki was making breakfast, his attention was occupied by the stove, but he spared a moment to cast his eyes to the kitchen table, where Eijiro, Katsumi, and Tai were sitting.  Tai was eagerly telling Katsumi about everything she’d missed while at U.A. and Katsumi was listening attentively, her little brother bringing out a softer side in her she’d probably have murdered somebody if they had seen.  

He knew that it would be brief, that Katsumi would be gone all too quickly, first on vacation, then to the U.A. training camp, and then back to U.A., but it made him happy to have all his family back under one roof for a while.

His happy musings were interrupted by the doorbell ringing.  It was a little after 0800.  He wondered who the hell it could be.  They didn’t get a lot of company most of the time, though Pikachu and Lobes and Raccoon Eyes and Soy Sauce Face and all the rest had been coming around more lately.  Eijiro claimed it was because “they’re your friends and they care about you.”

“Somebody going to get that?” he asked.

“I’ll get it!” Tai said cheerfully, jumping up from his chair.  Before Katsuki could even blink, he was already running off.

“I’ll get it,” Eijiro said, getting up and pushing back from the table.  “Before Tai,” he added, hastily.  They lived in a gated community and had a very good security system, so the odds of it being anyone with ill intention towards them were minimal, but they still didn’t allow Tai to open the door without first checking who it was.  A door-cam would let Eijiro know if it was someone who shouldn’t be allowed inside, like a Villain, Monoma, or his mother.  Though for some reason Eijiro actually liked his mother and kept letting her inside.

Still, he listened in as he heard his husband and son answer the door.  “Oh, hi, Mister All Might!”

What?

“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it,” Katsumi said quickly.

***

All Might was sitting at his breakfast table.  He’d begged off any actual food, but had accepted the cup of coffee Katsuki had forced upon him.  Because he was a damn good host.  Katsuki took a minute to eat a few bites of his own food before he started talking.

“You do know Deku lives next door, right, old man?” he asked.  “You didn’t get lost, did you?”

It was ruder than he should have been, he knew.  Especially to someone he’d looked up to pretty much all his life.  But he had a damn morning routine and didn’t take well to having it disrupted.  Well, more disrupted than his current circumstances already had.  But he should really have been setting a better example for Tai.  

All Might laughed and shook his head.  “No,” he said.  “I’m in the right place.  I have matters I wish to speak to you on.  But perhaps it would be better in private?”

Katsuki exchanged a quick look with Eijiro and then another with Katsumi.  Over the years, they’d mastered the art of silent communication. He trusted Katsumi to know if she needed to get Tai out of the room.

“Anything you’ve got to say to me, you can say in front of my family,” he said instead.

All Might nodded and sipped his coffee.  “As you wish,” he said.  “But first, may I ask, how is your recovery going?”

The genuine concern in All Might’s eyes and in his voice spoke volumes.  Katsuki was privy to the old man’s secrets and the secrets Deku carried. He knew about how badly the old man had been injured ages ago and how he’d fought on regardless.  He knew about how All Might had held himself together with spit and bailing wire and kept on.  His own injuries weren’t anywhere near as bad as All Might’s had been, but unlike most offers of it, he actually appreciated the sympathy here.  

The unspoken message was clear.  You don’t have to put on a brave face for me. I’ve been where you are.  There’s no shame here.

And for once, Katsuki believed that.

“It’s going,” he admitted. “Still doing plenty of physical therapy. Haven’t fallen in a while.  I can do stairs now.”

“Daddy had to sleep in the guest room when he came home!” Tai volunteered.  “But I stayed with him so he wouldn’t be lonely!”

“Quiet the heroic act, Young Tai,” All Might said, giving Tai a smile.   That practically had his son glowing, though thankfully not the kind he did before he exploded.

All Might hesitated for a moment before he asked a second question.  “And your Agency?”

Katsuki winced at that and an apologetic look flitted across All Might’s face.  “It’s all right,” Katsuki said finally.  “Sidekicks are running things.  Got plenty of them after all.  They still send me some case files and I weigh in and give orders.”

“He won’t take a real leave of absence,” Eijiro said, the traitor.  “No matter how much I ask him to.”

“Brain still works, even if the rest of me doesn’t,” he snapped.  “I’ve still got work to do.  And speaking of, don’t you have to go in today?”

Eijiro looked at the clock and his eyes went wide.  “Oh, man! You’re right!  I totally forgot!”  He got up from his seat and kissed Katsuki on the cheek, ruffled Katsumi’s hair (to her indignant cries and swats), and gave Tai a hug.  “Nice to see you, All Might!” he said, running out the door.

Katsuki just shook his head. “What would he do without me?” he muttered.

“Anyway,” All Might said, “as I’m sure your daughter told you, I’m leaving my teaching position to become U.A.’s new principal.”

Katsuki fixed Katsumi with the same kind of look he used to get confessions out of Villains.  “I’m sure she did,” he said.

Katsumi shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

“You’re gonna be the principal?” Tai asked, eyes wide.  “But who’s going to do your old job?”

“You said you were looking into a candidate,” Katsumi said.  She tapped a finger against her cheek and her mouth opened slightly and closed just as quickly.  If he hadn’t been watching, he would have missed it entirely.  But something in her posture changed and she sat up just a little straighter.

“I did,’ All Might said. “Good memory, Young Lady.   In truth, there was only one candidate we were considering…”

He turned and faced Katsuki. He didn’t even have to say it. Katsuki could put two and two together.

“What,” he said, “the fuck?”

“Daddy said a bad word!”

***

“Are you out of your da—are you out of your mind, old man?” Katsuki demanded, having forced All Might from the kitchen to his private study, putting him on small couch there that Eijiro or the kids crashed on when keeping him company.  The walls were filled with awards and newspaper articles, many of which had been clipped and saved by his overly-sappy husband.  He hadn’t been in here in a while.  Too much of a reminder of what he’d lost and what he might not have ever again.

Katsuki remained on his feet.  It almost put him and All Might at eye level.  All the better to glower and try to control this conversation.   Katsumi had taken Tai upstairs, but he was still aware that, with how loud he could get, his young and impressionable son might still overhear and repeat things he said.  And he’d had enough conversations with Tai’s teacher about that already.

“What,” he goes on, “in our history together, makes you think I’m possibly capable of being a teacher?”

“You’ve mentored any number of Sidekicks,” All Might said, calmly.  “And yes, there were those who complained you were a harsh taskmaster, but every single Sidekick who served under you and who went on to a solo career is a top one hundred Hero.  Even those Sidekicks that left your service to work for someone else are noted to have picked up many skills from you.”

“Well, duh,” he snapped. “Gotta bring up the quality of the dumba—of the people I’ve got working for me.  Can’t have them making me look bad!”

All Might chuckled at that. “And, of course, Young Shinso speaks very highly of your mentorship of him.”

Fuck.

“Shinso,” Katsuki said quietly.  With everything that had been going on, he hadn’t had much time to spare a thought for the kid.  He immediately felt guilty about that.  The kid had been right there when it had all gone down.  He knew Shinso had been feeling guilty about it, but he thought he’d patched things up with their little talk at the hospital.  That was how that worked, right?  Big speech, change the world.  Just like All Might.  

The better part of a decade and a half of parenting told him that was not how anything worked.

“How is he?  I haven’t seen him since…”

“He’s getting better every day,” All Might told him kindly.  “Not quite back to his usual self, even now, but a far cry from where he was back then.  Terrible business…”

All Might’s face had gone quite grim, and Bakugo could understand.  The Nomu were the legacy of his greatest enemy.  Even if it was only someone using those tools, the former Number One could only have been thinking about how if he’d been more certain All for One was in the grave, none of it would have happened.

“But Deku and the others are working on discovering the Villains behind it.  I’m sure we’ll see justice done.”

An awkward silence hung in the air for a moment, until Katsuki broke it.  Because he could connect the dots on this easily enough. “I’m not taking some kind of pity job,” he said.  “Just because I can’t go in the field right now doesn’t mean I’m not gonna leap right back in as soon as the eggheads get it figured out.”

Katsuki grunted.  His stump was beginning to ache.  He’d been on his feet too long, but he’d be damned if he’d give All Might the satisfaction of seeing him need to sit down. It would just prove his point.

“I won’t lie to you, Katsuki,” All Might said, his hands folded.  The Symbol of Peace, in his study, wearing one of those stupid mustard yellow pinstripe suits of his.  How Aunt Inko had never managed to get him to buy better clothes, he didn’t know.  “It was a factor.”

“I ought to throw you out of my house,” he growled, taking a menacing step forward.  He winced again.   “Dammit,” he hissed under his breath.  He really didn’t need to be looking weak now.  With as much dignity as he could muster, and trying to project that it was his choice, he sat down in his desk chair.  It was larger than was really needed to be to be functional, plush and comfortable, not fitting the business-like design of the rest of the study, and just big enough that Tai could sit with him in it.

“Can I ask you to hear me out first?” All Might asked, pleading with him.  

“You’ve got five minutes.”

All Might drew in a breath. “You forget, lad, I’ve seen you grow from an angry young man who threatened to kill his classmates on a regular basis to a responsible young adult who reigned in his behavior enough to get his license to one of the greatest Heroes in the country.  You’ve already had a career that would put many current and even veteran Heroes to shame.  And you really do have a lot of offer.  You’ve got plenty of natural talent, but you paired that with more hard work than anyone I’ve ever seen, other than Izuku.”

Katsuki tried very hard not to react to being compared to Deku like that.  They might have buried the hatchet years ago, but again, old habits died hard.

“More than that though,” All Might went on, “I know what it’s like to be struck down, to have people tell you that you should just give up.  I know what it’s like to have a bright future and...”

The silence that followed for the next several seconds was choking.  But Katsuki understood well what it meant.  All Might was more than lucky to still be among the living.  The different factors that had contributed to his still being alive were nothing short of a minor miracle.

Katsuki was down, but not out.  Injured, but still moving forward.  Still strong in the parts of him that were whole, not some skeleton running on fumes.

And yet the comparison was apt.  He’d been the Number Four Hero with eyes on the Number One slot, and even at forty-one, still had plenty of years left in him.

Had being the operative word.  As much as hated to think about it, the question of “what do I do now?” still weighed upon him.  Because if the eggheads couldn’t fix him…

All Might continued, “Though it was originally meant to simply be a cover for my search for a successor, I found I did love teaching.”  He smiled, ruefully.  “Even if I wasn’t very good at it at first.”

Katsuki had to laugh at that.  “That’s putting it mildly.”

“But the fact of the matter is, teaching helped me re-center myself, after I had spent the last vestiges of my power.  I got better at it.  Or at least I think I did.”

He chuckled again. “Yeah, you were all right.”

All Might shared in the chuckle.  “Such a ringing endorsement.  But the fact remains, Katsuki, U.A. was there for me when I needed it.  Let it be here for you.”

Katsuki looked at the clock. “Your five minutes are up.”

***

“So what did All Might want?” Eijiro asked that night at dinner.  Katsuki had cooked again.  It was something he could still do, so he insisted on doing it whenever possible. Because he pulled his own damn weight. He was nobody’s burden.

“Had to be something big,” Katsumi said.  “Dad sent me and the Squirt upstairs.  Heard him yelling at one point.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Katsuki said automatically.  Dad-instincts had gone to war with his objections to her spilling the beans and had ultimately won.

“That’s your objection here?” Katsumi asked.   But after he gave her a look, she followed up with, “Yes, sir.”

Eijiro was still awaiting an answer to his question.  He should have just said All Might was checking in on him, but he wasn’t and would never be a liar.  He would fully admit to having a fairly selective understanding of reality in the past, but he wasn’t a liar.   Besides, Katsumi and Tai would know that wasn’t true, even if they hadn’t heard what was going on.  And Katsumi was more than smart enough to have to put it together.  The clues hadn’t been hard to follow.

“He had a job offer for me,” he said, finally.

“Oh?” Eijiro asked, water bottle halfway to his mouth.  “Ah, doing what?”

“Teaching,” Katsuki replied.  He frowned. Might as well go for it. “He’s succeeding Nezu as principal and wants me to be the new first year Heroics teacher.”

“I thought that’s what it was,” Katsumi said, “but I didn’t believe it…”

“Believe it,” he said.

“Daddy’s gonna be a teacher?” Tai asked, eyes wide.

“Maybe,” Katsuki said. “I told him I’d think about it.”

“Oh,” Eijiro said.  He took a drink.  

Katsuki sighed.  Eijiro had on his “thinking” face.  The one he got when he wasn’t really sure what to say. Most of the time, it was pretty adorable.  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said.

“Well,” Eijiro said, “it’s just, I know you’re itching to get back into action… just as soon as… you’re able…”   He trailed off, as though not quite sure how to finish that sentence.  “How’s that going to work?”

Yeah.  That was the goal.  “As soon as he was able.”   Whatever that meant.  And the timeline didn’t really seem good.  They all knew it.  No one said it, but they all knew it.  Well, Tai probably didn’t know it.  But they’d all been content to hold onto the fiction that it was just a matter of time until their lives were all back to normal.

He wasn’t a liar, but he was certainly good at burying things he didn’t want to think about.

“Might not be forever,” he said instead.  “But it’d get me out of the house.”

“He’s right about one thing,” Eijiro said, now that they were on slightly steadier ground.  “You’d be a great teacher.”

“I’m trying not to be insulting here, but…” Katsumi said.  She shrugged helplessly when they looked at her.

“No, really!” Eijiro insisted.  “Your dad’s the reason I passed all my regular classes!  Mina and Denki too!”

“Couldn’t have a bunch of dummies drag me down,” Katsuki said, his mind flashing back to long and yelling-filled study sessions.  He was pretty sure he wouldn’t be allowed to come up with insulting nicknames for his students or launch into profanity-laced tirades about how they wouldn’t know the quadratic equation from their own asses.

Katsumi, meanwhile, had pushed her plate away and was holding her head in her hands.  “I don’t believe this…”

That did give him a moment’s pause.  He hadn’t thought through this angle when he’d been talking to All Might.  “Look, if you don’t want me too…”

She pulled her head up. “I’ll live, Dad.  You would be good at it.   Who else did I get all my moves from?

“And besides,” she went on, “you’d be less embarrassing than Papa.”

“Katsumi!” Eijiro shrieked.  “I’m not embarrassing!  I’m the cool dad!”

“No, you’re not,” Katsumi and Katsuki said at the same time.  They stared for a moment, then laughed.

“Um,” Tai said, “if you’re gonna be a teacher, are we gonna have to move?”

“That’s something Papa and I would have to talk about,” Bakugo said.  Thoughts of no longer living within shouting distance of Deku, Pickahu, that Copycat Bastard, and Eijiro’s dumber half-brother danced through his mind, before remembering that Itsuka Tetsutetsu was already a U.A. teacher, splitting her time between living on campus and their home across the street from him, though they had the advantage of only having the one child.

“We’d probably move though,” he said.  “Or else I wouldn’t get to see you as much.  And nobody’d like that.”

Tai nodded.  “I’d miss you!  And if Papa had to do all the cooking, we’d starve!”

Eijiro crossed his arms and harrumphed.  “Everybody’s a critic.”

“You know he’s right, Papa,” Katsumi said.

Still…

“It’s your choice, Bakubabe,” Eijiro said after a moment.  “You know me.  I’ll follow you anywhere.  If you want this… if you need this, then we’ll do it.”

“Yeah,” Katsumi said. “As long as you promise not to embarrass me…”

“Daddy’s gonna be a teacher!” Tai said, helpfully.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “Maybe I am…”

***

Later, Katsuki climbed into bed with Eijiro, the thoughts of the day still running through his head. He had been an easy sleeper, but ever since the Nomu, it took him longer and longer to fall asleep.  There were too many intrusive thoughts these days trying to undermine his confidence and sense of self.  He’d had nights like that before, like when his children had been born and he’d been worried as fuck about how he could be a good father.  But this, this was more like when he’d blamed himself for All Might’s last stand.

The thought that he would never be good enough again kept pounding against his the inside of his skull. The question of whether accepting this teaching job was giving up or being realistic asked itself a thousand times, in a thousand different ways.

“What do you really think, Eijiro?” he asked.  There wasn’t much need to be more specific than that.

Ejiro put a bookmark in his book, set it aside, and took off his reading glasses.  “Do you actually want my opinion, or is this one of those times where you’ve already made up your mind and are just looking for permission?”

Dammit, Eijiro was more perceptive than he gave him credit for.

“I want your opinion, Shitty Hair,” he said.  “I do this, it’s not just my life that’s affected.  It’s you, it’s Katsumi, it’s Tai.”

“Tai’s five,” Eijiro said. “Plus, he can adapt to anything. Worst thing for him will be if he doesn’t get to see Mako and Takeru as much.”

“And Katsumi?  Can’t imagine she wants her old man around every day.”

“Kana manages it with her mom,” Eijiro reminded him.  “Besides… after we thought we might lose you, I think she’d appreciate seeing you a little more often.”

“And what about you?” Katsuki demanded.  “Stop putting everybody else’s needs first and tell me what you think, Shitty Hair.”

Eijiro reached over and took his hand in his own.  He gave it a squeeze.  “Bakubabe. You’re my home.  Wherever you go, I go.  We’ll find a way to make it work.  You need this.  So if you want to do this, I’m behind you, one hundred percent.   We said for better or for worse. It’s the Manly thing to do.”

It sure seemed like a lot of worse right now.  But he didn’t back down from a fight.  

Katsuki nodded and gave Eijiro’s hand a squeeze in return.  “I’m not giving up, understand?  Just a temporary leave of absence to focus on my recovery and pass on a little wisdom.  That’s it. That’s what this is.”

Eijiro gave him a smile. One of his “I’m agreeing with you to allow you to save face, even though we both know you’re bluffing to cover up how afraid you are” smiles.  Eijiro had had a lot of practice with that one over the years.   He knew that if Eijiro truly thought he needed to, he’d call him on the bullshit.  

“Of course, Bakubabe. As long as you think you can do it, I’m with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!  Of course I can do it!  Why wouldn’t I be able to do it?!  If All Might or that hobo Aizawa can teach…”

He stopped and gave Eijiro a swat upside the head with his free hand.  “I see what you did there, Shitty Hair.”

There are times, like now, where Katsuki wondered what he did to deserve someone like Eijiro in his life. Questioning that tended to lead down dark paths.  So for now, he was just going to welcome the support.

Him.  A teacher.  It was almost unthinkable.  And yet everyone kept saying he had it in him.  All Might, Eijiro, they all believed in him.

He used to believe in himself.  There were times in his life where he had believed in himself too much, believed in himself to the point of believing he was the center of the universe.  At least that wasn’t the case anymore.

But maybe, just maybe, he could get a little of that belief back.

#my hero academia #their hero academia #katsuki bakugo #eijiro kirishima #all might #fan fiction #fan fic #my writing

[warfear]

what is popping, home - slices?   if you’ve been in the group chat—then you are aware of my wee identity crisis :     involving the dropping of three, picking up of one.   don’t worry, they’ll be back!   whenever i feel alive again.   SO NEVER.   jk.   anyway…   in the meantime, with the exception of odette and julian—i offer you my trashiest child  (found in the dumpster behind burger king wrapped in tinfoil.   * australian accent *  think they were gonna throw her on the barbie…   huh?)   so, SEE BELOW for the 411 on this 4′11 gremlin.

INTRODUCTION.

☢     —     (  KATIE DOUGLAS, AGENDER, SHE/THEM  )     Trading in their tattoo gun for a chainsaw might not come easy for MINOO PEARCE. This twenty-two year old artist brings spray cans galore, divergent thinking, and a history of shoplifting to the table … but their small stature and double-dealing could drag the group down. And while their unorthodox nature might raise group morale, their arrogance might give them a few enemies. That’s the last thing anyone needs right now. Hopefully, in the apocalypse movie that’s now their life, this QUINCY PUNK will make it to the end credits.

BASICS.

born in boston, massachussets—or as i like to call it…   massachuchu—minoo is the first and only child of two garbage folk.   mitch & rachel pearce.   devout catholics.   patriotic.   all - american.   thoroughly unfit to be parents.   only in a sexy  “our daughter isn’t her own person but an extension of ourselves”  kinda way.   slammed like a ping pong ball between being invisible and controlled this one.

a military brat, too…   meaning that no place was permanent, and boston was ditched before she could take her first step.   she has lived in boise, in a small fishing town south of anchorage, and once her family spent six months in waipahu.   when she was thirteen her father got a permanent position in fort elms.   lucky she!

during the flashes of love and pampering  (see: no autonomy)  minoo was subjected to the cringe - worthy world of child pageantry.   we love it when mommy lives vicariously through us!   even if she aims for jonbenet ramsey…   ending up with honey boo boo instead.   don’t get it twisted, though—she was little miss texas during her prime  (age 8).   AND WE DO NOT TALK ABOUT THAT.   not unless you wanna get shanked   * stabby motions *   …   side note :     she still fits into her last puffy - armed dress.   we don’t talk about that either.

she eventually learned to put her foot down.   much to rachel’s horror.   sorry not sorry, darling.   minoo abandoned the gowns for band tees soon after.   not as much as a speck of rogue on this honey - pie these days, just some sick, sick raccoon eyes.   call it what it is…   punk rock.

minoo first found her greatest passions  (shoplifting and vandalism.   not necessarily in that order.)  when she was eleven years old.   she pocketed a strawberry scented hello kitty eraser from macy’s and she has not looked back since.   a habit which earned her a trip to boarding school.   catholic.   gag us with a spoon.   side note 2 :     she still fits into her middle school uniform, too.

all jokes—they’re not jokes—aside…   she is not completely hopeless.   in fact, she is a little miss smarty - pants.   minoo got a raging hard - on for classic literature  (jane austen, what’s good?)  and conceptual art  (richard hambleton, what’s good?).   not much of a writer but one hell of a graffiti artist—most of her work can be spotted around town.   some genuine, some dicks.   TALENT!   a good portion of her art can be found on mj herself, though.   stick ‘n pokes, babes—we love to see it. 

minoo is also a mother.   she has a son.   and he’s a really good boy.   almost bigger than she is now…   they grow up so fast, don’t they?   his name is rusty, and he’s the cutest saint bernard you ever did see.   her best friend.   her only friend, really.   intended to be a guard dog, my boy rusty flopped—onto the couch that is.   he is a certified couch potato, something minoo can relate to.   AND SHE LOVES HIM SO!   the only person she’d put before herself.   dog - person…   

once intended to get her license.   that opportunity was shot when she chose teenage rebellion over independence.   you see, mj here has got herself a rap sheet longer than herself.   (not that impressive all things considered.)   and she takes much pride in it.   which means that when daddy dearest tried to have her late teen mishaps expunged—she saw red.   psychological help, i’ll get her some.   now she’s twenty - two and destined to travel the world by skateboard…   all because she backed the family jeep into their neighbour���s backyard.   nobody was hurt, alright.   dare i say yet?

SPEED RUN!     got nancy spungen for a role model.   saving up to run off to sacramento.   hates authority yet somehow has an authority kink.   adhd embodied.   looks like the artwork of numerous kindergarteners.   thinks attention is love.   homeless by choice (nobody said she was smart…   except i did.)  could eat her weight in olives.   anarchist without a cause.   10/10 will break into your house.   took fuck the police too literally that one time.   fantasises about her dad’s suicide.   wants to be loved.   does not want to love.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

friend - o’s :    i think it goes without saying that minoo is a handful.   although i still think she should be allowed some buds.   whether through her MANY INTERESTS  (literature, art, punk rock, skating, large dogs, disappointing her parents…)  or just through circumstance.   she is twenty - two, and never made it to art school—*  that one vine vc *   way to go, paul mitch!—but she did go to fort elms high all four years.   someone’s bound to know her!   just give me some bitches to put up with her shit.   god bless america.

parental figure :    listen…   she needs this.   obviously!   just some OLD PERSON who doesn’t tell her that she stinks and that her tattoos are ugly.   she has a lifetime of trauma to make up for.   we need some rachel and mitch opposites to fix that shit, alright.   and stat!   she intends on being dead by twenty - seven.   cobain hasn’t even bit it yet, and still…   she’s so ahead of her time…

enemy slash victim :    she stinks.   (yes, this is her dad speaking.)   and is a complete fucking nuisance.   if she decides you suck then she wont settle for simply knowing herself—you also have to know.   really know…   it’s no fun hating somebody if they don’t know it, man.   just let her pull some cutesy pranks, you know?   ordering half a dozen pizzas to their house, leave their number in the x - rated section of blockbuster, graffiti an ugly portrait of their ugly face on their driveway, slash their tires…

and that’s it, fellas!   please love her…   or else…   :gun_emoji:

#ahah … i hate myself

[ravynfyre]

maudlin

i worry a lot about letting my friends down. 

i look back, and i suppose i can admit that i’ve been through a lot in my life. most of it added up to help... idunno if they created or if all the shit just exacerbated ... but one of the two... my mental health issues. mental health issues that i have had my whole life, only, i wasn’t really able to admit that until maybe a decade ago. but i was dealing with those mental health issues while i was working full time as a firefighter, and while i was married.

well, actually, i *wasn’t* dealing with those mental health issues, actually. and, between the stress of the... toxically masculine firefighting environment i was in, and the stress of the actual work i was doing, and then the injury that cost me my career... all of that combined with the rest of my previous mental health bullshit and i spiraled pretty hard. and my ex-husband just couldn’t handle the spiral. he was living with me, as spouses generally do, and got to see first hand the spiral and the meltdown and just... i’m just going to say that it really fucking hurts when you suddenly notice that your partner doesn’t really fucking care for you any longer.

but that’s the story of my life, yeah? i’m always best in small doses, from far away. people like me until they have to spend extended periods of time with me. like, i’m okay for a weekend convention, or a week long camp, but then things start breaking down when the facade starts to crack and i can’t keep the act going any longer. the real me starts leaking out like toxic sludge and the depression starts reeling me in and i start running out of steam and motivation to keep it all together and the showers start tapering off and the willpower breaks down and the funny drifts away and everyone is left with just plain old lazy me.

but it works out, though, because, since i disabled out, i don’t have the budget to go running all over the country visiting and conventioning and dog seminaring like i used to once upon a time. stuck at home a lot more now, and that suits me fine these days. suits the depression fine, too. we don’t like to wander as far or as often. it’s safer here. 

but once the marriage fell apart, and the friendships started falling apart, and after the house burned down and the insurance company decided to fuck me sideways with a rusty chainsaw, one of my close friends helped find me a small place pretty local to her. she’s older and had just retired from her government job, and was excited to have another of her horse riding and k9 training friends close to her. and, honestly, i was, too. i’d hoped that being close would help me break from the... the spiral. the hole. the darkness. and it does. sometimes.

but now that i am close to her, she sees more, sees better, how... much it all affects me? it think? and she doesn’t have any mental health issues. she’s never had a lazy day in her life. she has her organized lists of what needs done when, and by gods, it gets done. and she... just doesn’t *understand* things like executive dysfunction, or being so depressed that you literally cannot hardly drag yourself out of bed of a day. that the only reason you are upright at *all* is to potty break and feed your dogs, because your own physical needs just don’t even clock to you. these things, she can’t even comprehend them, and i just *see* the disappointment in her sometimes when I have to bow out of plans, or when she pops over to drop something off and the front lawn isn’t manicured (which is a whole other rant, believe me). and it feels like i have overstayed my welcome in her life sometimes, even though she and her husband and her son still call me family and insist that i come for holidays. 

i just worry that i am utterly letting them down. and that just feeds all the spiral even worse. 

i’m so tired.

[yeehawyoongles]

Vine Drabble 3- The Safe Word

Request-  13, 37, 39 Seokjin x Reader CRACK (hint of angst) Pleaseeee 🥺💓 Thank youuuu 💖 -g💁🏼‍♀️

13. “We all die you either kill yourself or get killed.”

37. “Stop you’re gunna get in trouble…”

39. “I still love myself”

Word Count: 1.3K

-I think this is trippier than the last one ngl lmaooo.

-Also, I’m running low on requests and I would still like to write some more! Please hmu if you have a plot in mind or if you want to submit a vine prompt, to which you can find the rules and prompts here! Much love.

You’d blacked out.  

You were in the car with your boyfriend, Seokjin, driving home from his 500th music show performance, Boy With Luv had just hit ten thousand wins.  They performed the song in slow motion, making no sense seeing that you were watching it live, and Namjoon was wearing a cowboy hat. Taehyung gave him a piggyback while they were backstage as Namjoon sung Seoul Town Road, and Lil Naz X popped out of nowhere to contribute his part of the song.  Moreover, once they won the award, Yoongi stole the mic from the MC and yelled “BTS outsold!”  

Even Seokjin himself didn’t seem right, as he couldn’t sing- whenever his part came around, he burst into his iconic windshield wiper laugh, but in slow motion, of course.

Anyways, you guys were in the car, the most normal part of the night, until it swerved onto the wrong side of the road.  The car then collided into a parked car, causing a cacophony as metal car parts flew around, and everyone in the car screamed.  You’d hit your head hard against the seat, thinking that you were going to get knocked out cold.  However, you were still somewhat conscious as you could hear your door open up, followed by the door on the other side.  You couldn’t see at this point, however, your forehead was now a six head; so swollen that it glued your eyelids together forcefully- your vision was blurry anyways.

You felt a hand slip around your waist, unlocking your seatbelt.  You hears a distant voice say “Stop, you’re gunna get in trouble”.  The voice was unfamiliar, male.  A woman, who, judging by the proximity of her voice, was the person who was undoing your seatbelt and lifting you up, was yelling back angrily in German, and did so until you passed out completely.

You woke up and couldn’t see anything.  You couldn’t move your hands or arms, but you were in a seated position.  You were… dizzy.  You felt like you were hanging upside down, and all your blood was just rushing into your head. Then, you could see things- dogs, and cats, to be exact.  Just floating around the room, barking, growling, and so on.  Then, they began to dance.  And sing.  And.. Rap? 

“Let’s play forever I just wanna be your dog…” The animals slowly turned into humans, and back into animals again, on and off.  “I don’t wanna be just friends…”

You were quietly involving the performance, giggling to yourself until a familiar voice snaps through the room, grabbing your attention, calling your name.  It was Seokjin.

“Seokjin!” You scream.  “You you see the animal people singing? They’re cool, right? Hey, why don’t you have any superpowers? Lame ass.”

“I may not have super powers, but I have super good looks; I’m very handsome,” He replied.  Although you could hear him, he could not be seen. “So what’s the deal with this, huh? Did we get kidnapped?” he asks you.

“I don’t know, I just remember a loud German lady pulling me out of a car” You reminisce, but your memories are unclear. “Ooh, maybe it’s like the Febreeze adverts!” You take an exaggerated inhale, expecting the pleasant scent of fresh linen or whatever, ocean breeze.  However, this is not what the unknown room smelt like… “Is piss a fashionable scent these days? Not sure how I feel about that one, but I think I prefer it to animal prints…”

“Yo I think we were drugged,” Seokjin says, laughing at you, but not with the classic Seokjin laugh- this laugh was much deeper.

“Yea, you sound like you were.” You turn your head around, trying to find your boyfriend, yet you were not successful.

“Me?” He scoffs.  “You sound like a loonatic, starting to think you were the one to kidnap me.  Are you going to kill me, too? Is this how I’m going to die??”

“We’re all gunna die you either kill yourself or get killed” You deadpan. 

“Deep,” He states. “You’re right though, it’s just a matter of when, and how…” 

As the conversation died, Seokjin looks around the room, trying to find something to help you two escape.

“Holy fuck!” He exclaims.

“What? Is everything okay?” You begin to get scared, trying to wriggle out of your restraints in order to save Seokjin.  You started to shuffle the chair you are sitting on towards the wall, in front of you, where you could see a table- one of the animals is sitting on it, telling you to come hither, my child. 

“How did I get this ugly??” Seokjin gasps as he stares at himself in a rusty mirror- his skin looks grey and tired, his hair a nest of blonde hay which sits upon his head, his lips more plump than before.

“For fucks sake Seokjin I was worried that you were dying or something…” You sigh as your parasympathetic nervous system activates, slumping into the unsteady wooden chair that you are sat in.

“No need to worry, I still love myself. I’m the one I should love~”

“That’s dead fam I love a ribbon in the sky, get on my level.” Namjoon says in a roadman-like fashion.  He was eating 99p chicken and chips, covered in burger sauce.

“Namjoon can I have some? I’m starvinggg.” You plead, as your stomach. Loudly.

“Get some yourself bruv,” He looks at you like you were about to eat one of his crabs, disgusted. “Joonie don’t share food my g.”

You roll your eyes loudly. “Kinda tied up here jackass.”

“Your loss,” He states, proceeding to eat his food. “You were the one to commit to this kinky shit.”

“What the fuck?? I did not consent to this!” You yell at him.  “I didn’t want to be drugged and kidnapped and tied up or whatever-”

“Wait, you’re not at all intrigued to try any of that kinda stuff?” Seokjin can smell the fat dripping off of the poultry.

“After this? I can’t say that I am.”

“Fine,” Namjoon sighs. He retrieves a pair of garden shears and brandishes them around, making a chainsaw sound.  Your eyes widen at the sight of freedom. “I’ll cut the ropes and whatever. You just need to say the safe word.”

Safe word, you think.  What would Namjoon use as a safe word?

“Crabs?”

Namjoon sighs again as he crosses his arms and stares at you intimidatingly, his tits growing in size. “Try again, dumb donkey bitch.” His head turns into a chicken head as he begins to cluck and bop it around, every few moments or so, he would scream.

“The safe word.” Jin giggles, his iconic laugh making a comeback.  The drugs are beginning to wear off.

“That is correct,” You gasp at Namjoon’s statement.  He was really being that dick. “However, you need to say it. He gestures towards you with a chicken leg as he cooes.

“You are such a dick, Joon.  Do I really have to? He literally just said it, you know that I know it.” Namjoon nods in response to your question.  You give another laboured sigh, as if those three words were the hardest thing that you’ve ever had to say.  It was difficult, you really didn’t want to give in to Namjoon when he was acting like Big Shaq.

In the build up to it, things slowly came back to normal- you could see better, Namjoon’s face turns to it’s normal shape and he stops cooing.  You can see your boyfriend, who is also tied up, but still laughing as he observes the great ordeal between you and the other man.  Before you decide to say it, you come up with an idea to piss off Namjoon a little bit, just a little bit, so that he’s still willing to free you.

You spit in Namjoon’s face, your saliva hitting him straight in the eye.  He shows no reaction, he just leans over you, his face about four inches away from yours.

“Say it, pussy.”

You gulp, and clear your throat with your mouth wide open, your breath hitting Namjoon’s face as hard as your spit did.

“The safe word.”

#bts #bts prompts #bts drabbles #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts x reader #bts x you #jin #bts jin #kim seokjin #seokjin #seokjin fanfic #seokjin scenario #seokjin x you #seokjin imagine #seokjin x reader #bts crack #bts angst #seokjin crack #seokjin angst #jin scenarios #bts scenario

[shadowyryot]

SL #1

{I should have read the contract better than I did. I knew this now as I stared down at the pathetic little mouth breather on the floor in front of me. This was not what I had agreed to. I shook my head and shoved my booted foot against the back of his neck, pushing his face to the floor} Would you just shut up, you little piece of filth, I’m trying to figure out what I am to do with you.

{He whimpered and by the way he squirmed I knew the kinky little fucker liked it. When I had agreed to pet sit for Nija in exchange for a soul I needed to smuggle out of hell and into heaven, this was not what I had in mind. I couldn’t even enjoy this one, not only because he belonged to a demon that I worked with, but because he was far too passive, too doughy, too whining for my tastes. I liked my pets to be feistier. I did not want them to whimper at the mere sight of my boots, I wanted them to have a spark so I could enjoy taking the fight out of them, then I’d leave them whimpering. Nija would owe me more than a soul if I had to listen to this shit for long. I snapped my fingers and the parchment formed between them. I perused it more carefully this time, damn near forgetting the male beneath my boot. At least until he whimpered again and I dug the sole of my boot harder against his neck to shut him up. My lips slowly curved into a grin as I worked through the details of the contract. Nija was a clever little bastard. All that fine print he had hidden in the contract was meant to work in his favor, shame for him his pet was annoying the fuck out of me and caused me to actually pay attention to all these tiny printed words.

I growled low when I got to the finest of the prints, if his pet was not executed by weeks end, Nija would have me as his. I shuddered hard at the thought. I’d caved one night half a century ago to his pleadings only to find out that I would rather take a rusty chainsaw to my vagina than to ever let him touch me again. He thought he could intimidate me into being a submissive little thing…which backfired on him tremendously. That whip he had brandished had a nice solid handle which fit perfectly up his ass. It made him scream like the hounds of hell were biting him and maybe that’s what it felt like when I shoved the entire ten inches of solid oak up his ass without lube and without hesitation. Since then, he discovered he liked shit a little rougher and he took it as a challenge he would be the one to tame me.

Nija knew I abhorred reading contracts. I tended to be more of a your word is your bond and I executed a good number of contracts that way, which was probably why he had insisted on this one printed as he had. I would follow through the contract, get what I needed from Nija and then I would make him pay. }

#roleplay #shadowyRy #ShadowyRyot

[hetaliawhatifs]

💖💖💖💖Hiii can I request a scenario? Can you please do a 2p!America with a female S/o? It can honestly be anything but can it fit the Peter Pan (2003) soundtrack? I was hoping you could do one while listening to the instrumental of "Fairy Dance." That's on the soundtrack if that's too much to ask. Thank you so much 😊 You guys are the sweetest🍫🍫🍫

Soooo, I listened to it and unfortunately Allen is nowhere near that music. His style and just attitude is much more…hard rock? hard core? But I will still gladly write you a scenario! Hope that’s okay! -Admin Jay

Allen laid in bed staring at the ceiling flipping his phone around in his hands…He wanted to text them…but say what? ‘Hey, let’s go out,’ no…that sounded too eager… ‘Let’s go out then come home and bang,’ no…too forward. Ugh, why did he care so much about what they thought about him. He never cared what anyone thought of him before…but then again…they weren’t everyone else. “Fuck it. Let’s try the most basic one of all.”Though as he went to hit messenger, instead his finger slipped and hit call.“FUCK NO TOO MUCH CONTACT!”He panicked and slammed his phone down after hitting end call. Allen sighed in relief, now he didn’t have to think on the spot….until the phone started to ring again. “Oh fuck me running with a rusty chainsaw…”He didn’t want to ignore the call, but he didn’t trust himself to not sound stupid. Allen took a deep breath before picking up the phone.“Yo.”“Hey, Allen, you called me? Sorry I missed it.”“Nah, you good…soooo…you busy tonight?”“No actually, I was hoping you would ask…”Oh god…they were wanting him to ask them out on another date…but what were they gonna do?“Look at me, I already knew that shit. What I don’t know is what you wanna do?”Aha! Look at that! Still sounding cool and making them tell him what they want. “What do you want to do?”FUCK! Now comes the cycle that will end up with him picking….what could he do…“How about I pick you up and surprise you?”“Alright, I’ll see you later.”And with that they hung up…and Allen was left to scramble an idea together. “Hmmmm…there is that bluff…and stars are pretty legit..”Soon he would grab his leather jacket and head out on his motorcycle to pick them up from their house. Tossing them a helmet and just motioning for them to get on, he soon was speeding through the city and highway, before pulling off onto a deserted road and slowing down before stopping near a bluff and under a tree.“What do you think, doll? Pretty fuckin’ sweet?”“Wow…yeah it is…though I’m still annoyed you don’t believe in the speed limits.”“Every man has his faults. I have many. But that is not one.”Allen walked toward the bluff and leaned against the tree before slowly looking back at them as he smoked a cigarette. He couldn’t deny the view..of them or the bluff…maybe having no plan was the best kind…

#2p hetalia #2p scenarios #2p america #2p america scenario #allen jones #hetaliawhatifs

[gallusrostromegalus]

Fuck 4/20

****Obligatory Discourse Notice: This post is not about people who use weed for medicinal purposes y’all are beautiful and in my experience, courteous people and I hope you feel better soon****

**This is also not about people who consume recreationally in the privacy of their homes, y’all are cool too**

Ok, so, it’s 4/20, and I can’t fucking go to school because SOME ASSHOLES HOT-BOXED THE MAIN STUDIO ROOM IN THE ART BUILDING.

This is not a small room, it’s three classrooms combined into one large, naturally well-lit room, so god knows how much weed they actually had to burn to fill it like that, but it was definitely more than CO possession law allows for.  and at 8 AM this morning, I opened the fucking door to a literal CLOUD of smoke, while at least three dudes ran out the back door.

I’m not sure if it’s an allergy or sensitivity or what, but even hints of Marijuana smoke give me massively painful migraines, so I had to be driven home, and I’ve spent the last five hours on the couch crying and puking and having hallucinations becuase I was in that much pain. Fuck you guys I haven’t been suicidal in years but today was not a good day.

OH, and the department head was right behind me, and she has severe asthma and i just learned she’s in the hospital.

and the campus has closed the art building until further notice/they can clean the place out.  it’s the week before finals.  Nobody is going to be able to finish/turn in their final projects. and even if they manage to air out the building, nobody with an allergy/sensitivity is gonna be able to go in becuase that shit sticks around.  or anyone with asthma or epilepsy or anybody on other psychoactive drugs.

So, yeah, fuck you guys, you’ve ruined the whole fucking semester.

and the thing that really, really pisses me off about this?  Cannabis DOES potentially have some major health/environmental benefits, and widespread decriminalization would be a great thing for a lot of america’s poorer communities, BUT NOOOOOOO, YOU DICKHOLES GOTTA SMOKE IN PUBLIC WHERE IT’S A HEALTH HAZARD AND BE A BUNCH OF IRRESPONSIBLE FUCKHEADS, NEVER MIND THAT GETTING IT OFF SCHEDULE ONE IS GONNA TAKE A COOPERATIVE POLITICAL MOVEMENT LOL 420 BLAZE IT HAHAHAHAHA FUCK ALL OF YOU WITH A RUSTY CHAINSAW.

YOU, fuckass stoner, are the person making it hard to get the actual drug-testing done for the people who need this YOU are being massively disrespectful and an outright danger to your fellow citizens and  YOU are gonna get kicked right in the dick if i ever figure out who you are.

Actually, there’s security cams, and when you are ID’d I’m suing your ass for damages because going to the hospital was not fun and expensive.  

*I’ve been seen by a medical professional, they’re not sure what it is, and i have a history of unexpected reactions to drugs, so the can’t give me anything for it.

** I’ve taken a shower and am chugging all the fluids I can to get this to pass, and it is.  my pain is at about 6/10, not 11 now.

*** This is ALSO about the people in the quad lighting up in public, the people who brought the bong into the student union (campus cops got them at least), and anyone who DOESN’T UNDERSTAND THE CONCEPT OF SECOND-HAND SMOKE CHRIST ON POGO STICK YOU SHITHEADS ARE DUMB.

***8ALSO: dear creepy old men who were stoners back in the 60′s who show up on campus to on women young enough to be your granddaughters: FUCK YOU TOO

In conclusion: Fuck 4/20, fuck public stoner culture, fuck white boys who think this shit is funny, fuck the Marijuana industry that pushes this kind of irresponsible consumption, and fuck everything I have to go throw up again.

#drugs tw #marijauna #weed #420 #irresponsible shitheads

[thejokervaleska]

sweet dreams (3/5)

Pairing: The Joker (Leto) x Reader Rating: T Words: Requested by: Anonymous

PART ONE

PART TWO

You woke hours later to the sound of singing birds and the warmth of the morning sun on your face.

Opening your eyes, you found J staring back at you.

You always loved how his eyes looked silver in the sunlight, almost translucent. The effect was eerie and beautiful, much like the man himself.

Giving him a sleepy smile, you squeezed his hand where it was trapped between your bodies. He didn’t smile back; his eyes were busy darting back and forth across your face, his brow furrowed.

For just a moment, you were confused by his reaction and then it all came rushing back, hitting you like a ton of bricks and knocking the breath right out of you. You jerked away from him, eyes going wide. His expression mirrored yours and then, as you watched, he seemed to notice the tube running down his throat and the IV in his arm.

Panic flashed in his eyes as he started to thrash, trying to free himself from them.

“J, stop! You’re gonna hurt yourself!” Frantic, you tried to catch his arms without hurting him. When it didn’t work, you screamed as loud as you could for the doctor.

After that, it was a blur of action. The doctor burst through the doors shortly after with Frost on his heels and you were unceremoniously shoved out of the way as they fought to stop J from ripping the tubes out of his body. Hovering over their shoulders, you tried your best to calm him.

“J, look at me, baby,” you said as calmly as you could manage in the situation. His wild, glazed eyes snapped to yours and you tried to smile. “It’s okay, baby. I know you’re confused but we’re just trying to help you. Just let the doctor help you. See? It’s just Dr. Green and Frost. You know them.”

He kept his eyes focused on your face as he slowly started to relax, his chest heaving, and you stared right back at him, searching desperately for some flicker of recognition.

“It’s pretty incredible,” the doctor told you when he was done removing tubes and performing tests. “Usually waking up is a gradual process.”

“He’s a pretty incredible person,” you replied, well aware of how sappy you sounded.

When the tube was removed from his throat and the doctor had carefully assisted him in drinking some water, you sat down on the bed beside J and took his hand. He looked down at your clasped fingers and then up at your face but still, he didn’t speak.

“Can you say something, J?” you asked him gently. “Anything?”

Beside you, you saw the doctor grimace and wondered if you’d said something wrong. J blinked at you a few times then started flexing his jaw and moving his lips but no sound came out.

“You can do it,” you told him, smiling brightly. “Come on, baby, just say my name.”

It was a risky move but you had to know if he recognized you, if it was still J inside there.

You saw his throat working as he swallowed hard, frowning as he forced one word out, “Y/N.”

The breath you were holding rushed out of you in a sound somewhere between laughter and crying.

“Thank god,” you whispered, reaching out to rest your hand on his cheek. As you brushed your thumb along his chapped bottom lip, you noticed his eyes searching your face again. You were used to his intensity but you had to admit, the staring was getting a little disconcerting.

When he tried to speak again, you sat up and listened closely.

“What,” he managed, his voice hoarse and rusty from lack of use. “What the fuck is going on?”

~

For the next hour, the doctor explained the situation to J while Frost cut in to recount the accident. J listened stoically, his expression unreadable, until the doctor mentioned physical therapy.

“Fuck that,” he rasped and you were glad to see at least his vocabulary hadn’t changed. “I’ve got shit to do. No time for that.”

Before you could stop him, he was swinging his legs off the bed and trying to stand up.  You caught him as he swayed and started to fall and then Frost caught the both of you as J dragged you down with him. It took Frost and the doctor promising him that he would be allowed to go home immediately to stop him from trying again.

As Frost helped him get dressed, you followed the doctor out into the hall, thanking him profusely for all of his help.

“I know J appreciates it too, he’s just not the type to say thank you,” you reassured him. “But we’ll make sure you’re well-paid for your time. He won’t forget this.”

The doctor patted your shoulder, smiling warmly. “He’s lucky to have you. He’ll need all the support he can get in the next few months. He’s still got a long road ahead.”

“I know,” you sighed. “And he’s going to fight it every step of the way.”

~

You couldn’t have known how right you were.

J scoffed at the very idea of meeting with the physical therapist. “You think I’m going to let some stranger come into my house and put their hands on me?”

Instead, he insisted that she show you the exercises he needed to perform so you could help him. The therapist was a little uneasy with the suggestion but it was clear the doctor had informed her exactly who the patient was because she didn’t put up too much of a fuss.

One week into his therapy, when his motivation started to lag, you told him he had a little “gift” waiting for him in the basement.

“When you can walk down the stairs on your own and...I don’t know...lift a chainsaw, then you can have your present,” you told him as you helped him stretch his legs. “It’ll keep until then.”

He glared at you. “You know you can’t stop me if I want to go down there and find out what it is, don’t you?”

“I know,” you conceded, sighing. “But I’m asking you to trust me on this. You’ll enjoy it so much more if you give yourself time to prepare for it.”

“Hmm,” he purred, his frown curling into the predatory grin that you’d missed. “Is it something sexy?”

“No,” you laughed, then added, “Well, it might be kind of sexy for me but I don’t think that’ll be the first thing on your mind.”

“Intriguing.”

~

The next few weeks were full of ups and downs. He was making great progress but normal, everyday tasks were still a struggle. Being forced to depend on you for everything was endlessly frustrating to someone like J.

He was prone to fits of rage or childish obstinance but no matter how ridiculous he acted, you kept a smile on your face. After coming so close to losing him, you were determined to enjoy every second you had with him, even when he made it difficult.

Once he realized that nothing he said could get you down, he mostly resorted to bouts of sulkiness.

From time to time, you still caught him staring at you intently and one day, you finally broke down and asked him why.

“Frost told me you never left my side,” he said as if that explained it.

“Of course I didn’t,” you said as if the very idea was ridiculous. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “He told me you were a mess the whole time. He told me about all the stuff you did and how you tried uh, reading to me and everything.”

“The doctor said it might help,” you muttered, suddenly feeling embarrassed about the whole thing.

“I didn’t realize-” he started, trailing off as he searched for the right words.

“What, that I love you?”

He didn’t reply for a long time and your heart sank like a lead balloon. This thing between the two of you had never been defined but you had always assumed he knew exactly how you felt about him, even if it wasn’t something the two of you said.

But if he didn’t know -- the thought that he could’ve died without ever knowing it and without ever saying it back brought tears to your eyes. Your shuddering breath caught his attention.

Noticing the tears, he sighed.

“No crying, princess,” he told you, sounding weary. Sitting back to make room, he patted his legs. “Come on, come give daddy a kiss.”

If you hadn’t been feeling so emotional, you might’ve rolled your eyes at that. But as it was, you sank gratefully into his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck.

He leaned down to capture your lips with his, kissing you slowly, lazily, as if he had all the time in the world. It was pleasantly different from the usual frantic, desperate pace the two of you usually took. It wasn’t going anywhere and when it ended, you ducked your head to bury your face in the crook of his neck while he held you against his chest.

“You know how I feel about you, don’t you?” he murmured as he nuzzled his face into your hair.

You nodded against his shoulder. “I know. It’s just -- sometimes it would be nice to hear it.”

A rumble of laughter started up in his chest as he rubbed his hand up and down your back. A sharp tug on your ponytail made you sit up to look him in the eye.

“Y/N,” he started only to be interrupted by a knock on the door.

If looks could kill then Frost would’ve been a dead man the moment he walked into the room.

“Got some news,” he told J, quickly averting his eyes when he saw how you were draped over him. “Uh, should I come back later?”

“No,” J told him, patting your leg. Taking the hint, you slipped off his lap and sat down on the sofa beside him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Well, I just found out that Maroni is throwing some sort of ball next month and you two are invited,” Frost said, settling down in the chair across from J. “I hear it’s meant to raise funds for some candidate he’s supporting for mayor. Everyone who’s anyone in the Gotham underworld is going to be there.”

“Sounds like a trap,” you muttered, suspicious of the idea of that many wanted criminals cramming into the same venue.

Frost nodded. “It is. He’s counting on J not showing up since he’s been ‘in hiding’ for so long.”

Looking over at J’s face, you saw him frowning.

“When you don’t show up,” Frost said, his expression grim, “he’s going to tell everyone you’re out of the game so he can make a move on your territory and take over your businesses.”

A tense silence fell over the room as J took in the news. Sighing, you pulled out your phone and scrolled through your contacts until you found the number for the physical therapist.

You only had a month to squeeze in six month’s worth of therapy. Ready or not, things were about to kick into overdrive.

(Tagging: @bitch-its-bigbang)

#the joker x reader #leto joker x reader #the joker x you #leto joker x you #fanfiction #suicide squad fic #jared leto joker #rating: t #story: sweet dreams

[purr-monster]

Been listening to a lot of True Crime podcasts lately and I’ve come to a conclusion:

Murderers, mass shooters, and serial killers are pieces of shit.

I know this seems obvious, but so many of them have abusive childhoods, and most people tend to point to that as a valid reason for their actions.

Look, I had a pretty terrible abusive childhood and I couldn’t imagine killing someone. Anyone who kills innocent people and tries blaming their childhood is a pathetic piece of shit. It’s not that hard to not kill people, I mean seriously.

Especially school shooters. Just eff those guys with a rusty chainsaw. And those of you who laud them, who are in some sort of fanclub for school shooters, I hope you grow up one day and realize that they’re even bigger pieces of shit whose names deserve to be forgotten. Stop romanticizing them and stop blaming their childhoods. Again, it’s not that fucking hard not to shoot up a school, and they’re a bunch of shitty cowards.

And to everyone who tries being an apologist for their actions, citing a rough upbringing, just stop. Please. It doesn’t help anyone or anything.

#tw death #tw murder #psa #ptsd #tcc #true crime #serial killer #child abuse #tw language #tw school shooting

[mykie-hyun-blog]

Creepy girl ask meme

Ik its kinda spam its not that interesting but i love these I dont know how to out things under cut on mobile doll: some of your favorite makeup products ^sums me up lmao @mykie-doll plug Laval dip eyeliner saved my life All Too faced palettes Revolution utra blush palette Volume colourist mascara katie got it for my birthday and im so in love Benefit mascara Cat gOT IT FOR ME IM SO IN LOVE Lip lingerie idk the colour Tarte lip paint fuckmeup Milani anything W7 fix spray is good and its like £2 Tarte setting powder Maybelline colour tattoo in the darker gold & rose pink omg i get compliments every . Single time i wear it its so good If you want a LIST let me know this is my specialty bruise: the worst wound you've ever received On my knuckles i punched a wall and when it stopped bleeding i fucking sprayed COOLING SPRAY ON IT ON MY OPEN WOUND If you curse loud when youre hurt your body copes with the pain better so like......soz neighbours taxidermy: your favorite animal(s) Quokkas & dogs & bunnies eyeball: some of your favorite films Unfriended but thats just the night i had when i saw it so like..every time i think of it i get good the movie was pretty good i guess We saw it in the cinema and it was WAY too FUCKING LOUD !!! every jumpscare gave me a stroke White chicks but again like..the night i had just makes the movie better syringe: someone you trust with everything ....fuck I dont even trust myself with everything i dont know I dont trust everyone 100% i trust some people like 90% i cant say porcelain: your favorite article of clothing Hoodie i took from my ex I mean he gave it to me temporarily I was cold and he insisted but now he wants it back after what he did bitch bye bye plush: your favorite childhood toy A white bunny called suziki blood: some of your favorite foods Dominos fucjmeuopp pentagram: your faith or spirituality Leela from futurama splatter: your favorite artists or art pieces Crybabytime & mytie teacup: some of your favorite beverages I just made a shit joke i cant even put it on here I like coconut water & vodka corpse: something you would love to do but can't Be under the covers without losing oxygen knife: something you're good at cooking or baking Toast lollipop: some of your favorite candy If maltesers was a person i would fuuuck himmm monster: your worst habits Spending too much money Making peace signs pills: something you'd change about yourself Make me taller potion: something you'd change about humanity PSA Stop being cunts asylum: your favorite place in the world I just made such a fucking dumb joke im not even going to post it Ummmmm centre parcs That sounds dumb but like..i always go there with friends and we have a FUCKING BLAST and we meet strangers and just LIVE LIFE ITS SO GOOD Thats where i was paid £10 to eat a snail mantis: your sexual orientation str..a...ight? If i said that to some people theyd laugh their heads of i just dont know Im not bisexual but im not straight 100% stitches: some of your self-care habits I leave conditioner in my hair for like 2 hours it makes your hair really soft try it velvet: your favorite era for fashion and aesthetics Modern day like Everyone just wears Nike jackets and leggings where i live and im living for it i love nike sponser me teeth: something that makes you laugh Fucking everything I cry when i laugh hard so i have to bring eyeliner in my bag when i inevitably cry my eyeliner down my face from laughing piano: something that makes you cry Infinity & death witch: a power you wish you had FREEZE TIME FREEZE TIME chainsaw: your favorite sound Adams laugh ribbon: your favorite color combinations Pastel pink & green My favourite colour is red but pink & greens are the first good combination i thought of pigtails: how affectionate you are Yeah like i dont ask for affection but if you want to hold hands and play with my hair id looove that And i secret like pda dont tell anyone succubus: your weirdest kinks Backs hahha Like..i dont wank over peoples backs but you know when guys take a hoodie or jumper off and their like shirt comes up with it but theyre in front of you so you see their back ???? And its really toned ????? Um rip me im dead bye ghost: a historical figure you're drawn to Tortimer from animal crossing lullaby: songs you love to sing K.Flay - FML The neighbourhood - A little death IDFC - blackbears Two feet - Go fuck yourself Rusty clanton - Anything Zayn - Pillowtalk ngl ngl