#i mean. boo kick but streaming as a whole is just fucked

[canpandaspvp]

Obligatory how you holding up ask 🫂

hanging in there but in the way that a loose tooth is hanging into a 7 year olds mouth after repeatedly getting hit in the head with a basketball And then a football And then a microwave And then a machete And then a ball of just pure titanium And then explosives

#one day i'll go back to my maxggs main roots and then he'll like murder a family of 4 or smth idk #but like fr?? im kinda chillin #like yes blah blah discourse but i just cant find it in myself to care THAT much #i mean. boo kick but streaming as a whole is just fucked #there's not really a right answer just a bunch of wrong ones #it's not a battle i'm enraged abt enough to fight ig #again ty for checking up it means the WHOLE WORLD #hope u and everyone else are also doing fine jup 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽 #🍓.ask

[1kook]

hulu & woohoo

summary: But there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Jersey Shore boner. warnings: slight feelings of insecurity, smut; fingering, cunnilingus, cum eating, squirting, handjobs, unprotected, riding, slight praise kink misc: if you’re not a Jersey shore fan honestly GET OUT, mentions of capitalism😡, more kind/understanding kook, basically a “what are we?” fic but silly, irresponsible emailing habits, its so dumb just read wc: 6.3k

[ this is a sequel to netflix & chill !! ]

started off silly then I was like 😳what if we sprinkled in a dilemma™️😳 anyway here’s the kook i imagined for this fic <3

Contrary to popular belief, Jungkook does in fact have his own paid subscription to Netflix. He doesn’t ride on his family account anymore, nor does he swindle his friends into sharing their passwords ‘just once.’ Just like everything else about his mature persona, Jungkook is adamant on paying those ten and something dollars for the streaming platform.

However, his fall into capitalism doesn’t end there.

Among other things, Jungkook also pays for Hulu, Amazon Prime, Disney Plus, HBO, as well as a couple indie stuff you’ve never heard of in all your years. He’s a bigger nerd than you originally thought, with an incessant need to watch every single piece of media available.

Frankly, you don’t see the need to own so many different streaming services, especially not when pirating websites exist and you could so easily watch Jersey Shore for free, if you’re not too concerned with infecting your laptop with every software virus known to humankind. Luckily for you, your app developer boo with his—admittedly tiny—knowledge in computers can iron out those issues for you.

It’s moments like these, Jungkook fiddling with the internal system settings of your laptop to the best of his abilities, that you find yourself grateful for having met Jungkook, and even if it’s been a little over two months now and he still hasn’t popped the question (“Will you be my girlfriend?”), you’d still kiss him silly.

He sighs for the umpteenth time, rubbing his eyes as he stares at the same system warning on the screen. “Babe, just pay the six bucks for Hulu and you can watch all the Jersey Shore episodes you want,” he says, leaning back in his chair as he stares at you from across the dining table.

You scoff, almost scandalized by his suggestion. “You think I have the resources to hand over six bucks every month?” You abandon your homework in front of you, the one you had so dutifully been working on before your computer was flooded with about a thousand Hot Moms in YOUR Area! notifications before abruptly shutting down. “Buddy, that's lunch at Starbucks.”

Jungkook clicks around a few more times, round glasses sliding down his nose which he will occasionally scrunch up to save from falling. “First of all, lunch at Starbucks sounds sad,” he retorts, and you kick his shin from beneath the table. He doesn’t even flinch, the damn muscle bunny, instead leveling you with an unimpressed glare. “Second of all, I told you I’d give you my passwords but you said—“

“No!” You exclaim.

Call it what you want, but that rose-tinted image of Jungkook being a saint in this world, too sweet and naive for his own good, never faded. Your brain saw it that night of your first date and ran with it, never mind the fact he was quite the devious scoundrel, gentlemanly perception be damned the way he’d tug at your skirts and your hair in public like you were on the playground, always teasing, always playing with you, so discreetly no one would ever see it coming from him, of all people. Your brain saw all that too, the little childish streak he’d get sometimes, but your heart stomped it out, wrapped up in the image of Jungkook being your golden boy, and you couldn’t possibly take advantage of such an angel’s kindness to mooch off his streaming services.

From across the table, Jungkook gives you a pointed look, as if he knows you’re trapped in that brain of yours again. Unlike you, Jungkook was easily able to pick apart your true personality, and the way the devil on your shoulder spoke more often than not. He knew you were prone to outrageous schemes and evil villain monologues, and he still kept you around. Let you linger around his home in his big shirts and eat his healthy breakfasts with him. Jungkook liked you, as silly and mean as you were, and he was very obvious about it.

“The password—“

“Is none of my business,” you halt him with a tone of finality in your voice, gesturing for him to slide the beat up laptop back over. Jungkook sighs, runs a hand over his face like you’ve worn him out, but relents.

Taking it with a triumphant grin, you settle back into your seat, nudge his foot with yours beneath the table. Jungkook nudges you back, the adorable fuzzy socks he was wearing making you giggle, a sound that finally brings a smile to his face. “Y’know…” he says, “if you’re gonna be the Disney villain you claim to be, you might as well just take all my passwords.”

Rolling your eyes, you focus your attention back on copying some notes for class, falling back into the rhythm of glancing at the screen and back at your notebook. “You’re cute,” you mindlessly hum, taking great pleasure in the rosy hue that rises to his cheeks, one he tries to hide by coughing into his elbow. You set your pencil down, watch him squirm under your gaze like he always does, blushy and shy like he hadn’t had you twisted like a pretzel beneath him an hour ago. “Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, reaching over to place your hand over his, where it’s idly tapping over some textbook he’s got out. Immediately, he turns it over, squeezes your palm in his. “I don’t mind getting thirty two viruses an hour.”

The reluctant worry in his gaze remains, sweet puppy eyes flickering over you as if trying to catch a hint of a lie. He was so adorable, you could kiss him silly. Finally, Jungkook gives in, though he does so with a lot of effort; letting you fool around on pirating websites truly was the bane of his existence. “Just bring it to me if it breaks down again, okay?” He settles, and you nod.

To your surprise, he brings your hand up and presses a kiss to the back of your knuckles, holds your gaze like he absolutely adores you.

He was so handsome, so caring, and so blatantly not yours.

—

“Not heading to your boyfriend's house today?” Doyeon asks the second she steps into your shared dorm, fighting with the boots on her feet. In the last two months of knowing Jungkook (everybody say thank you, Kim Namjoon), it’s become rare to see you home for more than two nights in a row. Jungkook was irresistible in more ways than you could count. If you weren’t falling into bed with him, you were smothering his cute face on the couch, or hovering behind him in the kitchen.

“Not my boyfriend,” you deny, huffy, and she knows how you feel about the subject, which is why she only prods more.

“Wow,” Doyeon drawls, glancing over your shoulder where you’ve got Jersey Shore playing on one half of the screen, an essay document on the other. “The man you see every other night, who looks and fucks like a god, who buys you a shit ton of presents, and treats you like you’re his world… is not your boyfriend?”

On screen, the toxic couple of the century is engaged in another screaming match, the reality tv show quickly spiraling as dramatic music takes over the speakers.

You scratch the back of your head. “Yeah. Well.”

Doyeon almost combusts at your response, flinging herself onto her twin bed in disgust. “He is a fool, a court jester if you will,” she seethes. “You're the hottest babe in a fifteen mile radius chasing after him and he still hasn’t asked you?”

Deciding you can’t comfortably watch the toxicity on screen with Doyeon talking so loudly, you slam down on the spacebar to pause the show. The fickity website, set out to ruin you since you first discovered it a few weeks ago, crashes. It takes your half-assed essay with it as the whole computer suddenly blacks out. You sigh.

“And on top of that,” she’s still going, “you’re hot and evil. Like bro. Come on.”

“Yes, I’m sure every man dreams of getting with an evil seductress,” you sarcastically reply, reaching for your phone to text Jungkook for help, when you suddenly remember why exactly you’re not with him right now. He’d gone to Busan to visit his family this weekend, a quick trip, he’d told you with his tongue down your throat. You shiver at the memory.

You still really want to watch Jersey Shore, though. Almost desperately. It’d been a long time since you watched it, and you honestly forgot the pivotal role that and a bunch of other reality shows had played in shaping you into the conniving woman you were today.

Doyeon seems about done with her tirade against Jeon Jungkook, dramatically storming into the en-suite bathroom you share with your neighbors.

Tapping your phone against your lip, you carefully consider your options. You could just boot your laptop back up, pray for the best and move on. But the 240p episodes were doing a number on your eyes, and for a moment you considered handing over those six bucks to pay for a Hulu membership.

It’s short-lived, and eventually you settle on calling Jungkook.

He answers on the fourth ring, and wherever he is is insanely loud. There’s voices shouting, lots of bustling, until eventually a door closes and Jungkook’s silky voice oozes through the speaker. “Baby? What’s up?”

“Hi,” you respond, feel something disgustingly sweet settle in your chest. “Is this a bad time?” You ask tentatively.

Jungkook laughs, low and raspy. “No,” he tells you, and you hear the smile in his voice. “Never a bad time for you.”

You could lunge through the screen right now, rain kisses down on his face until he’s giggling, telling you it’s too much. The feeling in your chest tightens, and you almost blurt out something embarrassingly cheesy, but a voice in the background calls for him, and Jungkook’s voice responds, “In a sec, mom. I’m talking to a friend right now.”

The glass roof shatters.

Even though you’d just told Doyeon you two weren’t a thing, despite all the coupley things you did, something about Jungkook telling his mom you’re just a friend isn't right. You frown, listen as his mother, a voice just as delicate as his, asks him to grab something from inside. With each second that ticks by, the discomfort you feel grows tenfold, until you’re barely holding yourself together.

Eventually, Jungkook returns. “So what’s up?” He asks again, and you remember what you initially called for. Putting on your big girl pants, you brush your uncalled for insecurities to the side, making sure he can’t detect anything in your tone.

“Your Hulu password. Can I have it?” You say, realize how robotical your voice sounds and belatedly throw in a, “please.”

Jungkook laughs, loud and boyish. The sound almost makes you melt, makes you fall for him even more. The niggling doubt in the back of your head still rings, but it’s temporarily washed away by the man on the phone. “Finally giving in?” He chuckles, doesn’t give you time to respond. “Sure, babe. I’ll text you the login stuff.” You hum, twirl your pencil idly as Jungkook announces he has to go, something about his family waiting on him. You bid him adieu, send him a halfhearted kiss over the phone, and only hope he feels half as content as you do when he does the same for you.

You don’t want to be dramatic about it. In your heart of hearts, you know Jungkook is just more reserved when it comes to dating. He wants to be one hundred percent sure your heart is in the same game as his, tied to the same rules, and putting in the same effort. But there’s a seed of insecurity that plants itself in the back of your head, tells you the reason Jungkook hasn’t asked you out is simply because you’re not good enough.

Jungkook was as rich as they come—not in money, but in personality. (Well, with the way he was advancing through his career, you get the sense he’ll be rich rich in the next few years too.) He had a huge heart, so caring and supportive of those around him, and an even bigger moral compass—hence the ridiculous amounts of streaming services he paid for—and you strongly believed no one was worthy of standing beside someone as wonderful as him.

Sadly, that meant you too.

Jungkook was your dream lover, and with every passing day, you were beginning to think you weren’t his. It had been two months since your first date, and realistically speaking, you know it’s not weird for people to casually date for such a time. It hadn’t been that long, truthfully, but the way you and Jungkook had clicked made it seem so.

He treated you like a queen, pleased your heart and body like no other. None of what Doyeon said earlier was a fib—he picked you up from school in that classy Benz, let you stay the night and sleep in his clothes, ate you out in the morning like you were his breakfast. You acted like you were in a relationship, but what exactly were the two of you?

Were Jungkook’s feelings even at the same level as yours?

Some days, you couldn’t fathom the idea of being so far away from him, texting him incessantly to feel a semblance of his presence. There was always a metaphorical elephant sitting on your chest, the weight of your unlabeled relationship, your insecurities, waiting for him to finally cut you off, decide you’re not what he wants. You wonder sometimes if he sees you out of convenience, but you always remind yourself Jungkook was too emotional and soft to drag someone around like that. (Or was he?)

Realizing how deep you’ve fallen into your spiraling pit of uncertainty, you shake yourself of those thoughts, mindlessly typing in the Hulu login credentials Jungkook texts you.

—

You’re in the student center when Jungkook comes home, laptop and books spread out over a circle table to stop anyone else from coming up to you. You’ve got your headphones in, the background sounds of late 2000’s club music from a Jersey Shore episode drifting through your ears.

A hand suddenly grabs onto your shoulder, and you send nearly half the table’s contents onto the floor when you screech, leg blindly kicking the table. “Woah, woah,” Jungkook calms, pulling out an earbud for you, and the sight of his face makes you relax again, before you’re striking his chest.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you warn, shooting daggers at him as he pulls a chair close to you, plopping down beside you. Jungkook laughs, kisses your temple.

“You doing okay, beautiful?” He inquires, and your heartbeat, which had only just begun to settle from your fright, lurches at the hooded gaze he sends you.

You nod, unconsciously lean closer to him. Jungkook smiles, cheeks pulled tight when you plant a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Glad to hear it,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to keep you close.

You never thought you’d be one of those people. Y’know, the couple shoving PDA down everyone’s throats in a very crowded place. But you can’t help it with Jungkook, gaze honed in on the mole beneath his lip as he recounts his trip to his family’s place. His hair is fluffy again, parted a little to the side to show his forehead. He’s got that big dark hoodie on, the one you love. Your love-addled brain thinks, I could give you a family, but you quickly shut that thought down.

There was no need to think as much for a man who wasn’t even your boyfriend.

Before you can spiral, there’s a set of fingers brushing over your neck, almost casually. You return your attention to Jungkook, watch him leisurely gaze over the bustling students around you. “Missed you,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t want anyone to hear. Hell, if your eyes hadn’t been trained on his face, you don’t think you would’ve.

Finally, he glances back at you. He says nothing, his eyes dipping down to your mouth. He leans forward, presses a smooch to your lips, only to smile at you afterward. “Come over?”

The difference between you and Jungkook is that you were very obviously, outwardly evil. You were not embarrassed to admit you were scheming, or that you had ulterior motives behind doing something. You used what you had to your advantage, mastered all types of expressions to get what you wanted.

Jungkook, on the other hand, was a subtle schemer. In fact, he was so goddamn subtle, you doubt he even knew he was a schemer.

But he definitely was one, and your experiences with him were enough to convince you so. There were times he’d stare at you longingly, like a puppy, until you’d do something for him. Times he’d use his demure face to lure you into going to the hardware store for him, into watching some boring documentary with him. Times, like now, where his voice was a little too smooth and low to be considered his normal pitch, clouded gaze sweeping over your features until you understood what he meant by come over.

Numbly, you nod, watch the quirk of his lips as he kisses you once more before gathering your things for you.

The car ride passes by in a flash, Jungkook’s hand on your knee, your head in the clouds. You imagine how easy it would be to just lean over right here, tug him out of his sweats and get that super suck 5000 on him. But Jungkook’s shy, the devil on your shoulder croons, he’d like it better in the backseat, where no one can see.

Your bag hasn’t even touched the floor yet when he pushes you against the door of his house, shoes and coats half off as he envelopes your lips with his.

His hands are warm, cupping your neck to guide you through the kiss, blindly pulling you down the hall. You feel him falter by the stairs, torn between just throwing you on the couch and ravishing you there or making the trip upstairs to the comfort of his bed. You reach up, run your fingers through his hair. “Wherever you want, baby,” you reassure him, and become consumed with glee when his hands grab into the backs of your thighs, hitch you into his arms as he rushes the two of you up the stairs.

The bed is as fluffy as you remember it, and you bounce up towards the pillows after he drops you on the end. He tugs his shirt over his head, chocolate strands coming out a mess afterwards, before crawling up your body. Jungkook’s hands are incessant, grabbing onto every inch of you he possibly can. He kisses up your tummy, pushing your shirt up as he goes, hikes it over the swell of your breasts to gently fondle them in his palms.

When he’s just about suffocated himself between them, he pops back out, catches your gaze with a twinkle in his. “Hi,” you squeak, and Jungkook grins, leaning up to kiss you.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he returns, let’s your tongue slide into his mouth, sucks on the appendage teasingly. You whimper, and Jungkook releases. “You miss me?” He asks, and if you hadn’t been well-versed in the art of Jungkook’s sexy talk, you wouldn’t have noticed the tingle of nervousness that curls around the question.

You placate him, “always.”

It’s all Jungkook needs as he wiggles you out of your clothes, shucks them off somewhere to the side. His hands trail over your body, massage your breasts and pinch the nipples. You sigh, melt into the sheets as he runs his palms over you. He rolls you over, pulls your hips up and carefully pushes your face into the mattress, pushing your hair to the side to peck your neck when he leans over.

“So soft for me, sweetheart,” he purrs, hands slithering around your waist, down your abdomen until the tip of his pointer finger is idly swirling over your clit.

You whine, clutch the comforter beneath you at the touch. “Oh, fuck,” you groan, push your hips back against him. He’s still got his sweats on, and you want desperately to turn around and rip them off of him, feel the press of his cock against your ass.

As if sensing your urgency, Jungkook calms you with kisses trailing over your spine, hot breath fanning over your neck. His fingers slow, just barely grazing over your clit. “Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” He asks, and you struggle to choke out a response when he presses his finger down against you.

“No,” you eventually gasp, jolt when his hand reaches down, glides through the swollen folds of your cunt.

As if content with your response, Jungkook lets his fingers caress you for a few beats, laps against the side of your neck as you whimper, beg him to continue. When he does, it’s with no ounce of his usual gentle attitude, two fingers shoving forcefully past the tight clench of your pussy lips, deep into your cunt. You shudder, gasping into the sheets.

“Good girl,” Jungkook praises, flutters a kiss right below your ear. Your neurons are working overtime, unsure of what to do as he explores your cunt, fingers dragging against your walls. You want to close your eyes, bask in his touches, but every brush of his fingers has them rolling back, fluttering open. “This pussy is mine, isn’t it?”

His fingers curl, briefly brushing over your soft spot. But it’s enough to make you cry out, pant against the sheets. “Yours,” you choke, push back against him like he’ll do it again.

A thumb circles your clit, and the tight feeling in your belly snaps, has you crying out his name as your first orgasm in a few days washes over you. “Jungkook,” you whimper, nearly sob when his hands pull away, letting you flop down onto the mattress in a boneless heap. Your thighs feel sticky, and you watch blearily as Jungkook hovers behind you.

“So quickly?” He chuckles, turning you back over. He spreads your legs, exposing your pussy to the cool air of the room, and you shiver. A lone finger drags over your cunt, collecting the glossy substance on the tip, before Jungkook is sucking it into his mouth.

He had an affinity for this kind of stuff, you’ve learned. Like he genuinely thought your cum was the most delicious thing in the entire world. That being said, you’re not surprised when he ducks down, pushes your legs to your chest as he begins devouring your pussy.

“Slow down,” you gasp, hand curling in his hair as he spares you not, sensitivity be damned. He was gonna lick you clean. He groans, tongue shoved into your cunt, cute nose brushing against your clit. “Kook,” you warn, though it’s more of a shuddered cry. “I-I’ll come again.”

He pulls off with a wet smack, licks over his tongue as he narrows you with a daring glare. Gone was your sweet Jungkook, replaced with this cum-eating heathen who only purrs, “in my mouth” at your warning.

You scream when the second orgasm hits you, pushing his face against your cunt as his tongue continues, lapping at your folds and your hole as a gush of wetness spurts out of you. For a second, your vision pales, soundless cries caught in your throat as you come all over his face. When you touch down on earth again, your body feels featherlight.

Jungkook is watching you from between your thighs, his face, hair, and chest glistening.  “Oh fuck,” he gasps, shit-eating grin slowly consuming his features. “Did you just.”

You groan, cover your face with your palms as Jungkook settles over you, beaming excitedly at your newest ability. “No,” you whine, pushing him away from where he’s basically glued to your cheek. “That’s so weird.”

He laughs, cute and airy. “Fuck, sweetheart, you squirted all over me,” he sighs, cuddles against you, and you wrap your arms around him only to hide your face in his shoulder, also glistening with your pleasure. He shifts closer, and the hard press of his cock rubs along the inside of your thigh.

“Can we take a break?” You murmur quietly, hesitantly. “I can’t feel my legs.” Jungkook nods, presses a kiss to your temple as he gets off the bed, tossing his t-shirt over to you. He stumbles towards the en-suite, comes back with a dry face and chest; his hair is still damp. He tugs the sheets out from under you, cuddles close. He’s got the two of you wrapped up in no time, your head cradled against his shoulder as he reaches out blindly for the tablet he keeps on the side of his bed, the Hulu app already open.

“Any requests?” He hums, scrolling through the multitude of movies and shows. You wiggle closer, stop his finger when he returns to the home page, and Jersey Shore is the first thing to appear. “You’re kidding.”

“It’s a good show!” You defend, click on it before he can argue. You press closer, throw a leg over his waist where you can feel his still rock hard member hiding beneath his sweats. Poor guy, you think, he must be suffering. But you have to rest for a moment if you wanna ride the shit out of him and knock him breathless like you’d planned.

Jungkook doesn’t comment on the erection he’s sporting, instead choosing to criticize everything wrong with Jersey Shore. You’re not surprised. He’s an avid film nerd, obsessed with ‘real’ storylines, not whatever reality tv shows were.

You’ve seen this episode about a hundred times, so you don’t really mind that he completely ruins it for you with his nitpicking. It’s cute, listening to him ramble about television integrity while you listen to the subtle thudding of his heart beneath your ear.

He’s on his fifth slandering of DJ Pauly D when you decide you’ve had enough, muscles in your legs feeling rejuvenated as you wiggle into his lap, toss the tablet off to the side as you straddle him. “That show makes you hard?” You tease, let your sensitive folds settle over the bulge in his pants.

Jungkook combusts, cheeks flushing at your jab. “No,” he huffs, “my pretty girlfriend’s boobs pressed up against me does.”

You short circuit.

“Huh?” You blurt dumbly. Jungkook rolls his eyes, too concerned with guiding your hips over his crotch to realize you’re having a complete meltdown in your head. An airy moan leaves his mouth, head lolling back against the pillows, when he moves you just right, grinds against you perfectly. But there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Jersey Shore boner. “Kook,” you say, cup his face in your palms to force him to look you in the eye.

Jungkook huffs, pointedly looking down at where you sit on him, “babe, gonna need you to—“

“What did you say?” You interrogate, press your foreheads together until he has no choice but to look at you.

Annoyed with your act, he groans. “Babe, your hips,” he urges, almost desperately.

“No,” you retort, “not until you say it again.”

“Say what again?” He cries, lips twitching in irritation, and you’re about two seconds from behind shoved into the mattress, pounded into from behind like he’d done the last time you teased him a little too much.

“That I’m your girlfriend!” You exclaim, heart hammering in your ears.

Jungkook seems to finally halt at that. “Oh,” he responds, leaning back to scan over your expression. “You are?” He says, unsure of what point you’re trying to make.

Your brain fizzes at the news. “Since when?” You cry, suddenly feeling dumb for all the time you spent moping over this perfect boy you thought didn’t want you. “You never asked!”

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed stare, reaches over for the iPad you tossed to the side, some dramatic fight scene on a boardwalk taking place on screen. You wanna scream. Why is he so concerned with Jersey Shore now of all times?

Before you can rain down your displeasure on him, he’s turning it around and showing you a bookmarked email.

It’s from you, apparently, sent a few weeks back at exactly two in the morning. You glance at the date received. It’s from Doyeon’s half birthday, when the two of you had drunk yourselves silly on wine. The title is some mix of dashes and exclamation points, but that’s irrelevant when the contents of the email come to view, some stupid slur of beeee myyy boyfrienderdd????? ;))((;;; that has your jaw dropping in mortification.

You glance back at Jungkook, who seems just as confused as you. “What the hell?” You shriek, snatch the tablet from his hand to see that not only was it a single email, but a thread of emails all asking the same question—there’s even a three stanza sonnet detailing your love for the mole on the side of his neck. You could die. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?! I was so drunk— how could you even take me seriously?”

Jungkook shrugs, almost amused now as he watches you scroll through the twenty emails you sent him. “The next day you told me you really liked me over lunch, so I didn’t mind. Besides,  drunk words are sober thoughts, y’know.”

You stare in disbelief. “You told your mom I was your friend,” you whisper.

The blood rises to his cheeks quickly. “Babe,” he sputters. “I’m not exactly introducing her to every girl I date after three weeks.”

It makes sense, and you hate how much it does so. Pursing your lips, you look away, focus on the bedside table and hope he doesn’t see the tears that threaten to spew out of your eyes. He does, he always does. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He hums, sits up to pull you into his arms. One hand brushes over the back of your head, gently. Softly. “Did that upset you?”

You shake your head no, can’t help the ugly Kim Kardashian sob that rips itself from your throat. “I thought you didn’t like me,” you sniffle, covering your face with the iPad when he tries to duck closer and get a look at you. “Because it’s been two months.”

Jungkook shushes you, hugs you close to his chest as you cry like a baby over some apparently unjustifiable doubts. “That big brain of yours,” he sighs, kisses the frown of your head. “Too busy being evil to be logical.” You whine in protest, and Jungkook chuckles, carefully laying back with you clinging to his chest.

He lets you cry it out, palms rubbing over your back, listens to the annoying Jersey Shore opening song playing when the episode ends. When you’re done, you sit up, try to pretend your eyes aren’t swollen and puffy. Jungkook smiles. “All good?”

You might love him.

“I’m gonna ride you,” you announce, and he chokes in surprise, and before he can try to convince you it’s okay, you’re wrestling his sweats and boxers off, taking his half hard cock into your hand. Jungkook flounders, tries to calm you down, but you’re on a mission, working your hand over him until he’s fattening in your hold, melting into the pillows.

“Baby,” he grunts, rolling his hips into your palm. You lean over, pucker your lips and let a thick drop of saliva fall onto the tip of his cock. It trickles over your fingers, makes it easier to run your hands over him. Jungkook groans, reaches down to cup his hand over yours, urging you to squeeze tighter.

When he’s finally as hard as you want him, tip engorged and angry, you sit up, place your palms on his chest as you scoot over him. Jungkook watches you with dark eyes, skin flushed as you line him up. His hands reach for your hips to steady you, tiny gasps falling from his lips at the first prod against your folds. You’re wet from watching him squirm beneath you, from feeling the heavy weight of his cock in your hand, and you hope he feels how much he excites you.

“That’s it,” he croons as you slowly sink down on him, whimpers catching in your throat from the stretch. “That’s my girl.”

Jungkook is purposeful with his words, smiles at you when the muscles in your thighs jolt at the term. When you’re seated to the hilt, folds brushing against his pelvis, Jungkook ruts experimentally. “Fuck,” he chokes breathlessly.

You let your body adjust, spine tingling with every subtle shift from the man beneath you, still so sensitive from your two orgasms from before. Jungkook waits, even though you know all he wants to do right now is fuck up into you like a madman.

When you’re relaxed enough, you begin to move, pushing yourself on your knees slowly, hissing at the drag of his cock against your folds. “F-Fuck,” you whimper, fingernails scratching against where you’ve got them on his chest still. Jungkook grips your hips tightly, and you unconsciously reach for his forearms to steady yourself instead.

“There you go,” he purrs as you slowly pick up the pace, cock sliding inside of you rougher, faster. You know it’s mostly him, muscles in his arms flexing as he moves you up and down, but you don’t care—it feels so good, the upward curve of his cock brushing against your soft spot with each drop of your hips.

He holds you down on one thrust, grinds you over his cock until your clit is rubbing against him roughly, and you cry out his name. You want to kiss him, so very badly, but your position makes it hard. Besides, the sweat beginning to pool in the deep of his collarbones hinted at his oncoming orgasm.

Still, you can’t help the way your eyes instinctively go to trace over his mouth, pouty lips pushed out even more in exertion, teeth grinding together every time your pussy swallows him anew. “Kook,” you mewl, hips bucking forward.

He hums, plants his feet firmly on the mattress as he begins fucking into you. “What is it?” He grunts, pistons into your dripping cunt as you whimper, pleasure crawling up and down your spine. “My pretty girl needs something?”

You wail, nod your head as he continues fucking, ramming his cock into your quivering hole, precum dripping over him. “Yours,” you gasp, mind stuck on what he’d said earlier. “‘M all yours,” you sob, body finally giving out, and you barely catch yourself from falling into him with a palm pressed flatly against his chest.

Jungkook smirks, bucks into you brutally, like he wants you to fall into a boneless heap on top of him. “Yeah, you are,” he groans, as you finally give in, lips brushing against his ear when you flop down on him. “My pretty girl,” he huffs, and you nod, muscles pulled taut as your orgasm begins looming over you. “So cute and mean,” he rambles, lips pressed to your temple. His hips are beginning to lose their rhythm, thrusts growing stilted as he chases his high. “But you know what?” He murmurs, and you whimper. “I like her just like that.”

If his words don’t knock the air out of your lungs, your orgasm surely does. It makes you shudder, the way his hands run over your body, cock ruts into your heat, and you almost cry when the pleasure gets a hold of you. Your muscles tighten, and then loosen, melting into his chest. You’re trembling in his arms, like a leaf holding onto a branch for dear life, choked gasps of his name muffled against his neck.

Jungkook pistons into you, rounds the final corner in his race to orgasm, and eventually spurts his hot cum into you, coats your walls as another reminder that you’re his. He’s a silent orgasmer, sounds catching in his throat as his body twitches beneath you, silent even afterwards as he regains his senses.

A few moments later, you’re shifting out of his hold, pushing yourself onto your elbows to glance down at him. Jungkook’s eyes are shut, but, as if sensing you’re looking at him, he flutters them open, chocolate irises softening at the sight of you.

“Holy shit,” he groans, rolls you off of him carefully. His hand brushes over your thigh, like he’s contemplating licking you clean again, but you stop him with a pointed raise of your brows. “Fine. Pass me the tablet.”

You do, and it’s almost unnerving how easily the two of you slip back into comfort, Jungkook changing into some shorts and handing you your discarded panties, before climbing into bed to watch Jersey Shore. You’ve missed about an entire hour-long episode, so you end up rewinding until the point you last saw.

“You and your Netflix and chilling,” Jungkook snorts, head nestled against your breasts. You roll your eyes.

“This is Hulu,” you point out.

“Oh yeah,” he hums, snuggles closer. His body feels so nice and warm over yours, hands wrapped around you like a lifeline. You end up positioning the tablet off by your hip, supported by a pillow so the two of you can watch properly.

You’re still processing your new title, your new boyfriend, when he perks his head up suddenly, solemn gaze catching yours.

“Hulu and Woohoo,” he says, ever so seriously, and you understand why Doyeon thinks he’s a fool.

[ part three ; imax & climax ]

#goldenclosetnet #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fic #mine

[charincharge]

I Don’t Want To Wait, eleven

rowaelin high school bff au masterlist

Based on the prompt:

“Person A falls into Person B’s lap”

A crowd of screaming students streamed past the window as Aelin slouched down at her desk. The last day of school was supposed to mean early release, ice cream down by the pier and finally celebrating two whole months of freedom.

But not today. Not for Aelin. Instead, she was in hell.

She barely paid attention as Principal Havilliard explained their detention task, though she didn’t miss her fellow detentionee’s groans as he spilled the ancient library card catalogue onto the floor, his foot shuffling them even further out of order.

“I have paperwork I’ll be doing in my office right next door, and I will notice if this door opens one inch. You have three hours to put these cards back in order,” he smirked, his boot-covered foot shoving the cards around some more. “See you all at seven.”

Aelin glanced over at Rowan, hoping for any kind of assurance, but just like the last twenty hours, he refused to acknowledge her. She knew she’d screwed up; she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt so awful as when she saw Rowan’s red-rimmed eyes pick her up for school this morning. She’d apologized profusely, over and over until she wasn’t sure she could apologize anymore, but he just shrugged stiffly and refused to look at her. It had felt like the longest day of her life, and it still wasn’t over.

“Some for youuu,” Dorian cooed, scooping up the cards from the floor and plopping a pile onto Rowan’s desk.

“Some for youuu,” he continued around the room, distributing cards to Manon, who Aelin had been not entirely surprised to see in detention. Dorian dumped the remainder of cards on his and Aelin’s desks, smartly avoiding an already-napping Lorcan in the back corner of the room.

“It’ll be finished fastest if we separate by letter, and then organize each letter,” Dorian explained.

Manon laughed as she started sorting. “Your dad make you do this on your free time?” she asked.

“You know it, babe,” he said with a wink. “Nah,” he said, shaking his head with a wry smile. “My dad just loves giving me detention.”

Dorian kicked up his feet onto the desk as he began his sorting, aimlessly chatting with Manon.

As Aelin began her own sorting, she glanced over at Rowan again. He was dutifully separating his own piles, shoulders tensed, as if he could feel Aelin’s gaze on him, his own eyes boring holes into the desk in front of him, refusing to look up. She hoped against all hopes that he’d look up and all would be forgiven, but she knew that wasn’t likely. Fuck. She’d really fucked up. She had no idea what to do or say to make it better. She felt entirely out of her depth. Rowan had never ignored her for this long, and she was starting to feel like a drug addict going through withdrawal. She was tweaking, in desperate need of any kind of acknowledgment – a flash of his dark green eyes, a smile, a nod… anything.

Instead, they sat in tense silence, the only sound the shuffling of index cards. The minutes ticked by, endlessly, and Aelin could feel herself growing more frustrated with Rowan’s silence with every passing second. She knew she was about to burst.

“L’s are done,” Rowan said, pushing a stack of index cards to the corner of his desk. Manon collected them and dropped them onto the front desk, adding them to her own pile.

Aelin glanced at the giant wall clock. 4:45. Only two hours and fifteen minutes more of the silent treatment. She groaned and placed her head down on the desk.

“Okay, what’s going on with you two?” Dorian asked, pointing at Aelin and Rowan. Rowan’s back stiffened, going ram-rod straight as he frowned at Dorian’s question. “Aren’t you supposed to be best friends?”

Rowan scrunched his nose up and finally, finally glanced toward Aelin. The pain in his eyes nearly knocked Aelin out. She inhaled sharply, biting on her lip, trying to hold back the onslaught of emotions just a look from Rowan caused.

“We are best friends,” Rowan mumbled, causing the knot in Aelin’s chest to unfurl slightly.

“Then again,” Dorian smirked. “I repeat. What’s going on with you two?” he asked. “Because you’re kind of acting like you hate each other.”

“We don’t hate each other,” Aelin burst out, her heart pounding.

Rowan frowned, finally putting all his attention on her. “I don’t know,” he began. “What you did was pretty hateful.”

Aelin leaned toward him, her voice hoarse with desperation. “And I said I was sorry a million times. I’m sorry,” she said again.

“Ooh,” Dorian perched himself on a desk between the fighting pair, looking back and forth at the dueling friends. “Should we all talk it out?”

“No,” Rowan snapped, going back to his card organization.

“Boo,” Manon jeered, joining in on what Aelin would rather not have as a group discussion, causing a bright smile to appear on Dorian’s face. He was living for this drama, apparently. “Kind of sounds like you two just need to kiss and make up.”

Aelin’s cheeks flushed at the mention of kissing, which she tried to push down immediately, covering her face with her loose hair.

“Mind your own business,” Rowan frowned, bravely talking back to Manon in a way that Aelin was sure would get him snapped at. But instead, a feral grin appeared on Manon’s face as she twirled a piece of her white blonde hair with a long nail.

“Oh come on. I dare you.”

“What?” he asked.

“I dare you to kiss Aelin,” Manon repeated smugly.

She raised her eyebrows at Rowan, who’s lips turned down even further.

“Don’t be stupid,” Rowan said, rolling his eyes. Aelin stomach hurt with how fast he’d dismissed the idea. “I’m not kissing Aelin on a dare.”

“Why not?” Dorian asked. “I will.”

Dorian slid off his desk and leaned over Aelin’s. Aelin leaned back, laughing softly at Dorian’s half-hearted attempt to bring his lips closer to her face, and swatted him away.

“Very mature,” Rowan grumbled, tugging his fingers through his hair as he glared in Aelin’s direction again.

“Oh, come on,” Dorian prodded. “We all need a break anyway. Let’s play truth or dare.”

Rowan scoffed loudly, never stopping organizing his cards on his desk. “What are we, in seventh grade?”

“Don’t be a pussy, Whitethorn,” Lorcan called out from the back corner of the room. Everyone’s heads whipped around at the sound of his gravelly voice. Aelin watched with curiosity as he stood, his large arms stretching overhead as he cracked his back and neck loudly.

“Truth or dare,” Manon chanted. “Truth or dare! Truth or dare!”

Aelin laughed as Dorian and Lorcan both joined in, slowly approaching Rowan’s desk until he was surrounded.

“Fine!” he shouted.

“Great!” Dorian ruffled Rowan’s hair, earning another disgruntled frown from the blonde. “Manon, truth or dare?”

“Dare!” she answered excitedly.

“I dare you to flash us,” Dorian said with a devilish smile, causing Manon to roll her eyes.

“Boys.” She shook her head. “So fucking predictable.”

Her voice was deadpan, but she fulfilled the dare regardless, lifting her shirt to show the room her black bra. The boys’ jaws dropped slightly, completely silent as she pulled her shirt back down and fluffed her hair, completely unphased.

“Lorcan,” Manon drawled. Before she could even ask the question, he puffed out his chest and grinned.

“Dare.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Her golden eyes glowed as she pretended to think over her question. “I dare you to kiss Dorian,” she gleamed, showing off a perfect row of white teeth.

Lorcan merely rolled his eyes again. “What, you think I’m going to get all no-homo, as if I haven’t had a threesome with another dude before?” Manon shrugged. “C’mere, pretty boy, gimme a kiss.” Lorcan laughed as Dorian mimed pointing to himself, as if to ask Who, me?

Aelin blushed furiously. She knew that seniors were more experienced than she was. Well, a lot of people were more experienced than she was. But a threesome? She could feel herself heat up as Lorcan slid his hand into Dorian’s hair and placed his mouth over his for a hard kiss. Dorian’s mouth moved in tandem with the senior’s, until Lorcan left him with a soft press of his lips and a cocky grin.

Dorian cleared his throat. “I mean, I get it,” he admitted. “Why everyone’s lining up to fuck you.”

“Not everyone,” Lorcan said, flashing his dark eyes at Manon for a loaded second. Aelin remembered all of Manon’s callous rejections and wondered if there was more to the story than they were seeing. She was so wrapped up in trying to figure it out that she barely even registered when Lorcan turned his attention to her.

Lorcan grinned widely. “Aelin, truth or dare?”

“Umm…” She paused. It was no secret that Lorcan wasn’t her biggest fan. And she had a feeling he was getting ready to torture her. She had no desire to flash an audience or kiss anyone but Rowan, so she decided to go with the safer answer.

“Truth,” she answered nervously.

“Who in school are you hottest for?” he asked.

“What?” Aelin squeaked, her voice going unnaturally high as all eyes turned to her.

“Who in school are you hottest for?” Lorcan repeated. “Who do you lust after? Who do you think about when you listen to I Touch Myself?”

Aelin’s mouth dropped as she gaped like a fish. “I…I…” Her cheeks burned as she scanned the faces in front of her, trying not to pause on the dark green eyes that were suddenly rife with curiosity. “Did I say truth? I meant dare,” she said, changing tactics.

Lorcan rolled his eyes and motioned this thumb downward. “Booo.” He made a raspberry sound with his lips as he stuck out his tongue. “Fine, I dare you to give one of us… whoever you want… a sexy lap dance for thirty seconds.”

“I don’t know how to do that!” Aelin croaked out, getting more stressed by the second. She’d have to choose someone. She wanted to choose Rowan, of course. She’d be most comfortable being close to him like that, but she hated that he was still so mad at her. She didn’t want to risk upsetting him even more.

“One or the other. We’re waiting, Aelin,” Lorcan drawled.

The room silenced as Aelin stood and looked at the four students sitting in front of her, laps ready and waiting for her. She was about to take a step toward Rowan when his eyes went to the floor, avoiding her gaze, and she redirected, stepping in front of Manon.

Aelin glanced over her shoulder. “I wish I had music,” she complained.  

“I’ve got you,” Lorcan smirked, pulling out his phone from his back pocket. Of course he’d smuggled his into detention. He cued up some rap song with a thumping bass that Aelin wasn’t familiar with, and she took a deep breath as she pretended she didn’t have an audience.

Her hips swayed side to side, dipping lower.

“Lap dance means on her lap, prude,” Lorcan shouted, and Aelin resisted the urge to glare at him over her shoulder. Instead, she got closer to Manon, pushing her legs wider as she awkwardly shimmied between them. She turned around and leaned her head back as she felt Manon’s hands at her sides, helping her maintain her balance as she dipped low to the ground.

“Annnd… time,” Dorian said, clapping loudly as Manon threw Aelin a wink. Adrenaline pounding through her shaky legs, Aelin barely stood upright before tripping over Manon’s extended foot and plopping into Rowan’s lap.

He stood nearly as soon as she fell, hands firmly placed around her waist as he shoved her away from him. “Gods, Aelin, be careful!” he reprimanded her, and Aelin felt tears prick at her eyes. Rowan had never acted like this with her before. He’d said she was still his best friend earlier, but now she wasn’t too sure. His eyes were stormy with upset. All she wanted was for him to smile again.

“Sorry,” she mumbled her apology, and he awkwardly shook her off. It was then she realized it wa her turn. To ask Rowan.

“Rowan,” she said, her voice shaky. “Truth or dare.”

“Truth…” he answered carefully.

“What else do I need to do to make this better?” she asked. She just needed an answer. Anything to do to repair what she’d clearly destroyed.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged.

Dorian made a loud buzzer sound. “That’s not a satisfactory answer.”

“Even if I really don’t know?” Rowan answered, exasperated. Dorian shook his head, and Rowan practically growled in frustration.

“Your original dare still stands,” Manon said, sing-song. “You can always decide to kiss Aelin.”

“Fine,” Rowan said, causing Aelin’s heart to skip a beat.

“What?” her eyes widened, clearly not hearing right.

“I’m taking the dare,” Rowan said with an annoyed glare. “I’m kissing you.”

Aelin wished the ground would open and swallow her whole. She didn’t want Rowan to kiss her on a dare. That was not how she’d imagined that happening. Especially not while he was so mad at her.

“No!” Aelin exclaimed, chest thumping wildly as panic flooded her system.

“No?” Manon scoffed.

“I don’t consent to this dare!” she squeaked out.

Rowan wound his arms tightly across his chest, clearly getting more annoyed with Aelin by the second. “It’s just a kiss. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Maybe not to you, she wanted to scream. But instead, she swallowed back the lump in her throat and nodded softly. Rowan visibly relaxed at her agreement, but as soon as he started to lean forward, Aelin couldn’t help but think how wrong it all was. She didn’t want her first kiss with Rowan to be because of a stupid dare. She wanted him to want to kiss her. And she certainly didn’t want an audience for it. She’d imagined kissing Rowan so many times, but never in her wildest dreams had she imagined it would happen like this.

His lips had barely brushed hers when Aelin turned her head to the side, so his mouth landed just beyond the corner of her lips, making full contact with her cheek instead.

“Burn,” Lorcan cackled loudly, causing a flood of embarrassment to rush through her.

“Sorry,” Aelin whispered.

“S’fine,” Rowan mumbled, his cheeks stained with red as he looked anywhere but her.

“Kisses mean something to me,” she finally said.

“Spoken like a real virgin,” Lorcan heckled, and Aelin could feel herself shrink even further. Rowan spun around on his heel, his chest heaving as he unleashed on his teammate.

“What is your fucking problem, man?” Rowan spat as Lorcan stoically raised a dark brow in his direction. “I get it, she made you look like an idiot, wounded your manhood or whatever, but you need to let up.”

Lorcan held his hands up in mock surrender and meandered back to his seat, grumbling something about “stupid sophomores.”

Rowan sat loudly back at his desk, clearly seething as he began shuffling through his index cards again. Aelin flushed with relief at his defense of her. She wanted to throw her arms around him and thank him, but instead she threw him a grateful glance, which he accepted with a small nod. It wasn’t a smile, but she’d take it.

“Game over?” Dorian asked, and Manon nodded quickly, retreating to her desk.

“Virginity is just a concept, anyway. Don’t let anyone convince you that you’re losing anything when you have sex,” Manon said too loudly in Aelin’s direction. “It’s a sexist concept created by men to boost them up and control women’s bodies. Sex means different things to different people, and anyone who tries to make you feel bad about your sexual experience or lack of it deserves a special place in hell.”

Aelin had never appreciated someone as much as she did Manon in that moment. Lorcan pretended not to listen and shoved his earbuds further into his ear, slumping back into his seat.

“Thanks,” Aelin said quietly, and Manon shrugged.

The four of them worked quietly for the remaining hour of detention, shuffling the cards back into alphabetical order with methodical ease.

When Principal Havilliard returned at 7pm on the dot, Aelin sighed with relief. “Have a good summer,” he said, effectively dismissing them and walking out the door.

Aelin lingered, hoping to steal a moment with Rowan, but it seemed that he was anxious to get somewhere else.

“Glad I’ll never have to deal with you again,” Lorcan mocked as he made his way to the door. “Fire breathing bitch,” he hissed, passing her by.

Fury steamed at his words, and Aelin stood quickly, wanting to launch herself at him. Her fist reared back, ready to punch, but it was restrained as Rowan stepped in front of her and took his own swing, his fist cracking loudly against Lorcan’s nose.

Blood dribbled from the nose as Lorcan staggered backward, laughing maniacally. “Oh man,” he laughed. “Good for you, Whitethorn,” he said as he wiped the blood away with the back of his hand. “See ya never,” he said, glancing between the two of them and giving a half-hearted salute.

Rowan hissed as he clutched at his fist. “Fuck, that shit really hurts.”

“Rowan!” Aelin raced to his side to assess his reddened knuckles. She pressed against the skin gently, checking for broken bones, and he loosened his fist, letting her examine each finger carefully. She glanced up at him, and he was watching her with a cautious gaze. But when she went to remove her hand from his, he squeezed her fingers softly.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, squeezing his fingers back lightly. “But thank you.”

“He was pissing me off,” Rowan replied.

“I’m so sorry, Rowan,” Aelin said again, and Rowan sighed loudly as he stretched out his sore fingers.

“I know you are, Ace.” He rubbed at his face. “It’s just going to take me a while you get the image of your dead body out of my head. It was… fucked up.”

Aelin was about to apologize again when Rowan stopped her. “And I know you’re sorry. But I’m allowed to be mad for a while, okay?”

Aelin nodded in understanding.

“Well,” Aelin cleared her throat. “Thanks for defending me, even when you’re mad at me.”

Rowan finally cracked a smile; it was the most beautiful thing Aelin had ever seen. “Yeah, well, as infuriating as you might be, no one is allowed to talk shit about you. Except me, of course.”

“Of course,” Aelin replied too quickly. She tried to hide her smile, but she couldn’t. Just a small amount of attention from Rowan, and she felt her heart mending itself.

Rowan groaned, frustrated. “How do you do that?”

“What?” Aelin asked, perplexed.

“Like, two minutes ago, I was still furious with you!” He exclaimed, exasperated. “And now…”

“And now you’re… not?” Aelin asked, hopefully as they made their way to their lockers to collect their things. The school was eerily empty, everyone long gone to their first night of summer plans.

“Just. Never again, Aelin.” She nodded rapidly. “I’m serious.”

“Want to get that truce dinner?” she asked. “I felt too guilty last night to eat anything.”

As if on cue, Rowan’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. And Aelin had a feeling she knew exactly who it was from. “Unless you have somewhere else to be?”

“Nope,” he said, shoving the phone into his pocket.

“I can’t believe we’ve both punched Lorcan Salvaterre,” Aelin giggled as he led them out to his car.

“Just call us Rocky I and Rocky II,” Rowan said, draping his arm across her shoulders, causing Aelin to laugh wildly.

“That’s not their names.”

“They’re not?” he asked. “Then why are the movies called that?”

Aelin shook her head and leaned into his side. As she and Rowan bantered about the movies he clearly needed to watch in the near future, Aelin finally had hopes for the future. It was going to be a good summer. She just knew it.  

~*~

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#rowaelin #rowan x aelin #high school au #i don't want to wait au #charincharge writes #tog fanfic #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction

[emletish-fish]

7. what is you favorite sentence/paragraph? read it to us! (asker can choose what fic) (x)

I chose three! One from each of my 'big fics'. No Zombies, Worst Prisoners and Good Boys under the cut:

NO ZOMBIES:

No Zombies was a delight to write. I had pretty much the whole idea from the get-go, (of a returned style AU with Hector coming to spend time with the family in the modern world). I finished it quick - and it's not too long (side-eyeing Good Boy and Worst Prisoner). It was the first fic where I felt like I really "stuck" the landing. I was quite flexible with my original outline, but I still knew where the journey ended. It ended exactly how I wanted it too - happily but with a bitter-sweet note.

The emotional core of this story is how Elena, family matriach, who is so gruff and no-nonsense, who despises Hector in the films, and who has such a warm heart under such a grumpy exterior would slowly soften and come to love Hector, (and how she grows as a person because of this and becomes more comfortable showing love/emotions to her family). It was like a platonic slow-burn as she learns to understand Hector better - which is why this bit is my favourite because it's where she starts to really feel fond of him for the first time:

“Well, I'm just glad I'm a better teacher for him than watching old Ernesto De La Cruz movies.” Héctor had replied with a wry smile. “It's probably because I'm so much more handsome than that butt-chinned, over-the-top ham.”

“Because you're a pointy-chinned, over-the-top ham?” Elena replied, feeling surprising witty. She never made teasing jokes like this normally, but it was so easy with Héctor.

He looked mock-offended. “I'll have you know, my chin is wonderful and I've given it to several of your grandchildren, so there.”

If Elena was a different person, she probably would have pulled Héctor into a warm, laughing hug then. She might have told him seriously that Miguel had always been difficult for her. He felt things so strongly and got so upset and emotional – she'd always struggled with how to help him, how to calm him. Miguel was so happy now. She knew that was because of Héctor.

She might have told Héctor that he was at least six thousand times the musician, eight thousand times the teacher, and ten thousand times the man that Ernesto De La Cruz was.

But Elena was who she was.

Instead she said “Idiot,” and ruffled his stupidly messy hair rather fondly.

She told herself she wasn't warming to the fool musician, but she knew it was a lie.

GOOD BOY:

My current work. It's another platonic slow-burn, but this time set in the Cobra Kai universe with son and father pair - Robby Keene and Johnny Lawrence. In the show, these two characters have such a dysfunctional relationship that is so full of miscommunications and missed chances, and they genuinely want a better relationship (and it would be so healing for both of them! Do not get me started!) I lean much more into the magical realism in this story, as I turned Robby into a dog (Animal transformation - PIXAR's Brave style), so that he could immediately get the cuddles and easy affection he so clearly needs.... because I have never seen a more touch/affection-starved character aside from Zuko in ATLA.

This also gave Robby a chance to really understand, not only his father, but the other people in his cicrcle. He discovered he had a support network. He got to know he was loved by many. he got to witness the actions people would take as they searched for human-him (not knowing that he'd been turned into a dog). And it gave Johnny a chance to learn how to take care of something, feel needed, and express his love for his son without the weight of their complicated history/his own trauma hanging over him. It was hard to pick a favourite, but I will say the Johnny-stream-of-conciousness chapters are definitely the easiest/most fun to write. One of my favourite bits is in the first one, The queen of ice-cream runaway when Johnny tells Robby about when Laura (his grandmother) found out Shannon was pregnant and she was going to be a grandmother.

It's the first inkling Robby gets that while his father wasn't there for him and he was neglected a lot, Johnny did his best to keep the bad shit from his own childhood away from Robby as his own way of showing care. It hints at the deep and damaging abuse Johnny endured. When he finally had a say with his own kid, he would have done anything to protect Robby from feeling the same. I'd say here is where Robby really begins to warm to his Dad;

Then I told her our chosen name and she said I was a dumbass and Swayze was a terrible middle name, and we had to change it to some shit like Alastair or something. She thought he should have a rich sounding middle name. And I say Mom, Alastair sounds like some lame-ass insurance broker who upskirts his secretary and then cries as he jerks off to the pictures, what else you got? She thought Sebastian, and that was worse! What a pussy name.  Sebastian is going to be sitting in the little french patisserie cafe drinking the tiny-ass coffee for dolls and eating the éclair with his prissy finger tips. I already want to kick Sebastian's ass. Who wouldn’t? I’m not going to give my kid a name that is going to get his ass kicked.

And she couldn't talk, cause she named me after Johnny Cash, just cause she liked his music. And she couldn't think of a middle name at the time, so I didn't get one. Thank goodness. I could have ended up Johnny Alastair and had to kick my own ass.

So Swayze stayed.

Then she mentions how she and Sid can help out, so I didn't need to do the two jobs, stupidly long hours thing. And we need the money. I know we need the money. But my whole body froze and I just went No. None of that for little Robby Swayze. ...

... She’s going on about spending Sid’s money on Robby and I just...I can’t. I can't allow it. Cause I knew how he would be, and the way he would treat that kid. So I tell her, no thank you. Not a fucking cent mom.  Sid’s not getting to feel like he owns a hair on Robby’s head. That motherfucker can go jump. You thought we needed Sid’s money when I was a kid. You decided it was better for me, and that was your choice. I did not get a vote in that. But this is my kid, and this time it is my call, and I am choosing no. I’m not going to have Sid make my kid feel like he has to apologise for existing every day. I'm not going to have Sid treat my kid the way he treated me. I will never need money that badly. I will never put my kid through that. I'll work myself to the bone doing 20 hour days before that. I'll work on the 40th floor without a harness before that.  I will sell my fucking organs before it comes to that. Not a cent mom.

WORST PRISONER:

My 'what if Zuko made friends with the Gaang early on?" AU that then turned into a three-book long saga (and I will return to it, Worst Prisoner readers - Thank you for you patience). It does have evenutal Zutara, but the focus is really on the Gaang + Zuko as a whole, and all the interpersonal relationships. I'd say there is more gen-shipping around Zuko as a central character, as Iroh & Zuko, and Sokka & Zuko are both given equal prominence. in fact, all the friendships and familial relationships were equally important to me. (the book 3 Zuko & Azula stuff is so interesting, but it is ...less funny I guess.)

This fic is such a joy to write, and I really try and balance the humour with the bittersweet/sad parts, and one of the main sources of humor was the Sokka-Aang-Zuko -Katara qudrangle of dumbassery. I love the four of them together in book 1, and so many of their interactions were a hoot to write. But if I'd have to pick a favourite moment, it would be the moment in the deserter chapter in book 1, where they all decide to 'officially' be friends:

“Well, you can figure that out and find someone while I'm up in the Northern Water Tribe. Then when we finish up there, we'll come find you,” Aang offered.

“Really?” Zuko’s eyes were shining optimistically. It was a strange expression for him. Aang was so used to seeing him with a grumpy face.

“Really, I promise,” Aang said, feeling so glad that he could help Zuko go home.

“Yeah, I second that. If this means we won’t have to put up with you chasing us, I am in!” Sokka said. “Sheesh, you could have just asked ages ago!”

“You know, this means I was right,” Aang started to say, feeling very vindicated. The others looked at him curiously. “If we had just talked about friendship in the forest, we could have sorted this out weeks ago!”

“Boo, forest friendship!” Sokka said.

“Don't boo him,” Katara admonished, elbowing her brother.

“I agree with Sokka. There's no way I would have appreciated that speech weeks ago, Aang,” Zuko said.

Sokka smiled at Zuko for saying he agreed with him. It actually wasn't that rare of an occurrence, but it still seemed to surprise Sokka every time.

“See, Aang, forest friendship is bullshit,” Sokka said.

“I didn't say that!” Zuko cut in. “I just meant, maybe … I had to be dragged all over the Earth Kingdom by you guys ... and shot ... and taken to nonsense fortune tellers ... and I had to be forced to eat Sokka's truly terrible and disgusting cooking—”

“Oi!”

“—and I had listen to Aang lecture me about friendship and vegetarianism in the forest just so I could come here.” He looked around at the deserters’ camp site. “I dunno, maybe it was meant to be this way.”

“What are you saying? You want to be forest friends with Aang now?” Sokka asked accusingly.

“I mean, sure. If Aang will have me, we can be friends,” Zuko said, and looked uncertain.

“Yay! I knew you'd want to be my friend,” Aang said, feeling delighted.

He was so happy he had a Fire Nation friend again. Kuzon had been an amazing friend, even though he'd gotten Aang into so many sticky situations. He had already thought Zuko was his friend, but it was nice to make it official. Aang always knew the Fire Nation had good people in it too, and now he had been proven right. He jumped up and gave Zuko a huge hug.

#Emletish answers #Emletish writes #Fic: No Zombies #Fic: Good Boy #Fic: Worst Prisoner

[beerecordings]

Mythology AU - Chase is a Selkie, Marvin’s a star spirit, Jameson’s fae but likes to look like a little black dog, Henrik’s the seventh son of a seventh son, and Jackie is Jackie! See other pieces from this universe here and here.

Thanks for the prompt, Kit! This fic is not actual ego shipping but features what’s basically a love spell on one ego which needs to be broken. But no one tries to take advantage of anyone else and they all work together to help. This is the earliest point in the timeline I’ve written so far, with Chase meeting Henrik, Jackie, and Marvin! I hope you like it.

As a lil mythology debriefing, most Selkie who have their coats stolen in the stories have them stolen intentionally and are then either forced to marry the men who stole them or fall in love with and marry the men who stole them. Giving a Selkie their coat back releases them to either stay or go, but I wanted to explore what would happen if a Selkie had their coat given back to them but was still too love-drunk from having it stolen in the first place to be able to think clearly and get back in the ocean.

.

He’s nervous.

A lot of Henrik’s clients are. A lot of Henrik’s clients are nervous. A lot of Henrik’s clients, these days, aren’t human.

The seventh son of a seventh son can see us, they might tell each other, flitting between the branches of a tree or drifting with the waves of the water. He learned human medicine, but he’s quick. He’s quick. He’s learning and his luck is good.

His luck is very good. His mind, he likes to tell himself, is better.

(But the truth is that his luck is better than anyone’s and maybe if it hadn’t caused him so much grief and driven him away from everything he had ever known he would appreciate it better.)

He’s nervous then, yes, but Henrik can’t see the glamour of a fairy on his skin or the flickering color of a shape-shifter’s eye. There are no horns hiding in his hair, no hooves tucked away in his sneakers, no water streaming endlessly from his eyes. He does not speak in tongues or hover just a centimeter off the ground. He does not glow. He does not breathe like the cosmos are running through his lungs.

He just looks human.

But if you are the seventh son of a seventh son, you might catch, in the air, the same thing that Henrik did - a slight smell of salt and stone.

And a faint feeling that the man and his child are not human.

“How’re you now?” asks the man in a whisper, tucking the baby close to his chest and taking a step back from Henrik as he swung open the door to his run-down little clinic. Henrik stares back at him and then around at the alleyway, wondering if someone is following him, but there is nothing there but the man and the bundle in his arms.

“Good, and yourself?” answers Henrik politely, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s late, I’m about to close.”

“Sorry.” He tugs on the cap over his hair nervously, disturbing a single blond curl in the middle of his dark brown hair. “I thought the fever would go away, but it hasn’t. If I don’t get it checked out my ex will have me for sausage.”

“Mh. A baby?”

The man clears his throat and holds the infant out.

Henrik stares down at the baby. Up at the father. Down at the baby.

Now there is something slightly inhuman to them.

It’s in the eyes. He’s never seen eyes so dark and deep, like they were made for nothing but light to come in. With one, it’s an oddity. With the two of them...

It’s strange.

“The baby is human?” asks Henrik, in a voice that says he already knows the answer.

The man stares at Henrik, black eyes wide.

He’s nervous.

Henrik sighs and steps back from the door. “Come on in.”

“Thank you. Thank you. My ex would have killed me.”

The man darts in the door, heaving his backpack up on his shoulders and scurrying over to the examination table, where he takes one last glance at Henrik and then begins to unwrap the baby like a little Christmas present.

Baby shampoo and salt smell warm the chilly little clinic while the baby fusses unhappily at his father, reaching up to snag his finger and shove it into his soft, slobbery baby mouth for something to gnaw on. He has a little white onesie with different colors of fish patterned all over and a tiny breast pocket that says “I’m a real catch!”

Sometimes being supremely lucky is very nice, especially if it brings you cute babies to examine while you were in one of the slightly tired, bored, generally-unhappy-and-not-really-knowing-why moods you’ve been stuck in for some weeks. Henrik washes his hands at the sink and comes over to examine the baby.

“His name’s Hunter. I’m - ”

“Don’t tell me names,” Henrik cuts him off. “I don’t ask questions. You have money?”

“Yes, whatever you charge.”

“Dangerous offer.”

The man gives a weak chuckle.

Hunter gurgles angrily at Henrik’s hands roaming over his chubby body, kicking his feet in their booties and slurping on his father’s finger as a form of protest.

“Yes, his temperature is high,” Henrik agrees. “How long has he been like this?”

“Since yesterday. I just have him for the weekend and he’s been the grumpiest little sucker in the world. I have to take him back to my wife’s tonight. Sorry... my ex’s. She was my wife but now she isn’t, and so with the kids it’s kind of, uh. Well. Hard.”

“Don’t have to explain, I understand,” says Henrik mildly, listening to Hunter’s heart.

“Oh? You’re, uh, divorced? Or should I not ask questions either?”

Henrik raises an eyebrow at him, a small smile rising on his mouth. “I’ll excuse it this one time. We’re separated. But the child was much older.”

“Ah. Yeah. Messy split or was it, like, pretty clean?”

“It was a natural disaster,” answers Henrik wryly, and the man manages a full laugh this time, his stance relaxing a little.

He isn’t like the men from the gangs, staring in Henrik in silence as he works. He isn’t like the kids and adults who are running away from something and try to stay quiet despite the nervous confessions that keep falling from their mouths, looking for someone to confide in. He isn’t like the fairies who run their eyes up and down Henrik’s body, whispering to each other about how clever or how silly this human is or making snide jokes about him stinking of beer or bratwurst.

Henrik is glad. He thinks he needed a break from all of that. His work is his great love, but often it fuels his fury or, worse, breaks his heart.

There has been a melancholy in him lately. He does not know how to disperse it. No one would have noticed, because Jackie never can pick up on it, but Marvin said that his eyes had gone sad, whatever that means, and informed their roommate that Henrik needed cheering up. Since then he’s been hiding in his office more often than not - he can only be smothered in starboy kisses and served sympathy pasta so many times before he needs some space.

“Saw the game last night?” asks Henrik, noticing the father getting tense again.

“What game?”

“Well, my roommate said there was a game and he was very excited and mad and enthusiastic, which usually means it was worth watching.”

The man laughs. “Right. Yeah, football, wasn’t it? Good stuff, yeah. I saw the score. Didn’t watch it cause I got him here and the other one at home. Try to spend the whole weekend with them. Your roommate sounds like a character. He watches just football?”

“He’ll watch anything with a ball and some collisions,” says Henrik. “And he is certainly a character. How long have you lived among humans?”

The man’s head shoots up, his blond curl hanging in front of his eyes. “Hey, now!” he says. “That football question was a trap!”

Henrik winks at him and leans down to check the baby’s ears. “Fair play?”

“Fair play,” concedes the father, sitting back with an amused sort of irritation. “Since I was nineteen, if you must know.”

“So that’s, what, six years?”

“Eight.”

“And the baby?”

“Well, uh.” The man frowns and glances down at his son. “Well, he’s new, you see.”

Henrik bursts into laughter for the first time in days and fuck, that feels good.

“I meant how old is he!”

“Oh! Well, I - I didn’t know!”

He’s bright red, his freckles drowned out in blush. “I wasn’t sure what you meant, I don’t know what sort of babies you get in here - ”

“Hahaha! Not immortal ones!”

“Well, you say that, but I’ve met some weird creatures in my time!”

“Alright, that much I understand.”

“Maybe you thought he was a little spirit or something, I don’t know.”

“Aw, a little spirit baby.” Henrik hides his eyes and then pulls his hands away, catching Hunter’s attention with a game of peek-a-boo. “Are you a little god, Herr Baby? Are you a little spirit?”

“He’d be the god of spitting up carrots all over his dad.”

“Tom once walked up to me as I was sitting on the couch and when I asked him what was wrong, he immediately puked all over my slacks.”

The father throws back his head and laughs loud and wonderful, his shoulders shaking and her dark eyes a-glow. “Fuck’s sake. But then they’re worth it, aren’t they?”

He leans over Hunter to blow a blubber kiss into the fat of his stomach, but the child must be feeling unwell again, because he chooses this moment to begin wailing, his small face scrunched up with distress. The man is quick to try soothing him, rubbing at his hot, bumpy baby head and murmuring to him in Irish.

Truthfully, Henrik is grateful for the distraction. He shouldn’t have brought Tom up. Yes, they’re worth it. But sometimes they break your heart too.

“I can see why you were concerned,” he said. “His fever is quite high and has lasted a while. But I am wondering why you didn’t see a normal doctor? If you’re illegal, just tell me you couldn’t.”

“Ah, no, I could have,” admits the man, picking Hunter up and rocking him. “But I guess I don’t trust them. Or I’d prefer someone who knows... just, well, who knows, you know? We always used to see a doctor who was one of us, but now we’ve moved too far away. I didn’t know who to go to... I was told you had the Sight, that you would treat... people like us.”

“But I don’t know,” answers Henrik gently, pulling open his cabinets for a prescription. “You haven’t told me what you are.”

He looks up at Henrik. Down at the baby.

“We left everything we had known behind when we came to live with humans,” he says softly. “Since then I haven’t met another like me living among them. And I haven’t told anyone - not a soul - about what I really am.”

Curious. Curious. Only so many creatures would choose to make a split so deep. He must be able to pass as human almost perfectly. He knows he is not a werewolf, or he would need others of his kind to survive. He knows he is not demonic, or he couldn’t have passed through Marvin’s warding. He knows he is not a Pooka, because Henrik did not fear him, and Pooka do not love their sons, and Pooka do not speak as humans do, and a million other reasons, too, and yet the thought still crossed Henrik’s mind. Even when it is irrational, it always crosses his mind: what if? what if?

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” says Henrik, writing down Hunter’s temperature.

“I’m a little in the public eye, is the thing.”

“Oh-ho,” laughs Henrik, letting his eyes flick up to the ceiling for a second. “I got a celebrity in here.”

“I didn’t say that,” protests the father. “Come on, man. It would just be bad if anyone found out who would believe it. Some people don’t like people like me living with humans.”

Henrik puts his clipboard down and reaches out to touch his arm, meeting his gaze. “Look, ‘man,’ there’s really nothing to worry about. I get all kinds in here and I know how to keep the mouth shut when it should be. I would prefer to know. Some creatures can experience medical complications which would be misdiagnosed without understanding. But if you really cannot tell me, you can take the medication and go, just like if I were a human doctor.”

The man looks down at his child, patting along the baby’s stomach to soothe both Hunter and himself. “Okay, alright. Can I come back if any of the kids ever get in trouble again and I need a doctor?”

“Of course you can,” answers Henrik genially. “Especially since you can pay.”

He chuckles, stroking Hunter’s soft head. “Do you know who the Selkie are?”

Henrik stops short in the middle of preparing a syringe of medication.

“Take that as a yes,” says the man, sitting down at a visitor’s chair, his hands in his lap.

Henrik tries to go back to work as calmly as he can. “You’re something of a rarity, then.”

“There’s less and less of us every year,” he answers. “Most of us don’t live among humans, so we die as the ocean does.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well. Me and my family don’t live like that anymore, anyway. Safer on land.”

“What is it like?” asks Henrik, unable to deny his own curiosity. “To be a man one moment, and a seal the next.”

He smiles grimly, playing with the cap of his hat. “To be able to transform is incredible. You feel like you’re apart of something much bigger than you. And that ability, to swim like that, to smell like that, to see like that... well, it’s an experience. But the truth is that when you’re Selkie you’re never expected to do anything but live and die by the ocean. And I wanted something more than that, even if it meant leaving everything behind.”

“I’m going to give him some medicine.”

“Oh, yeah. Okay.”

Henrik and the father coax the needleless syringe into Hunter’s mouth and convince him to swallow the medicine despite his fussy groaning and whimpering.

“Will that help?”

“Yes, I think so. Should reduce the fever. I’m going to prescribe you something to take with to help him recover more quickly, though I expect he’ll be just fine.”

“Oh, great,” breathes the Selkie, staring warmly down at Hunter, who sucks earnestly on his fist and wriggles his feet. “Thank you so much. I think my ex would have about killed me if I had brought him home with a fever and no trip to a doctor. I really didn’t know where else I would have gone.”

“It’s no worry,” answers Henrik. “But, if you were open to it, I might recommend bringing him down to the ocean for a while.”

The Selkie looks up, surprised.

“Whether or not you let him transform, it isn’t always good for creatures like you to be away from all of their people and their... natural habitats, you might say. If you don’t want to live among Selkie, I understand. But a Selkie baby is a Selkie baby. This part of his nature cannot be buried. Letting him play in the water might be good for him sometimes.”

The Selkie stares down at his baby, blinking.

“I don’t know,” he says uncertainly.

“Just something to think about,” replies Henrik levelly.

“Right,” sighs the Selkie, beginning to wrap Hunter back up again, but the suggestion seems to have left him uncertain and thoughtful, focused intently on his child. “Oh, uh, I gotta pay you. How much?”

“The medicine wasn’t expensive. Twenty-five pounds should cover it. But if you can give me more, it helps me keep the place running.”

The Selkie hands him a full fifty pounds. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, man. I don’t really trust human doctors with my kids.”

“If you ever need anything, you know where to find me. Tell me if his fever does not break. Here, my number. Don’t put me in your phone as anything suspicious.”

“Strange doctor in that backalley clinic on Lincoln, got it.”

Henrik smiles grimly at him. The Selkie grins back.

“Thanks for being cool, doc,” he says, touching his shoulder.

“I try.”

“Ha. Okay. Bye.”

“Hey,” says Henrik. “I was driven away from Germany a few years back. I left everything behind too - including, perhaps, people who needed me - but I had my reasons for going. And that doesn’t make me a bad person. Yes?”

The Selkie smiles softly at him, something small and grateful in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “Yeah. We have our reasons.”

As he turns to leave, Henrik sees the thoughtfulness come over him again. It’s like he’s far away already. And for whatever reason, when he goes, Henrik himself feels that strange and quiet unhappiness return to his chest as the silence of the lonely clinic consumes him again.

It isn’t until fifteen minutes later that he realizes the Selkie has left his backpack behind.

“Fuck!”

Henrik scoops it up and races out the door just in case he has the chance to catch the Selkie at the bus stop, but he and the baby are gone.

“Goddamn,” murmurs Henrik, walking back to his clinic. “At least he can come back for it. What does he have in here that’s so heavy anyway?”

It’s not really his business to look. In fact, it is his business to not ask questions and respect people’s privacy unless he thinks someone’s getting hurt by his silence. He really should not look in the Selkie’s bag.

But a sheen of smooth white through the almost-but-not-quite-entirely zipped-up backpack pauses him.

Henrik sits down in his office, staring.

He shouldn’t.

But he’s never met a Selkie before.

And if that’s what he thinks it is...

He’s pulling it out before he can doubt himself any longer.

“Wow,” he whispers. “Wow.”

The Selkie coat is beautiful. White and blond and brown patterns decorate the Selkie’s skin on a luxuriously soft coat. Henrik stands up and puts it on for a moment, marveling at the weight and warmth of it. He breathes in that same deep, salt and stone smell he caught on the Selkie when he first came in the door.

And if this were his skin, all he would have to do was walk down into the water of the ocean and then - transformation. He would be a seal.

“Incredible,” he murmurs to himself, taking the coat off again. “Truly.”

Being the seventh son of a seventh son is lucky, sure, but he thinks it might have been even luckier to be born as something as cool as that.

He sets the backpack down in the clinic. He doesn’t think much of it at the time.

.

Someone’s knocking on his clinic door.

“At one in the morning.” He tsks his tongue against his teeth. “Better not be those werewolf kids again, I swear.”

He gets up, straightening his coat.

“Who’s there?” He calls to the door.

“It’s - it’s - it’s - ” They seem to hardly be able to get the words out, breathless and stammering. “It’s the Selkie, fr-from earlier!”

“Oh, right.” Henrik unlocks and opens the door. “Did you come back for your - ”

Hands grab his lapels, marching him back towards the wall of the room as wild dark eyes bore intensely into him. The Selkie pants, his grip unwavering on his coat.

“Hey!” cries Henrik, a little alarmed. “What are you doing?”

“My coat,” whispers the Selkie, something desperate and terrified in his deep eyes. “Please, did I leave it here? Please, can’t I have it? I have to, I have to, I - ”

“Oh, alright,” sighs Henrik, finally shoving his hands off. “Yes, I suppose that must have been scary to lose. You seemed distracted.”

“You do have it,” sobs the Selkie. “Oh, fuck. Please, I’ll give you anything you want to have it back! I can pay you a lot of money!”

“Calm down, man.” Henrik shakes his head at him. “You are freaking the good doctor out. I don’t want your coat. You can have it back. Here.”

He steps over to the wall of the clinic and picks up the backpack, bringing it back towards the Selkie. He takes it from him with shaking hands and pulls the zipper open, finding the coat inside. Tears run down his face as he reaches in to trace his fingers over the smooth, familiar surface of his own skin.

“I’m sorry you were so freaked out,” says Henrik. “You should have called me.”

“Oh,” says the Selkie, in a very small voice. “I had your number, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. Are you okay?”

But he’s just staring down at his coat, flushed and weeping, silent.

“Hey,” says Henrik, touched by concern. “Hey. It’s okay. You’ve got it now. Everything’s okay, right?”

The Selkie stares at his coat. There is a change happening in his face, but Henrik doesn’t recognize the emotion there - just the fact that his face is going from very white to enthusiastically red.

“Can you say something?” asks Henrik. “You are beginning to worry me. Perhaps you have caught your son’s - ”

A pair of hands wrap around his wrists and then Henrik is thrown back against the wall and pushed into a passionate kiss. He yelps in surprise against the warm mouth pressing into his lips, too startled to push back. The Selkie draws away for a moment to breathe and grips at Henrik’s hair, staring at him with eyes that Henrik would think were glazed in fever if he could feel any heat coming off of him.

“Doc,” the Selkie half-groans, making embarrassment burn bright red against Henrik’s cheeks. “You gave it back to me.”

He leans forward to kiss him again and Henrik is glad to realize his brain is no longer crashing like a computer with a virus. Throwing a hand up to stop him, he yanks himself away from the Selkie, stumbling along the wall away from him.

“What the hell!” he cries, nearly tripping over one of the chairs. “You can’t just kiss someone!”

Distress floods down the Selkie’s face, his mouth flipping miserably and his eyes going wide with alarm. “Did I – I did something wrong?”

“You have to know it’s not normal to just start kissing someone.” Henrik scans those blank eyes a second time, beginning to be concerned. Is he having some kind of delusion? Is he drunk? “You said you’ve been living among humans since you were young. What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry,” chokes the Selkie. “I – I know I’m a screw-up, I didn’t mean to make you angry, please don’t make me do anything – ”

“Make you do something?”

“My head feels wrong,” cries the Selkie, and when he curls in on himself he does it so suddenly Henrik thinks he is collapsing. He rushes forward to help him, alarmed. “I didn’t think it could be this strong!”

“What? What is it?” demands Henrik, taking his face between his hands and pulling his gaze up. “What did you take? What are you on?”

“My coat,” breathes the Selkie, his eyes going soft again as Henrik draws his gaze back to his face. “You gave it back to me...”

He surges forward for another kiss and Henrik yelps, shoving his face away. The Selkie makes a squawking noise that would be pretty damn funny in just about any other situation and goes crashing back onto his ass, distress tearing up his freckled face. He stares up at Henrik with enormous eyes dark as the universe, tears welling up in his thick eyelashes.

“Oh, no, oh, no,” he cries, grabbing his own shoulders. “I didn’t mean to make you mad. Please don’t make me do anything. I can be good for you. I want to.”

This is officially too much. Something is wrong, and if Henrik’s luck holds - and it always does - the sense he’s getting that this is because of some magical bullshit will ring true.

“You’re not on drugs, are you?” he asks. “Or drunk. This is something else.”

The Selkie clutches the soft fur of his coat to his chest and sobs, rocking himself back and forth on the floor of the clinic. “Please, I have children, I only just recently got divorced, I don’t want to do anything...”

“You... you don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I won’t make you. Calm down.”

Henrik sinks slowly down to the floor in front of him, giving him some space and trying to look non-threatening, his hands held gently out in front of him. He lets out a shaky sigh, still feeling unnerved. “Just, uh. Don’t try to kiss me again,” he laughs nervously.

“You look so perfect right now, though,” cries the Selkie, hiding his face from him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this attracted to a person, not even Stacy. I thought this was just a myth. I didn’t think it would feel like this.”

Henrik’s face flames with embarrassment. He tugs at his collar, looking anywhere but at the Selkie, trying to think of anything to say.

“Look - just - stay here for a second. I’m going to give my friends a quick call. They’ll help us figure this out, okay?”

“They won’t hurt me either, will they?”

“Hurt you? No, no, never. They like to help people like you.”

“Cause I’m vulnerable right now, man, I’m - ” The Selkie’s voice shatters and he shakes, wrapping his arms tighter around himself. “I think I’d do anything you asked me to.”

“I’ll just give them a quick call. They’re very trustworthy. They saved me too, when I was vulnerable. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” he says in a small voice.

Henrik slips into his office on feet that are tingling as though he’d just looked off the side of a very tall building. He’s pulling the door tightly shut and yanking out his phone to find Jackie’s number before he’s even given himself a second to breathe, all but slamming the phone to his ear and collapsing into his rolling chair.

“Hullo?”

“Jackie!” he yelps, squeezing the phone to his face. “Hilf mir!”

He knows Jackie has leapt up because he hears him swear as he slams his knee into the coffee table like he always does and, subsequently, Marvin’s laughter in the background. “Okay, I’m coming, I’m coming! What’s wrong, are you hurt? Marv, get up, let’s go!”

“No, no, it’s not that. There’s a Selkie here and I think he’s been cursed to fall in love with me! Can I bring him to the house?”

There’s a long pause on the other end.

Then Jackie is laughing at him.

“Hey!” shrieks Henrik, spinning around in his chair, his anxious feet pedaling him around and around. “It’s not funny!”

“Marv, some guy is hitting on Schneep and his dumb ace ass doesn’t know how to handle it, hahaha.”

“Jackie!”

“You’re so funny, Schneep, I bet you’re red as a tomato.”

“Shut up! Jackie - well, maybe I’m red, but listen! Something’s really, really wrong with him. For real, I mean. He keeps saying how into me he is but he’s terrified of me at the same time - shaking and holding himself. He keeps talking about his coat. I think something’s really wrong.”

There’s a pause on Jackie’s end as Marvin and Jackie confer. A moment later, the phone is passed to Marvin.

“Hi, rabbit’s foot. Is the Selkie hurt?”

“I don’t think so. Just acting really weird.”

“Best be gentle with him, Henrik. Endangered species.”

“I know. I’ve never met one before. I don’t know what else to do.”

“Most Selkie are very social. They live in big clans with normal seals mixed in and many don’t mix with humans anymore. I’ve been to a couple families and they’re the friendliest, most open you’ve ever met. Maybe he just doesn’t understand how to flirt with you?”

“No, Marv, this isn’t that. He’s lived with humans for years. And even if he hadn’t... something’s wrong. Are love potions real?”

“Uh, not sure! Jackie? He doesn’t know either. Okay, clover, better bring him back to the house.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll be home in fifteen, alright?”

“Henrik, if he tries to touch you and you don’t want him to, use force, alright? Even if he’s cursed he doesn’t get to take advantage of you.”

“Right.” Henrik feels some of the red drain from his face. “Yes. No one takes anything from me I don’t want to give anymore.”

“Love you!” says Marvin cheerily. “See you soon! Humans are so funny when they blush. Like, that’s not where all that blood’s supposed to be, silly! I - ”

Henrik hangs up on him before he can really get to ranting. He puts his phone down on his lap and takes a deep breath. He gets up. He can do this.

He opens his door and comes face-to-face with the Selkie.

“Sorry!” he squeaks, backing away from Henrik and darting back towards the clinic. “I got nervous when I couldn’t see you, I’m sorry.”

He’s all wrapped up in his coat, his soft brown hair curling out of a fluffy hood, his eyes huge and dark in its shadows and his arms wrapping it around himself like a blanket. Henrik’s discomfort is briefly halted by his ravenous curiosity.

“You are wearing the coat, but are not a seal?”

“Oh, no.” He glances down at himself. “I have to be in living water.”

“How biblical.”

“Is it?”

“Sure. Jeremiah. Zechariah.”

“I just mean moving water, I suppose. We call it living. Salt water, preferably. But I haven’t been in that for a long while.”

“The ocean is so close. You don’t swim?”

The Selkie shakes his head, staring down at the floor, and something hot and aching flashes through his ink eyes. “Not for me.”

Henrik purses his mouth, looking at him. He cuts a miserable image, shaking and wrapped up in his furs, his face red and scared, but damn if he doesn’t look sweet too. Henrik sighs and reaches out a hand.

“Let me take you to my friends,” he says. “They’ll be able to help.”

The Selkie looks up in astonishment, mouth parting. Tentatively, he reaches out and wraps his fingers around Henrik’s. The touch seems to soothe him, though his eyes water.

“Really?”

“Yes, of course. We’ll figure this out together, alright?”

“Wow,” croaks the Selkie, his voice breaking. “You’re so nice. Wow. I’m lucky it was someone like you, Doctor.”

The raw admiration makes Henrik fumble with his keys as he locks the door to the clinic behind him, pulling the Selkie along with him.

“It’s Schneep,” he says, leading him towards the bus stop.

“What?”

“My name. Everyone calls me Schneep. Henrik if you really want to get my attention.”

The Selkie stares across at him, turning the name over in his head. “Henrik... wow.”

“Please, don’t sound so in awe of me. This is terribly strange.”

“I’m sorry this is happening,” says the Selkie, turning away again. The moonlight makes his coat glow sleek and shining in the night. “Guess in the storybooks I’m meant to be a girl anyway.”

“I’m not much interested either way, thank you. What’s your name?”

His pale mouth parts. His dark eyes flicker. He stares out at the asphalt, gripping Henrik’s hand tightly in his own.

“Just call me Chase,” he says. “The rest doesn’t much matter.”

They wait for the bus in silence, questions waiting in the air between them. When they get on the bus, Chase puts his head down on Henrik’s shoulder, and Henrik does not stop him.

.

That’s all for now but I’ll write more if I feel like it :) basically this turned into an introduction for how they met. The rest of the story would be Chase and Henrik both getting along really well and Henrik protecting him and taking care of him while he’s in this sort of dazed state. Ultimately, Stacy would tell them the attraction was supposed to wear off days ago. That makes Chase realize that he isn’t romantically attracted to Henrik anymore - he’s just been really lonely and feels like he’s part of a family again around Henrik and Jackie and Marvin and he didn’t want to leave them. He thought he was just feeling that way because Henrik stole his coat accidentally. Henrik confesses he likes being around Chase a lot too.

#mythology au #selkie chase #bee writes

[casualhottubnacho]

an excerpt from a chatfic i'm writing

Twitter

Hammer and Dickle {√}

@USSR

@Japan 3 am, 7/11 parking lot, boring, oregon, usa, bring your battle axe and a box of matches, be fully prepared to meet god face-to-face.

Viewing Comments:

neeneepapa @oksweaty

@USSR the owner of this account: *brandon rogers voice* Donovan! Meet me on my island at 5 O'clock. Pack my battleaxe and my poetry and be prepared to abandon your religion.

ugh @lordie

@USSR okay but why tf did they pick boring oregon of all places.

sit on my face @lickmybaugette

@USSR vibe check

Furry @Japan

@USSR why do i need matches. also if ur not actually there and i just spent money on a plane ticket i stg im gonna break your teeth

[Image: A crisp picture of the clouds and deep twilight sky outside of a plane window.]

│

│ Hammer and Dickle @USSR

│@Japan you need matches because we're going to set our weapons on fire like civilized people. im bringing the gasoline. meri is gonna spectate. also.

[Image: A slightly blurry image- The photographer was clearly laughing- of a man in a heavy winter coat squatting underneath a "Welcome to Boring, Oregon" sign. His skin is bright red, and an eyepatch with a hammer and sickle is over his right eye. His hand is below his waist, making an "Okay" sign.]

│

│ Furry @Japan

│@USSR I don't trust him to spectate. he'll probably be biased towards you, smh.

│

│ Homosexual Homosapien @America

│@Japan girl no. beat his ass please and thank u.

Furry {√}

@Japan

they didn't let me bring my battleaxe on the plane smh. anyone know of any... like... battle axe stores in oregon,,, or,,,,

Viewing Comments

errebody @rockyobody

@Japan i gotchu fam. there's a store in kelso (near boring) that sells antique weapons and junk. im sure there's a battle axe in there somewhere

│

│ Furry @Japan

│@rockyobody there better be. im coming for you if there isnt

│

│ errebody @rockyobody

│@Japan gay fear

Someone Please Snipe Me {√}

@Germany

In honor of my friend @Japan going to fight one of my least favorite people in the world, I have opted to pressure her into live-streaming her Totally Radical Super Cool™ Fight on Twitch. Uhhhh here's a link I guess: Link

Viewing Comments

Furry @Japan

@Germany "pressure" is right. little rat said he'd send his boyfriend after me if i didn't do what i wanted. i would like to keep my ankles, so i complied.

│

│ Kurwa @Poland

│@Japan I hate you too boo xoxo

Furry {√}

@Japan

insert funny text here

[Images: The first image is of the "Welcome to Boring, Oregon" sign. The second image is off a pair of black sneakers kicking a pair of footprints in the dirt underneath the sign. The third image is of a woman in a full black outfit -Black shoes, black jeans, black hoodie, and black beanie- sitting on the ground in the same spot where the man from earlier was. Both middle fingers are straight up, though there is a wide grin on her face.]

~~~~~~~~~

[A Twitch stream comes to life. On the screen, a pair of black-sneaker-covered feet is quickly striding down a paved road. "Kon'nichiwa," A high-pitched voice begins, "And welcome to... Hell." The camera flicks upwards sharply, showing a neon-lit 7/11 gas station, sharply outlined against the pitch-black night sky. There are only two cars in the parking lot. One is a dirty red convertible Jeep in the employee's area; The other is a nondescript black car with the headlights still on and the engine still running.

The camera flips views. We're now met with a worm's-eye view of a snowy white face with a single red circle in the center. Bright yellow eyes sparkle with mirth as the woman fights back a grin. "So, for anyone who isn't aware, here's a summary of what's about to go down. My name is Japan, I'm an anthropomorphic country, and I'm about to absolutely destroy one of my fellow nations. Well, he's not a nation anymore, but still. He called me a name in the group chat, so I called him Old Man, so he took the obvious route and challenged me to a duel in a 7/11 parking lot. Ya'know, like you do."

Japan shakes her head and giggles. "Also, thank you oh so very much, Twitter user "rockyobody", for informing me of the antique weaponry shop in Kelso. They did indeed carry battle-axes." To punctuate her statement, Japan reaches over her shoulder and lifts the weapon attached to her back out of its holder by a few inches. "I have dubbed my newfound traveling companion Jerry, and he will take many a life in his time on this Earth."

A new voice cuts through the autumn air, strong and deep. "Did you bring the matches, девочка?" They demand. Japan changes the camera once again. Leaning against the black car are two men- One is short and chunky, with round cheeks and long, fluffy hair. 7 red stripes and 6 white, broken only by a square of blue dotted with stars, are emblazed on his face. A white hoodie with the words Designated Peacekeeper is quickly thrown onto him when he sees Japan approach. He flashes her a smile and raises one hand in a wave.

The other man is incredibly tall, almost unnaturally so. A long, military green winter coat hangs loosely from his body- It obviously used to fit him a lot better, maybe when he was wider, or more muscular. His face is scarred and weather-beaten, a leather eyepatch over his right eye. A hammer and sickle, golden and gleaming, sits neatly in the center of the leather. A fluffy brown ushanka is slightly lopsided on his head.

"Well?" He questions. He was the one who spoke before; A harsh accent cuts through his words.

Japan responds by raising a small box of matches in front of the camera. "I gotch'yo damn matches, 老人." She snarks back. The taller man raises a single eyebrow and pushes himself off of the car. "'Meri, pop the trunk," He demands. 'Meri', looking taken aback, steps away from the car and crosses his arm. "Do it'cha self, ya lazy bastard."

Despite the insults, his companion gives him a warm smile and slips around the back of the car. Japan joins them in the parking lot before he comes back around. "So, Ame, he really managed to rope you into moderating this?" She gestures to his hoodie. He chuckles light-heartedly and nods. "Yeah. You wouldn't believe the things he told me when I originally declined."

Japan snorts. "I can believe a lot of things, America."

"At first it was the regular bouts of loving insults, but then it dissolved into really weird nicknames."

"Like?"

"Like 'My little biscuit and gravy'."

"...What?"

America just laughs and waves away the question. "What's taking you so long, sugah?" He drawls, twisting at an odd angle to lean back and glance at the trunk of the car. There's a moment of silence before the man he's addressing mutters, "My... weapon... maybe a bit stuck."

Japan and America both giggle to each other for a few heartbeats before America cooes, "Does this mean we're going home, dear?" The slightly angry response is immediate. "Absolutely not, дорогой," The man spits, appearing at Japan's shoulder. "'Proper edicit', as you so often say, dictates that, as the man who called for the duel, I am not allowed to back out, even if my sword is stuck in the trunk."

"You made me bring a whole fuckin' axe when you get a sword? Sov, my good man, you are an ass."

'Sov' chortles and pats Japan on the head. "Such is life, девочка. You would have an unfair advantage if I let you bring what you wanted. You have no experience with a battle-axe; I have no experience with a sword. It is therefore a fair fight." He ruffles her hair a bit before turning back to America. "In all seriousness, the sword is probably tearing up the fabric on the inside of your trunk." He announces. America swears in a few different languages as he sprints to the other end of his car.

There's a small chime as the door to the 7/11 opens. A pimple-faced teenager peeks his head out. "Hey, uhm- I have no idea what's happening right now, but, uh... I don't think you guys are allowed to have weapons on the property." He nods towards America, who's struggling to rip the sword of out the spot where it's lodged itself in his trunk.

Japan quirks a brow and crosses her arms. Her phone goes a bit lopsided as she does so. "Oh?" Is all she says. She could possibly look intimidating, but the effect, evidently, isn't very strong, as the teen gives her an unamused look. "Yeah. I could possibly over-look that fact if you guys were to, like... scare away any customers who try to approach for a little bit, though..." He trails off and slips back inside the store. Japan scoffs. "Rude."

There's a loud yell of "Fuck!" from the next to where America should be- He's currently on the ground, a sword in his lap. "You're paying for the repairs to my poor car," He snaps, gesturing to the bits of fabric stuck to the sword's blade. Sov's face softens a bit. "I was planning on doing just that," He remarks, moving to help America to his feet. The Westerner blows a bit of hair out of his face once he's on his feet. "This had better be worth it."

"Oh, it will be," Sov says, the steely look returning to him. He picks up the blade clumsily and holds it with clear inexperience. America sighs softly and squeezes his eyes shut for just a moment. "God, this is gonna be hard to watch. You can't even hold the sword right." 

Sov looks confused. "There's a wrong way to hold a sword?"

"There's a wrong way to do everything, hon."

Japan grins with a sickly-sweetness and sets her phone onto a newspaper box, positioning it to take in the whole parking lot. She steps onto the far right, Sov standing opposite her on the other side. America scurries over to in-between the gas pumps, a chunk of fabric tied to a stick clutched in his hand. "Alright, I want to see a fuckin' dirty fight," He begins, looking first at Japan, then at Sov. "Frickin' bite each other if you have to. I want to see some blood. Japan, you marked your stream as mature, right?"

"Uh..."

"Dumbass, go do that."

Japan reluctantly complies, marching over to her phone. "Alright, I'm gonna stop the stream and start up a new one marked mature. If you want to watch the actual fight, you'll need to go to that one. See you in a few seconds, lads."

The stream ends]

[A new stream opens up on the parking lot again. Japan is back in her original spot, standing rather cockily, her arms crossed behind her back, her spine straight, slightly tip-toed. America clears his throat. "Alright, like I said earlier- Dirty fight. Nothing is illegal, aside from injuring anyone or anything that isn't your opponent. That includes me, the 7/11 worker, an animal that passes by, a gas pump, a tire on a car, anything."

"Fighters, get ready."

Japan suddenly smirks and slips the battle-axe into her hands with ease. "It was bold of you to assume I had no experience with a battle-axe before, Sov." She comments, getting into an offensive stance. Sov goes slack for a moment before resuming his own way of standing with renewed vigor. "...This is fine," He mutters distractedly. Japan's grin only widens.

"And... Go!"

America flicks his flag down, and the fight begins. Japan shoots forward first, swinging in a downward slope towards Sov's legs. Sov jumps backward and jolts his arms into action, barely managing to block Japan's next move. He starts to loudly swear to himself as he continued to struggle to go on the defensive, cursing himself, the ground, the sky, Japan, and even America. "Сукин сын!" He yelps as Japan spins on her heel, around him, and cuts through the fabric of his coat, through to his thigh. The green starts to turn red as the wound begins to bleed.

Sov just shrugs off the coat and tosses it aside. Underneath, he's wearing a black turtleneck and dark grey jeans, as well as black leather boots that stop just below his knees. America lets out a low whistle.

Japan laughs a bit and starts to jog backwards, towards her original spot. "Bad move, 老人," She snarks. Sov growls a bit and bolts after her. She slips past each of his swings like sand through someone's fingers, leading him in a circle before booking it back towards America's car. The Westerner yelps in fear for his vehicle, but Japan emerges from behind it not a moment later, a jug of gasoline in her hands. She runs away from the parking lot and out into the darkness.

"Мошенника!" Sov yells, coming to a stop. He stands there for a moment, panting, before a bright flash from the opposite end of the parking lot has him spinning and raising his sword in defense. Japan appears in the black, her weapon now (quite literally) dripping with flames as she spits on a match and puts it out. "Let's get this party started," She hisses, hefting her axe. The flaming gasoline seems to not affect her as she grips the blazing handle and charges at Sov.

Her opponent stumbles in an attempt to get away, cursing in an odd mix of English, Russian, and, occasionally, Chinese, almost dropping his weapon with how quickly he's attempting to block her attacks.

"Y'know," Japan chokes out, beads of sweat running down her skin, causing her hair to stick to the back of her neck, "I'm glad I put my phone on silent beforehand. If- If it was on vibrate, I can imagine it would have vibrated off of the stand by now."She finishes her sentence with a grunt and her axe makes contact with Sov's arm, causing the man to let out a small noise of pain. Japan wretches herself back, tripping over her own feet from the weight of the weapon. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Sov mutters, clutching at his arm in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Japan smirks. "Had enough?"

"You wish, Potter," America chuckles to himself.

"What is this, a porno?" Sov spits.

Japan starts to giggle as she momentarily drops her axe. "God, this is tiring, I haven't fought anyone in a while."

Sov makes an attempt to lift his sword, but gasps as his wounded arm seizes up. "Shit, Japan- Okay. We're both tired. I'm bleeding out of my ass and my arm. Are- Will you hold it against me if I... Surrender, I suppose? I'm far too old and sick for this."

Japan stands in silence for a few seconds before sighing heavily and nodding. She plops down onto the ground rather suddenly, squeezing her eyes shut. "I won't hold it against you."

"Good," Sov grunts, sitting down as well. America pauses before letting out a long, dramatic groan and waving his flag. "Fight's over, I suppose," He whines, marching over to Sov. "That was anti-climactic as balls," He mutters as soon as he's close enough to his friend. Sov nods distractedly. "Indeed it was. Be glad she didn't kill me- Then you'd have to explain a dead body to the poor boy in the store."

"Oh yeah. I forgot about him."

"Hah, same."

The rest of the stream passes in relative silence as Japan sits on the pavement to rest. America is bandaging Sov's arm, muttering insults as well as cutesy nicknames as he does so. After around ten or so minutes of mostly nothing, Japan slides her gaze over to her phone, makes a small noise of surprise, hauls herself to her feet, strides over, and ends the stream.]

#countryhumans #countryhuman #countryhumans america #countryhumans japan #countryhumans ussr #countryhumans germany #(but only briefly) #countryhuman america #countryhuman japan #countryhuman ussr #writing #my writing #my stuff #the whole chatfic is on both wattpad and a03 (i have the sam username on both)

[brittywritesstuff]

what have i done with my heart on the floor

Warnings: Language, angst, vague mention(ish) of sex

Fandom: Supernatural (Dean x Cas)

Word Count: 1455

Summary: Litost [Lee-toast]: “a state of torment created by the sudden sight of one’s own misery.”

Author’s Note: Y’all, it’s been A MINUTE since I’ve written DeanCas.  Since I’ve written any fanfic, really.  I’m sorry -- I’ve been buried in furiously working on original content.  I know I’m rusty, but I was inspired to brush off this fic I started after 14x12.  Please enjoy.  [also, @deanmonsandangels I love you boo, thanks for being my cheerleader]

Read On AO3

Swallow my soul, dragging me down. And there’s blood on the covers from the curses we utter to each other, you played your part… and this love like a hole swallow my soul, dragging me down and I swear I’d stay with you but I just can’t forgive you and I’ll never be whole again...

Let’s go home. It’s a loaded statement. It always is with Dean. He knows it, Sam knows it, and Cas sure as hell knows it. When Dean glances in the rearview mirror and meets Cas’s eyes, there’s a silent understanding. To each other, the other is home. There’s an anger in Cas’s gaze, muddled behind pain and fear and love. Anger that Dean would so readily leave him behind. Again. But that’s the way of their relationship, isn’t it? Ten years of this vicious cycle. Self-hatred… unending loyalty… and crushing, soul-deep love. It’s the signature song and dance of Dean and Cas.

If Sam notices the looks, he doesn’t say anything. For that, Dean is grateful.

The squeaking of the Impala’s doors closing echoes through the garage, and Dean sighs heavily. He feels Cas’s eyes on him, even as he looks up at Sam, who’s watching him carefully. Like he’s afraid as soon as he turns his back, Dean’s going to take off again. “I’m good,” he says, holding up a hand. “We’re good.”

Sam thinks on it a moment, then nods with a tight-lipped smile. Dean can see the sadness and fear etched into the tired lines of his face, and he feels the weight of sadness. He wishes he could take that away. He wishes his little brother hadn’t been dealt such a shit hand in life. But this is it. This is their life, and there’s no way around it.

“Okay,” Sam says. “Okay. But, uh, I’m beat. So…”

“Go.” Dean nods toward the stairs. “I’m fine. I’m not goin’ anywhere.” He watches as Sam hesitates, then finally retreats with his bag slung over his shoulder. Dean grabs his own and heads for the stairs, Cas on his heels. He drops it on his bed as Cas closes the door, and Dean exhales slowly. He doesn’t turn to look at the angel; he’s not sure he wants to face that disappointment head-on.

“Dean…”

“Cas, I’m sorry.” His voice is strained and soft in the quiet solitude of his bedroom. Cas doesn’t speak, nor does Dean turn around. He hears rustling behind him, and feels Cas as he moves closer.

“Dean, look at me.”

Cas’s hand settles on his shoulder, and Dean swallows. Finally, he turns to meet Cas’s eyes. The angel’s jackets are draped over the back of Dean’s desk chair, and that perpetually crooked blue tie hangs loose against the bright white shirt. It’s moments like this; moments of casual intimacy that makes Dean’s heart ache with love. Cas doesn’t let his guard down like this for anyone but Dean. It’s too much, and Dean breaks, sinking to the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do, Cas. I don’t… I promised Sammy. I promised you—“

Cas’s hands settle on his wrists, and he drops his hands to find Cas knelt in front of him. “Dean, look at me.” Cas’s hands find his face, his thumbs brushing his cheeks. “It’s alright. It will be alright. We will find a way. Together. I won’t-- I can’t lose you. You mean too much to me.”

“Ain’t no way outta this one, Cas.”

His words seem to spark a fierce resolve in Cas, and the muscle in Cas’s jaw twitches. “Yes, there is. There always is. I believed it years ago, and I believe it now.”

Dean licks his lips and sucks in a breath, leaning forward as Cas presses their foreheads together. “Why?” he gasps, holding back tears.

“You are worth it, Dean Winchester.” Cas’s breath is warm on his face; his fingers buried in his hair. “I didn’t simply save you because God commanded it. I saved you because I saw your soul. I saw its worth. I saw you.” The words take Dean’s breath away, and the tears break free, rolling down his cheeks. Cas’s thumbs brush them away as he grasps Dean’s face. “I always see you.”

Dean can’t find words. He’s never been good with words, and now, especially… he finds none. He isn’t worth of this, he thinks. He isn’t worthy of an angel’s love, let alone this angel’s love. Cas always sees Dean, always loves him, but how has Dean repaid him over the years? By kicking him out when Cas needed him most. By not realizing Lucifer had possessed him. By letting his own blind anger get in the way when it truly mattered. By often-misguided rage he never knew how to control. “I’m not, Cas,” he cries. He sniffs and breaths in deep. “I’m not worth it. I’m not worth any of this. You shoulda let me go. You ‘n’ Sammy, you shoulda just--”

Cas tightens his grip on Dean’s face and forces him to look up. “Listen to me, Dean. I will never let go of you. For as long as I exist, I will never let go of you. You mean more to me than anything ever has. Don’t you see that? I love you, Dean. You cannot ask me to let you go. That’s not fair.”

“This isn’t fair, Cas. None of this is fair.” Dean works himself out of Cas’s grip and steps away, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Don’t you see?” he shouts, doing little to stop the tears now freely streaming. “I destroy everything, Cas! Everyone I’ve ever fuckin’ loved… I destroy them.” He jabbed a hand in Cas’s direction. “That—that angel, whatever the fuck her name was, she was right! The moment you laid your fuckin’ hand on me, Cas, you were lost! I’ve never been good for you!” He drops his head, practically sobbing.

Cas advances on him, and Dean stumbles back against his dresser. “You and I both have blood on our hands. Often we spill each other’s. We have both done unspeakable things. But Hester was wrong, Dean. The moment my hand touched you, I was not lost. I was found.”

“Cas—“

“I am here by your side until the end of time. I will stay with you, no matter what you choose to believe about yourself. If you left, if you chose to die for the sake of sacrifice, I would never be whole again, Dean. You are what makes me whole.”

Though Cas’s face is mere millimeters from his own, Dean can hardly see through his tears. His heart aches, and his stomach is in knots. He simultaneously wants to end it all and wants to hold Cas in his arms and never let go. He settles for kissing him. It’s hard and heated and sloppy, but it’s everything he wants in the moment.

His movements are heavy-handed and a little too forceful, but they fall into bed mostly unclothed, and desperately rid themselves of the rest. They move together until they break, and after, as the sweat dries on their skin, Dean’s sheet haphazardly tossed over their waists, Dean stares at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the cement. “I don’t believe you,” he breathes.

Beside him, he hears Cas shift. The bed dips, and he feels Cas’s hair brush his arm. Turning his head, he finds Cas perched on his elbow, watching him intently. “What do you mean?”

Dean licks his lips, tasting Cas and the salt of his own sweat. He’s silent for a moment, and he shifts to settle a hand behind his head. “That I’m worth it. That you’re better off with me. I’m like a pit, Cas. And lovin’ me… it just swallows people whole and drags ‘em down.” He sniffs as tears well in his eyes again, and he can’t bring himself to look away from Cas’s beautiful face, illuminated only by the soft light of the lamp on Dean’s desk.

“Dean.” Cas’s voice is rougher than usual. Dean can hear it. Hell, he can practically feel it. It’s wavering and full of emotion. And Christ, it breaks Dean’s heart. “I’ve been in a pit. The pit. For you. I dragged you out of it. If loving you puts me there again, then so be it. That’s where I’ll remain. I would lay siege on Hell again and again for the remainder of my existence because even the briefest glimpses of this love… it’s worth it. Because loving you — being loved by you, Dean Winchester will be , and always has been, worth more than Heaven, Hell, and all of the cosmos.”

#destiel #deancas #destiel angst #deancas angst #supernatural #dean x castiel #Dean and Castiel #spn #otp: i need you #otp: a more profound bond #s14e12 #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #destiel fic #deancas fic #my writing #britty writes stuff

[totallytubulargirl]

Aversion (Donatello X Reader)

Rating: R for rusty crusty and dusty (lmao also for the sex)

Universe: 2016

Who: Donatello x Reader (oneshot)

Age of the TMNT: 19

Authors note: Hi! I have lots of stuff done but have been feeling really insecure about my writing so I haven’t posted any of it, sorry ! This was steamy to write also thanks to everyone in the discord chat for taking a look at the rough draft :P You can DM me for an invite link! Also I’m messing with the text to see if it adds to the reading experience, let me know (:

Summary: You seek refuge from the heat above ground but find the same heat between you and Donatello underground. He’s afraid to hurt you but wants to make love to you so badly, how will you relieve the tension?

It was a hot summer day, the ground was sticky and the earth seemed to be radiating heat from the skies and beneath the dirt. The city was the meat in between, compressed into a heat sandwich. [Y/N] hated to be out and about in the concrete jungle that was New York City with this kind of weather but she was seeking refuge, where she knew it might be cooler. She walked into an almost empty alley, skirt still against her thighs as sweat beaded down her neck onto her chest. She panted heavily as she removed the heavy metal plate that lay on top of the manholes. An old man stood at the back door of his small apartment watching the girl climb into the sewers, but it was too hot for him to care and too bizarre a sight for him to even know if it was real, or just an illusion that came and went with the heat. She climbed down the damp steel ladder, and almost immediately felt better. There was a light next to her, but the rest of the sewer was cold and dark. A good sign; usually lights meant sewer maintenance people with questions. She ignored the awful smell and stood a moment to catch her breath. Her lungs filled with the cool air and she felt better. She stood on a platform, looking around, just above the running stream of gross things. God I hate the dark, she thought.

“Boo!” Yelled Michelangelo, pouncing on her from the shadows. She screamed, punching his chest in self-defense, before she knew what she was doing.

“Ow!” She yelped. His plastron felt like rock and her small knuckles were no match.

“Are you ok!?” He covered his mouth with both hands, a little out of shock but mostly so he wouldn’t laugh out loud at her misery. She rubbed her knuckles and whimpered, although her ego was more bruised then her hand.

“Mikey!” She scolded, “what are you doing here?” He giggled a little before composing himself.

“I was riding my skateboard down here when I saw someone coming down,” he explained. “Sorry.” She smacked his arm lightly and he lost his composure, breaking into laughter once again,

“Oh whatever, you are not sorry,” another whimper escaped her thin lips. Michelangelo was still stifling laughter.

“Let me walk you to our place to make up for it,” he grinned. She intertwined her arm with his,

“Well it would only be fair,” she looked at him content in making him suffer by taking the long walk back. He slid his skateboard onto his shell, clicking on a light attached to his side, so they could see where they were going.

“So is it getting hot up there?” He casually asked.

“Unbearable,” she gasped, grateful to be underground where the air didn’t seem as thick.

“I’ve heard things are getting pretty hot down here too,” Mikey teased and she rolled her eyes. She knew he was referring to her and Donatello. She was glad for the darkness lest Mikey see her cheeks giving away her embarrassment.

“I mean hot enough,” she bit her lip nervously. It wasn’t that there wasn’t anything going on. “I know we’ve been dating forever,” she sighed, unable to explain it to Mikey. “But it’s really not like that.”

“Why not?” Mikey asked, kicking rocks at his feet as they walked, not really paying attention. She took a deep breath in preparation of the emotionally exhausting mess she was about to dump on Michelangelo.

“It’s not like we haven’t done stuff,” she looked down at her flip flops scraping against the damp cement in the dim light of the sewer. “We do lots of stuff,” she sighed hesitantly. “Just not it.”

“Oh, I know,” Mikey giggled, focusing on his rocks. “Donatello talks about it all the time,” he glanced at her for a second before losing focus again. “Trust me, he really wants to do it,” he said bluntly. Michelangelo was never one to keep secrets. She blushed but needed to know more. [Y/N] could hear her own heart pulsating loudly in her ears, she wondered if Mikey could hear it.

“I’m the one who keeps-“ she cut herself off before looking around, hoping no one else even had the chance of hearing her. “I’m basically begging him to sleep with me at this point,” she whispered. Mikey burst out laughing. “You’re rude!” She let go of his arm and smacked it.

“No,” he stopped, bending over to laugh. “I just-“ he wiped a tear from his eye. “You beg Donnie for sex?” He questioned her. She felt so embarrassed, hating to repeat it,

“Yeah so?”

“The thought of you begging anyone is ridiculous,” he couldn’t help it. “But especially Donnie?” He wiped a tear from his eye. “He’s such a dork!” He exclaimed, “I would betray my brother and have sex with you right now,” he chuckled, “and I still think it would be worth it.” She laughed, knowing that he was just trying to cheer her up.

“He’s just afraid of hurting me,” she said as politely as she could. Donatello was afraid that he would be too eager too soon, that she would never be able to handle a being of his size, and he would never be able to control himself. Mikey laughed some more,

“You should see Raphael!” She laughed, knowing that Mikey was just trying to get her to smile, or was he? She shook the thought from her head as they finally approached the entrance of the lair. “Listen,” he said, with steady eyes. “I know Donnie can be weird but you should remember,” Mikey crouched down and finally picked up the rocks he had been kicking down the sewer the whole way home. He suddenly took on Master Splinter's accent, “In matters of style, swim with the current,” he let a couple of stones go with the stream that ran at her feet. “But in matters of principle, stand like a rock.” He placed the heaviest rock in the water and she watched the stream run over it, but it sat, unwavering.

“Damn, Michelangelo!” She exclaimed, impressed with the wisdom he was able to convey. He laughed, suddenly himself again.

”Wait, what just happened?” He pointed to the inside of their home before she could say anything else, “pizza?”

“Actually,” she walked in, seeing Raphael and Leonardo sitting at the table right away. “Hi guys, I’m just going to go see Donatello.” She waved to the three boys and walked towards his lab, where she assumed he would be. She could feel her heartbeat speeding up and her toes instinctively curl in her shoes and she stopped in her tracks. What would she even say to him? She wanted him, she wanted him so bad she could practically jump out of the clothes she was standing in. She took a deep breath in order to slow her heartbeat down. She didn’t know what she would do or say when she saw him, all she was sure of was what she wanted from him. She forced open the rusted door that seperated Donatello from the world, the one that always kept him in his lab for so long. [Y/N] could hear soft muffles coming from somewhere in the darkened room. She stepped in as Donatello fumbled off of his chair, things crashing onto the floor around him, “Donnie!” She reached for him but he stood up, his shell turned to her. The door shut behind her and a table lamp lit the room poorly.

“Uh- I didn’t-” she could see him buttoning up his pants up and looked to his screen only to see a picture she had sent him of her in the bath earlier in the week.

“Donatello!” She exclaimed when she realized what he was doing. “This is crazy!” She approached him. He turned towards her, unable to make eye contact. “I’m here for you,” she blushed. “I can be what you want me to be.” She could feel tears burning behind her eyes but she refused to cry in front of him, especially because of this. She crossed her arms. Michelangelo was right, she shouldn’t have to beg anyone for anything.

“You’re everything i’ve ever wanted,” he said softly, still staring at the ground. “That’s the problem.” She took a step towards him.

“But Donnie,” she cooed. He knew what that voice mean as it had led to so many things before. He stepped back and fell onto his chair. She reluctantly sat on top of him, reaching into his already unbuttoned pants, gripping him at the base of his cock, and running her palms along his shaft. Her hands were damp but it came in handy. “I want you so bad.” He could feel the heat in her breath against his mouth. Donnie was afraid but he wanted her too,

“I want you too but-“ Donatello could almost fall for the hypnotizing way her hair swirled up and around his shoulder. He shook his head but even that wouldn’t clear away his thoughts, “I can’t,” he gasped as the tip of his cock poked through her hands again and again. “We can’t,” he balled his fists and his toes curled. “It’s a physical-” his head spun. “It’s a physical-“ She went for his neck dragging her tongue up his jawline as her hands went faster and faster,

“Please Donnie.” She whimpered and his heart swelled with need. She just wanted to try; he leaned back allowing her to spread her legs wide over his lap. Her pink skirt gave way against her thighs but her panties were stuck around her knees.

“Here let me just-” Donnie fidgeted with her panties before deciding it was ruining the mood and just ripped them off, “there.”

“Fuck.” She tried to hold back but she couldn’t help it.

“Sorry,” he feigned but could see the thrill in her eyes as she giggled slightly. Donatello softly took a hold of her chin, looking her in the eyes. “You’re sexy.” He smirked, driving her crazy all over again. She kissed him, slowly dropping herself onto his cock. She could feel his width at her opening and she could already tell he was way bigger than anyone she’d ever had before. With a slight buck of his hips, he broke her threshold.

“Oh fuck!” She couldn’t help it. She dug her nails into his firm biceps, grateful for the scaly armor that kept him from bleeding. His girth pulsed inside of her, pushing her to her limits, but it felt oh so good. She could feel his liquid against her walls, paving the way, melting like warm butter between them. She got halfway down his dick before she lifted herself up and down a few times for relief. She could feel Donnie tighten his grip around her,

“Am I hurting you?” He groaned, genuinely concerned but unable to put many coherent thoughts together. She bit her lip,

“No it feels-,” she let out a moan. “It feels really good.” She said, her face flush with desire. Donatello’s heart swelled with courage and he dared to push a little deeper into her, she slowed her hips down again and rolled into him, taking in all of him. She could feel a slight twang of pain but every other nerve in her body sang of ecstasy, “Don I think I’m gonna-” she raised her hips up and down again making him curse softly. “I’m going to orgasm Donnie.” She whined, trying to keep the rhythm of her hips slow but failing. He wrapped his large hands around her plump ass, grabbing a handful and helping her lift up and down faster and faster, “oh fuck.” She moaned, getting louder. Donatello could feel a warmth balling at the center of his body, “Shit!” She yelled as sweat melded the two into one, bodies entwined with each other and arms wrapped around one another. The heat she had been so desperate to escape manifested itself in her body. Donnie felt an explosion coming from within, as [Y/N] screamed her orgasm into the night. “OAH FUCK DONNNIIIIEE!”

He groaned as his eyes rolled into the back of his head, cum springing from him like a fountain into her warm pussy. He slipped out of her and she slumped against him, panting. She sat with, wrapped in his arms until their breathing matched in rhythm. [Y/N] closed her eyes, laying her head against his plastron as he played with her hair. She felt warm and safe in his arms,

“I love you Donnie.” She said quietly.

“I love you too, darling.”

#tmnt #tmnt donatello #donatello x reader #tmnt 2016 #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt donnie #tmnt mikey #tmnt fanfic #tmnt x reader

[btshodown]

Prey For Me

↳ “Having an addictive personality got you into a lot of trouble sometimes; from having alcohol poisoning to something simple like throwing yourself into new kdramas a little too aggressively. So bringing in a strange hybrid into your apartment to “help him” was no different. Only you had no idea what storm you just dragged yourself into. He was only supposed to stay the night.”

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Genre/Warnings: Sour candy that’s sweet in the inside, sprinkled with some crack. Hybrid AU, detailed mentions of violence and blood. Possible future smut in later chapters. Rating: PG13 Word Count: 6.5k

➭ Why must I do this to myself at 2 am...anyways yeah, this finally came out after months of contemplation. I was going to originally make it a giant one-shot, but I was exhausting myself with that goal so I’ve decided to just make it a mini series. Please let me know your thoughts! :)

The cadence of people cheering and betting surrounds you, tempting like a siren’s call to join in on the intoxication of gambling, but you resist with ardor. You were no fool and were well aware that if you gave into that lull, you would never see the light of day. Unfortunately for you, you had a very addictive personality and once something entered your life; your inhibitions got easily swept away with the roaring current.

I’m a good noodle; I’m a good noodle…

A quick yelp rips from your throat as suddenly the body of a sweaty, drunk man is pushed onto you; were it not for the strong grip on your waist appearing to pull you away, you would have no doubt you’d be pinned to the floor by the barely coherent man.

“Hey man, be careful!” your ears ring at the boisterous laughter surrounding you before the deep timbre of your companion’s voice enters your ears in a soft lilt of concern. “Y/N? You good?”

One blink, two, three blinks and the ringing in your ears slowly melts to allow your coherency to finally reemerge; along with your annoyance. “I’d be hell of a lot better if my ass was planted on that indent on the couch I made while watching Game of Thrones and stuffing my face with that leftover Pad Thai!”  

Taehyung releases his own soft yelp as your hand swipes at his bicep, your eyes pinning him with a glare only a disturbed homebody could give. Were it not for his damn conniving personality and honey coated lies about accompanying him to a “private” event he got invited to, you would have never left the safety of the blanket cocoon you had painstakingly buried yourself in. But you had stupidly gave in to his whining and pleading, managing to even feel pity for the devious bastard; well boo-boo the fool you, cause you got played.

The “private” event was code for “underground-illegal-hybrid-MMA-fighting”.

You had to admit to yourself that you were no hardcore hybrid supporter; you didn’t risk your safety to attend the protests on their rights or freedom, but that didn’t mean you enjoyed watching them suffer. Staying silent on the matter whenever it was brought into debates was your only sin.

“Oh come on, y/n, I already told you that I had no idea it was a hybrid MMA,” Taehyung ignores your petulant pout, not caring for his safety from your wrath as he slings a long arm around your shoulders; effectively maneuvering you toward some benches that faced the netted platform of the ring. To his benefit, he seemed like he was trying to reassure himself as well; Taehyung was more outspoken about his distaste on how hybrids were treated after all. “I know it might seem a bit…sketchy, but from what I just heard, the hybrids do this of their own free will. They don’t seem to be forced into it.”

A huff leaves you as both of you take a seat on the edge of the bench and quickly cross your arms in an effort to make yourself small to avoid anyone bumping into you. “And you believe them? When this whole thing is illegal?”        

Your companion only offers a sheepish half grin and small shrug of his shoulders as an answer; leaving you to roll your eyes and focus on the ring in front of you just as the lights dimmed around you. The cacophony of the audience rose to a higher decibel as the only lights shining were on the platform as the announcer walked into the fencing to begin the matches. While Taehyung kept looking on in a mixture of unease and concern for the hybrids fighting, you couldn’t stomach staring at the matches, so you opted to focus on the ground in front of you. Though that did nothing to stop your wincing every time you heard a particularly loud crack of fists or kicks followed by a grunt of pain; just how the hell was this voluntary? This was so much worse than boxing in your opinion; MMA fighting didn’t have gloves to cushion the aftershocks of their punching and kicking was also an added element that only caused more pain. This wasn’t even counting the fact that they weren’t completely human and therefore stronger physically; their hits were a lot more lethal.

Finally the last match was announced as you sadly watched them carry out what was supposed to be a Doberman hybrid, now bloody and bruised beyond recognition from the panther hybrid he was up against. Just how was that fair? They purposely pitted the poor male against an apex predator who obviously had greater strength and quicker reflexes; it didn’t take you long to realize the matches were fixed for those gambling. You were just glad that the last match was about to happen because you knew you couldn’t take much more of this; the whole scene caused revulsion to slowly churn in your belly.

“And finally the match you have all been anticipating!” The announcer looks a touch from smug as the crowd roars with excitement, your stomach clenching suddenly with apprehension. “Give it up to our reigning queen of MMA; Abaddon!”

Your mouth falls open slightly as the name itself prompted you to look up and you were met with a beautiful, tall woman with bright orange hair that she was nonchalantly wrapping up in a bun. Clad in only a sports bra and spandex shorts, her impressive muscles were out in proud display and it was easy to see just why she was called the queen, that wasn’t even mentioning how her aura exuded jaded confidence in a way only a tigress could. Her rounded ears atop her head barely twitched from the noise, no doubt accustomed to it, while her tail swayed in what seemed to be boredom; there was no misgiving that she rightfully earned the name Abaddon: a fallen angel of death whose name literally means “to destroy.” Just what poor soul was being pitted against her?

Once the crowd settled down, the announcer gained a gleam in his eyes as he continues on. “And just who is going to face off our tigress queen? This fighter has been climbing his way from the bottom and just might give our champion a run for her money; give it up to Ares!”

If you believed the woman before you had been intimidating, the male walking into the ring made you rethink your previous judgement. The crowd made little noise, though whether it was due to disdain or wonder at the sculpture of a man, you weren’t sure, but he surely now had your undivided attention. Despite wearing the same outfit of just shorts like the other male fighters, the hybrid before you did the material more of a service as his lithe figure is stacked with bulging muscles. His stomach is impressively cut with abs and his thighs and legs are thick with power; even his face looks strong with a sharp jaw and furrowed brows. Despite his strong presence however, there was an underlying boyish softness to his face that captured your heart; your eyes couldn’t stop their gazing at his warm, brown doe-like eyes and his asymmetrical pink lips.

A breath gets stuck in your chest as those brown eyes quickly roam over the crowd, eliciting a crooked grin before he turns back over to his opponent and flattens his long grey ears with a sneer. It isn’t until you see his ears move that you realize with dawning horror that they pitted a rabbit hybrid with a fucking tiger. Sure, his muscles were impressive, mainly his legs which should have been a giveaway to what animal he was infused with, but he was still a prey animal up against a damn apex predator; your heart squeezes painfully imagining a worse fate for him than the Doberman from before.

You wanted to look away, to tell Taehyung to take you home this instant because surely you were going to witness a murder with how fiercely the tigress was eyeing the male, but something kept you silent. Maybe it was sick fascination to watch Ares fighting and see if those muscles on his back would tense deliciously like you were imagining, or perhaps it was that softness beneath his strong features that tugged at your heart, you weren’t certain which it was yet.

The silence that hangs in the air is thick with tension and bloodlust, something even the announcer seemed keen on leaving. With a quick cut down motion with his hand, the announcer quickly turns and locks the cage door behind him as swiftly as his human legs could carry him; right on time as well since the two hybrids wasted no time in lunging at one another. It was like nothing you had ever seen before, the two of them looked more like they were performing a deadly dance; with each swing of limbs the other was always quick to dodge or block. The scene absentmindedly reminded you of capoeira; they were almost speaking to one another with how they moved and their eyes shone with excited violence.

Even the normally boisterous audience was captivated by the fight, bated breath waiting to be released with the promise of the first hit, which comes with a painful crack of skin and a grunt. Your heart lurches into your throat as your hands wring together, feeling sick as you witness Ares wipe a stream of blood from his brow, but it doesn’t take him long to swiftly feign left before spinning on his right leg to land a powerful kick to Abaddon’s open side. The crowd finally comes to life at the two hits and the cacophony of their delight drowns out the loud smacks of skin, but your heartbeat stubbornly continues to be louder.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed you by, too enraptured by the male who fought with a viciousness that spoke of fearing failure; you could see it with every clench of his jaw when he got hit and the refusal to fall to the floor even as the tigress continues to try. Ares is quick on his feet and with each step he almost seemed to bounce, something that no doubt was brought on by his animal half, and with how the woman bared her teeth, you knew she was having a hard time cornering him. She was moving like fire, unpredictable in a methodical way that sang of years of practice and instinct; her plan was easy to distinguish the more you watched and you knew that if she managed to knock the male hybrid to the floor, it was all over.

Only a few seconds had passed, and even staring without blinking had you almost missing the moment the tigress wrapped her tail around his ankle and pulled; the heavy bang of his body hitting the floor reverberated throughout your ribs. The hush in the room didn’t last as a soft snarl is heard, the blur of the woman’s body seen mid leap before she’s descending on the poor male with her claws out. Amidst the violent cheering of the crowd, you unknowingly let out a terrified scream the moment the first fist is thrown to his stomach and don’t realize your standing until you feel Taehyung gently nudge your arm in concern.

You weren’t sure if it was your delusions from worry, but for a brief second you locked eyes with Ares the moment you had screamed, watching with wide eyes as he gazed at you with slight muddled wonder. It only lasted a second, but it was enough to have your heart pound painfully against your chest as you gaze at the way the tigress unleashes her fury on his body with horror; not able to look away for the fear that she’ll truly kill him right now. His grunts and snarls are soft, being held back by pride, but soon a loud yelp escapes his mouth as blood is drawn on his chest from where the woman dug her claws in.

“She’s going to kill him,” your voice comes out in a breath of dread before you quickly reach out to your friend and feel the desperation trying to breach your throat, “she’s going to kill him Tae! Can’t someone stop her?!”

Taehyung’s voice is choked with sympathy and something else as you both watch Ares try to curl in on himself to lessen the hits. “Death isn’t an illegal thing here, y/n. It’s usually encouraged.”

You decide that in this moment, you truly hate your friend for bringing you to this shithole, forced to watch as this woman tries her hardest to kill the poor hybrid beneath her for the infamy; you’ll never let Tae know that though. Despite the small amount of resentment you feel for being brought here, you know that you’ll eventually forgive him. Just not right now as you watch Ares’ eyes take longer to open with each blink and feeling your heart crumble as small streams of blood run down his face and body. You weren’t sure what deity out there would hear you, but you begin to frantically pray that they’ll do something, anything to stop the fight; if not you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from running in there yourself.

You just didn’t realize that your prayer would be answered so abstractly.

“Cops!” the shout was faint and easily drowned by the roaring of the crowd, but you turn your head for a second as you spot a wide-eyed man running toward the ring. It isn’t until he bravely flings himself onto the wires of the cage to rattle it, causing the tigress to pause and snarl at the man, that the audience realizes what it is he’s screaming louder than before. “COPS!”

The change is instantaneous, leaving you to stand absentmindedly watching Ares’ fallen body as Abaddon gracefully leaps to the top of the cage and jumps out; there was a man with an expensive suit waiting for her already and quickly escorts her out of sight. Even your shoulders getting hit and shoved as people scramble out of the building like panicked ants isn’t enough to have you avert your eyes or your racing thoughts; no one was coming to get Ares.

It isn’t until you feel a violent tug on your arm do you refocus to the present, the yells of the dispersing crowd finally reaching your ears as does Taehyung’s shouts of alarm and panic. “Come on y/n! We have to go!”

Your body finally moves, only it isn’t in the direction your companion anticipated as your feet maneuver through the throng of people to reach the cage; it took zero convincing on your part to decide what to do. You aren’t going to leave the hybrid in the hands of the police and abandon him, even if you had to drag him to your apartment on your own.

“Y/n! Y/n! What are you – seriously?!”

You ignore Taehyung’s frantic shouts as he follows you through the crowd, not pausing once to check if the police were already inside the building, too worried that if you did it would cost you time you didn’t have. With your heart pounding in your ears and the adrenaline coursing through you, you yank the door open to the cage and run inside, sliding onto your knees to quickly check the man’s pulse. However, the moment your fingers touch the sweat covered skin, a big hand quickly wraps around your wrist and pulls a yelp from your throat; the hybrid had opened one eye and was glaring at you tiredly. Even as bloody and exhausted as he was, he could still stay aware enough to try and fend someone off; though you doubted that even as strong as he was, he could fight you right now.

“Hey,” you croak out as you try to stop the shaking in your hand which was still being squeezed in his grip, “I know that you won’t trust me, but the police are here – we have to get you out before they get you.”

It was at this moment that you saw something not many people probably got to see, this strong man turning into a small, hurt boy as his eye loses that glare to adopt one of fear. You’re sure that he didn’t need an explanation as to why the cops finding him alone was a bad thing; all his life was running away from the law as there was no doubt he was an unbound hybrid – no one coming to take him away like they did with Abaddon was enough proof. It was also in this moment that you vow to not mention that second of unadulterated vulnerability to anyone.

Ares closes his eye for a second, before opening it again to give you a small nod as he begins to stand with your hands grabbing onto his waist and arm. Time seems to move again as you look up to see Taehyung rushing over, cursing loudly as he hurriedly slings Ares’ arm over his shoulder and starts sprinting out. You gasp in breaths and try to keep up with the sudden movement, making sure to clutch onto the hybrid to assure you wouldn’t fall on your ass. It isn’t until the three of you burst through some emergency exit that you chance a look behind you, watching with wide eyes as men in uniform flash lights in your direction with shouts for you to stop.

With a slam of the door, the light is gone, but your speed continues the same as you all scramble over to your mini SUV; which for once you are so incredibly happy you stuck around with it as opposed to a smaller car.  Ares would actually fit in it for one. You throw a soft apology to the man as Tae all, but threw him across the back seat and slams the door before hopping into the passenger seat.

“Drive y/n! Drive like you’re in the Fast & Furious Tokyo Drift!”

“I never watched that one! I heard it was sad!”

“This is isn’t the time y/n! Just do as Rihanna sang; shut up and drive!”

Despite your words, you’re quick to turn on the engine and press your foot on the gas pedal, the squealing of tires drowning out your heartbeat as the hidden building gets smaller on your rearview mirror.

Labored breaths is all you hear for a few moments as you get farther away from the warehouses, your heartbeat slowing down enough for you to realize the weight of what you just did. What the hell were you going to do with a hybrid? As much as you wouldn’t mind sheltering the man, you couldn’t ignore the fact that he’s a stranger and to top it off, dabbled in illegal fights. He could kill you the moment he gets an opening for all you know, and yet…seeing him fight with so much determination only to get beaten, it caused a painful thrum in your chest. Maybe your impulsive behavior could get you hurt, but there was something in his eyes that made you want to believe he’d never lay a hand on you.

“What the fuck,” the voice is soft and breathy, before you realize its Taehyung as soon as his tone rises. “Y/n, what the fuck!”

You visibly cringe as you can feel his disapproving scowl from your seat, but for safety and your own embarrassment, you don’t turn around. There’s no point in questioning what he meant with his declaration; you know exactly what he’s so shocked about. With his shouting though, you’re quick to adjust your rearview mirror, afraid that Taehyung’s shouting somehow offended your surprise guest; but to your relief, the male hybrid seemed to be sleeping from exhaustion.

“I know the situation isn’t ideal –”

“There’s an MMA hybrid in the backseat!”

“I couldn’t leave him!”

You feel Taehyung’s stare of pity and disbelief as you bite the inside of your cheek, your eyes automatically flicking up to the rearview mirror to watch the rise and fall of the hybrid’s chest. “I know it’s stupid and I just opened a can of worms…but Tae I couldn’t leave him,” your voice is a soft whisper as the glow of the streetlights finally breaks out from the darkness of the sketchy streets you left behind.

Silence once again permeates the air as Taehyung simply slumps into his seat, his expression a weird mixture of understanding and annoyance. You’re not quite sure what your friend is thinking and at the moment you aren’t in the right state of mind to pry in concern; although you do feel guilty for the impulsive decision you made. You didn’t live alone and Taehyung’s disapproval only made sense since he would have to put up with your impulsivity; you just hope he wouldn’t stay angry with you for too long. Plans of making him his favorite food and desserts to lessen the blow of having an unknown hybrid crash in your shared space begin to enter your mind as the route to the space in question becomes familiar again.

It isn’t long before you finally reach your apartment, the silence still hanging between you two as you make sure none of your neighbors are out to see Taehyung carry a bloody hybrid on his back. The trek to the elevator is done in stiff silence as your eyes continue to roam over the lobby to make sure no one is about to catch the three of you, and it isn’t until you see the metal doors close in front of you that you let out a breath. Your apartment was the first door once getting off the lift, so walking to it without being seen won’t be as big of an issue.

Just as the elevator begins its ascent, you let your eyes slowly glance over to your right discretely, watching with a small, worried frown at how blank Taehyung’s expression is. After nearly two years living with your best friend, you knew better than anyone that when the normally boisterous male was quiet and expression a clean slate, he was angry or very irritated. What you didn’t know was why. You get it, you made a very stupid decision in risking your safety for the hybrid slumped on his back, but surely he could sympathize on why you did; more so when he was the more active voice in their rights. It wouldn’t be a permanent situation in your life (you imagined) and suppose once the hybrid healed, he’d finally forgive you.

The sudden shift and sound of the doors chiming break you out of your guilt plagued thoughts, but with Tae walking briskly to your apartment door only serves to gnaw at you. He definitely was angry. With a sharp look from him, you’re quick to scramble to the door and push the keys into the lock to finally let all of you into your shared home. Although, you can’t hide a wince and a soft, stern “careful” falling from your lips as your friend practically dumps Ares’ body onto the couch without a care.

After hanging your keys on the mount by the door and dumping your jacket on the bar counter, you take quick steps over to the small L shaped couch; making quick work in rearranging the hybrid onto the lounge section of the sofa for more of a comfortable position. Once satisfied that he won’t wake up sore, you hesitate before running a hand on the fading bruises on his skin, feeling wonder fill you at how quickly he was already healing. Despite the blood staining his abdomen and chest, the gashes themselves already seemed to be closing and well to the point of recovering. All you really needed to do was simply clean the blood and grime, along with waiting for his body to recuperate with sleep.

With hope spilling into your ribs, you turn to call Tae to help you gather supplies, only to see an empty living room and kitchen, with the door to the hallway and bedrooms slightly ajar as an indicator that he probably already went into his room. Guilt and worry once again begins to wrap around your heart while your stomach churned at the thought of him truly hating you for this. A sigh escapes you, but you grimace as you stand up, ignoring the stiffness in your limbs as you walk over to the small kitchen and grab the large bowl you usually use to mix your desserts, carefully covering the interior with clear wrap. Once done, you fill it up with some warm, soapy water and open a drawer to take out one of your kitchen towels before making your way back to the couch.

The more you cleaned his naked torso, the more bewitched you felt as each swipe of the bloodied rag shows perfectly carved abs and pecs, leaving you with an embarrassing burn in your core. Shame floods you with each lustful thought that came barging into your mind, trying your hardest to ignore the flame in the pit of your belly getting hotter with each second that passed. Honestly, is this man somehow a deity in disguise? His muscles were ridiculously defined and large; it was getting harder to control your wild thoughts.

Come on girl, get a hold of yourself. The man is hurt and unconscious! With a sigh you close your eyes and exhale softly to gather back your wits before finishing. Appreciating your hard work, you let your eyes fixate on the nasty gashes on his stomach and the yellowing bruises over his face. With a nod, you make a quick decision as you grab the bowl filled with dirty water and the rag, quickly cleaning up the supplies before returning with a small container of antibacterial ointment; no doubt he was healing just fine, but your worry wouldn’t let you walk away without providing him some relief.

As you delicately spread the ointment on his wounded skin however, the man shifts in his sleep suddenly and it has your breath and movements stilling in tense silence as you watch him carefully; but he simply turns onto his side and curls up, no signs of having been disturbed. Your breath leaves you slowly as your gaze softens; once more witnessing his features smooth over to show just how young he truly is. He couldn’t be older than Taehyung, perhaps younger now that you’re witnessing his guard completely lowered in sleep to show that glimpse of a young man you had seen back at the ring. Just how did he get mixed in with such a horrible way of surviving? Surely rabbit hybrids must be amongst the top adopted hybrids alongside the dog and cat mixes, so why is it that Ares found himself having to fight to stay alive?

“I’m sorry,” your voice is merely a whisper, the words having no destination and settle instead in the air between you two as you continue to watch Ares sleep soundly. Even you were unsure as to why you felt like apologizing. For how badly his life must be? For having been abandoned at that warehouse? For being alone? Who knew, certainly you didn’t, but with those thoughts plaguing your mind you stand up and drape your throw blanket on his figure before making your way to your room.

You spare a concerned glance over to your friend’s closed door and note with disappointment that there is no light fighting to get out through the bottom of his door; his room completely dark. With a small shake of your head, you gently close your door and get ready for bed; silently throwing a hopeful wish for tomorrow to not be a disaster once the hybrid awoke. 

Your wish seems to have landed in the trash as you stare blankly at the scene before you late the next morning; Ares is awake and clutching onto one corner of the blanket you covered him in, glaring venomously at Taehyung who’s also tugging on the other end of the cotton with his own ferocious scowl at the hybrid. No words were being exchanged, but the air is thick with animosity and testosterone, leaving you shell-shocked at witnessing your goofball of a best friend suddenly look so…animalistic. Just what random parallel universe did you drop into? As if realizing your impulsive behavior with the hybrid wasn’t disorienting enough, now you also have to deal with Taehyung suddenly becoming an ass?

With a sigh and a glance at the clock mounted on the wall beside you – it was only 10 am – you’re quick to walk over to the two males, snatching the blanket from both of them. Two sets of eyes quickly snap to you, one annoyed, but apologetic; and the other narrowed in hostility. You try your best to give Ares a small, but sincere smile before turning to Taehyung and smacking his arm, giving him a scowl of disapproval.

“Just what on earth are you doing, you walnut? Why are you picking fights with our guest so early, especially after how last night went?”

Your brown haired roommate only whines at your annoyance and is quick to wrap his long arms around your shoulders in a dramatic fashion; you didn’t miss how he oddly rubbed his cheek on your own. “Please don’t be mad at me eomma! I forgot we had some asshole on our couch so I got…surprised and only acted on self-defense. True story.”

“I am not your mom! God I thought we went over this? Why is the mom thing coming back all of a sudden you fucking weirdo?” You would never admit to him how relief floods you at having him back to his idiot self.

A loud scoff followed by a snarl has you remembering the hybrid behind you and it serves as a reminder that he isn’t exactly exuding happy vibes right now; you wouldn’t either if you woke up in a stranger’s house after being beaten up honestly.

“I would hardly call you smacking me awake and yanking the blanket off of me as self-defense you rat,” at the last word Taehyung lets out an indignant sound and it only makes Ares give him a smug smile.

“I am not a rat, you cracked out Bugs Bunny! You should be grateful that my eomma even saved your sorry ass from being taken away by the cops.”

“Taehyung!” you gasp as you quickly yank his shaggy, morning hair, ignoring his whines of protests and turn to give Ares an apologetic stare. “I am so sorry; please don’t listen to what he says. I don’t know why he’s acting like this, but please feel free to use our bathroom to freshen up while I make us some breakfast. As an apology, Tae will even lend you some of his old clothes.”

Your roommate only gives out a strangled noise of protest, wiggling out of your hold to give you a look of comical betrayal. “Says who?! I don’t want him wearing my clothes! He’ll rub his gross smell all over them!”

Ares is quick to begin walking toward the door of your apartment with a heavy scowl on his lips, clearly not wanting stay with how rude Taehyung was being. “Whatever. I don’t want or need your pity or charity.”

Your heart squeezes painfully and before your mind can catch up, you once again act out impulsively, quickly wrapping your fingers around the muscle on his forearm. Only in doing so it makes you realize that he is in fact, still very much walking in only small shorts and nothing else. You swallow as quietly as you can and clear your throat, noting a bit late that he also hasn’t shaken your hand off of him, but neither has he turned around. Your heart flutters in hope.

“I didn’t help you out of pity,” your words are soft, but firm and you feel him stiffen under your hand, making the words quickly jumble out in a mess to have him understand you. “I know you won’t believe me, but I just couldn’t leave you there while no one came to help you. Especially after…after seeing the fight and how that tigress –”

“You helping me doesn’t change the fact that you paid to see those fights,” the venom in his sudden snarl has your hand leaving his arm as if burned and the stare he gives you over his shoulder has an annoying sting come to your eyes. He only scoffs and carries on. “You think that doing one good thing for a “worthless” hybrid suddenly makes you a saint? Don’t make me laugh.”

So focused on not letting the uninvited tears to fall, you don’t notice Tae getting closer until you feel his arm wrap around your shoulders and an almost animalistic growl sounding from right above your head. “She didn’t pay to be there you ungrateful jackass. I was invited to go there and I brought her with me so I wouldn’t go alone. So if I were you I’d stop swimming in the river you cried for yourself and thank y/n for risking her safety to get you out of there.”

The air is stifling as your voice leaves you and has your breath stuck at the base of your throat, too anxious to say anything to break the tension. The moments are far and few in-between when Taehyung gets angry, but times like these remind you that despite being a goofball, he was still very much a nearly a six foot tall, broad shouldered man with some mean ass looking eyebrows. Despite not looking threatened in the least, Ares still regards your friend and roommate with a serious, pensive scowl; body fully turned and chest instinctually puffing out to no doubt assert dominance.

Even in a serious situation such as this, your traitorous eyes fail to stay on the hybrid’s face and instead greedily roam over the bulging muscles with slight awe. Damn was this man giving Chris Hemsworth a run for his money.

“Thanks.”

The growled response has your eyes snapping up in shock to stare at Ares, body flushing in pleasant warmth as he stares back, but at seeing your lips form a small ‘o’ of surprise, he’s quick to look away with a frown. You’d blame the lack of any lights on for the small rosy hue his cheeks have gained.

“Do you have a home to go back to?” That is not what you meant to say and by the strangled noise that leaves Taehyung’s throat, he wasn’t expecting it either, but he knows where that question is going and is unfortunately much too shell-shocked to stop it. From how things went last night, you have a sad intuitive feeling that the male hybrid is homeless and like before, you just couldn’t sit idly on that thought.

The ears on Ares’ head flatten back in apprehension; his eyes once more regarding you, but with a certain guard in them as his confusion shows in his hesitancy. “What’s it to you?”

Someday you’d learn to control your impulsive behavior and stop to think about your decisions before making them. Today was not that day. “You can stay with us if you don’t. Rent won’t be an issue either; Tae and I make enough money to not be living paycheck to paycheck. Even if you just stay until you can find somewhere else, it beats having to hide from hybrid police department.”

The thickness in their air increases as everyone holds their breath, Taehyung dropping his arm from around your shoulders in a defeat he can already see happening and knows is futile in trying to fight it. But with each silent second that ticks by has your heart hammering away at your ribs faster, especially when a flicker of that same vulnerability you witnessed back in the cage last night appears in Ares’ eyes.

“Only until I can find someplace else,” the look is gone and is replaced with a gruff awkwardness as the hybrid nervously picks at his cheek, his voice quieter than before.

A loud grunt of dissatisfaction leaves your friend’s throat as he moves away from you and stomps angrily toward the hallway, throwing a petulant huff under his breath about getting ready for work. You let out your own sigh as the reality of what you just did settles on your skin. You’d have to make Taehyung his favorite foods and desserts on top of playing with his hair until your hand fell off for who knows how long for your hasty decision. Truly, you were on a roll with all the impulsivity, but it was done and you’d need to remind yourself after Taehyung’s shift at the diner to question his unfound hostility toward the hybrid.

For now, however…

“Let’s um, get you some clean clothes for after you shower and in the mean time I can make us some breakfast,” your smile is small and albeit a bit awkward, but it was sincere enough to have the hybrid give a grateful nod in return. “As if it wasn’t obvious by now, my name is y/n and I’m going to go on a wild guess and say Ares isn’t really your actual name?”

“You’d guess correctly,” he avoids your eyes for a few more seconds before he gives in and glances back at you, voice growing soft in newfound timidity. “Jeongguk.”

“Jeongguk,” your tongue rolls around the name easily and so preoccupied you are in trying to pronounce it exactly as he did, you miss the red tint making home on his cheeks again. By the time you look back up at him, it’s nearly gone and his eyes are roaming your apartment for the first time, obviously trying to take it in. “You can use the bathroom in my room for now, since Tae is notorious for taking forever in getting ready. We can go over living arrangements after, kay?”

With a shy nod and an actual tiny smile, Ares – no, Jeongguk – has your stomach fluttering as you quickly show him to where your room is and leave him to shower. Now standing alone in your kitchen, you let out a soft breath as you lean your forehead on the cool countertop, trying your best to wrap your mind around just exactly what occurred in the past 15 hours. With a shake of your head and a few small slaps to your cheeks, you get started on making some breakfast for all three of you while you push any doubts to the back of your head until you can get back to them in the darkness of your room later tonight.

You’d stupidly face the repercussions of your actions when they came, because you knew they would, just not now; but for the present time, you’d simply worry about making sure you had enough strawberries to dump onto Taehyung’s waffles.

#bangtanidx #Jeon Jungkook #Jungkook fluff #Jungkook smut #Hybrid Jungkook #bts hybrid #Taehyung #Kim Taehyung #Angst #Fluff #Tw violence

[perpetually-jungshook]

RED || 02

Genre: humor, jimin x jungkook for now, angst, fluff, humor

Summary: Life is weird. Jungkook works as Jimin’s niche porn photographer and finds it difficult to remember that the he’s only flirting with the camera. Namjoon despises the world of big business but works as a manager for an international corporate company and hates it (cruel irony, he says). Yoongi is just a typical IT guy who has a secret he’s never told anyone, which is totally typical. Hoseok and Seokjin work at a retirement home, from which they one day bring back some random volunteer with fiery red hair who may or may not change everything.

Warnings: language, crude humor, pining

Word Count: 7.4k

Links: Storyboard || 01 || Next Part

As it turns out, hot-Taehyung who volunteers at the retirement home isn’t terrible. At least, not more terrible than any of Jungkook’s other friends, who are pretty much only mildly awful. But that’s a whole different conversation. Taehyung seems nice and rather interesting. He laughs at Jungkook’s lame jokes, watches anime, still collects Beanie Babies, and has somehow (for whatever goddamn reason) made it through reading the entirety of both Ulysses and Moby Dick— twice. As if once or not at all wasn’t enough.

Jungkook learns all of these things over the course of their impromptu three hour hang out, which ends abruptly and disappointingly (though he’d never admit it out loud) when Hoseok comes home on his lunch break to unlock the apartment door, apparently having been informed about the situation. Taehyung says goodbye so he can get ready for his volunteer shift and leaves Jungkook to wallow in a Jimin induced sorrow by himself again.

To keep busy, Jungkook attempts to read Ulysses because it’s free online, now in the public domain, but gets about three pages in before closing the tab on his phone and returning to his Harry Potter TV marathon.

Jungkook tries not to acknowledge the fact that he’s glad Jimin isn’t the one who came to let Taehyung in first.

An hour or so later, the jingling of keys is Jungkook’s only warning that someone is home. Yoongi yawns as he walks through the door and gracelessly kicks off his shoes. His tired gaze is practically blind to Jungkook, sweeping over him with nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement.

“Poor Yoongi, so sleepy from turning off and on computers all day,” Jungkook coos, getting up and walking over to put his hands on the older boy’s shoulders to bodily steer him sideways toward the kitchen.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you too,” Jungkook coos, laughing fondly and sitting him down at the small island. “What would you like to eat?”

“What do we have?”

“Instant noodles.”

“And?”

“Instant noodles.”

Yoongi narrows his eyes, lips caught between a sleepy pout and a suspicious frown, “I just bought stuff for stir fry.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook smiles innocently. “But that actually requires effort?”

“You little shit.”

“Your little shit,” Jungkook corrects and walks over to the cabinet to grab one of the styrofoam containers. “I’m your best friend and you love me, even if you won’t say it. Oh, we actually don’t have any more instant noodles.”

“So we’re out of the one thing on your menu?”

“Yes, but you’re in luck. We have a sudden new addition. How does a frozen burrito sound?”

Yoongi snorts.

“How are you even alive? With all the crap you eat.”

“That’s a good question,” Jungkook says as he opens the freezer and looks inside. “I can make a pizza instead? That’s like a whole meal. Carbs, dairy, meat— this one has olives on it. That’s like a vegetable.”

“It’s a fruit.”

“An olive… is a fruit?”

“Yes.”

Jungkook stares at the little black circles on the pizza. Weird. He’ll need to have a soft existential crisis about that later.

“Okay so pizza it is.”

Yoongi sighs heavily as he gets up and walks over to the fridge, bumping Jungkook out of the way with his hip. The younger boy laughs and moves away without complaint. He’ll take a free meal any day.

“You are literally useless…” Yoongi grumbles as he stirs the frying stir fry, but Jungkook knows he doesn’t mean it. Yoongi is all bark and no bite. Except when he actually bites, like that time when Hoseok tried to get him to hold the rental parrot at the karaoke bar. “… can’t even make a goddamn— fuck.”

Yeah, he’d been tuning Yoongi out, but the loud curse gets Jungkook’s attention, yanking him away from the vivid memory. His gaze cuts to Yoongi’s finger where he’s sucking at it, a burn from a slip of the hand no doubt. Jungkook reacts without question, without having to be told. He doesn’t joke around when it comes to injuries, no matter how small.

He pushes away from the countertop where he’d been leaning, going over to the stove where he flicks off the heat and tugs Yoongi away by his free wrist, leading him over to the sink. It requires a little prompting, like trying to get an angry, terrified opossum out of a corner, but it only takes a few seconds to coax Yoongi’s finger out of his mouth and into the stream of cool water. It’s not a bad burn, thankfully, but that doesn’t mean he’ll just stand by idly.

If Jungkook has learned anything about his friend in the years they’ve known each other, it’s that Yoongi hates being reminded that he’s human. He dislikes pain, sleep, hunger, really anything that draws him away from his job, his phone, or his computer (which is ironic because he’s actually a decent cook). He has always been like this, at least to Jungkook’s knowledge. What he does all day on these devices (besides sending anonymous memes to his supervisors and telling people to turn off and on their computers) is still a mystery. Jungkook figures that if Yoongi wanted to share, he would. He respects people’s privacy like that, though Seokjin just calls Jungkook lazy.

But when something like this happens, when Yoongi has to take time out of his schedule to take care of his body, he’s usually kind of bad at caring or remembering or not panicking. And that’s where Jungkook comes in.

“I’m going to go get a bandaid, just keep that— Yoongi— keep that under the water,” Jungkook pries the older boy’s finger away from his mouth and puts it back in the sink. “Stay.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“Stay, please?”

Yoongi only grumpily huffs in acknowledgement, but when Jungkook comes back with some ointment and a store brand bandage, he’s still obediently got his hand under the faucet. A pat dry, dab of antibacterial medication, and patch up later, Jungkook steps back to examine at his handiwork.

“Looks good to me.”

“Thanks, Kook,” Yoongi mumbles, lip twitching in displeasure, probably from the pain.

Jungkook waits a beat for comedic effect, “So I’m not literally useless, right?”

“Fuck you.”

“Boo, you already used that.”

Jungkook helps Yoongi finish making dinner, much to the older boy’s unexpressed surprise. It’s not that I’m switching points of view here, it’s that Jungkook doesn’t usually do the whole “cooking” thing. It’s his fear of Yoongi accidentally injuring himself again that has him stepping up, plus his desire to be a good friend and decent human being.

They end up eating the stir fry with Namjoon, who comes home suspiciously close to the completion of the cooking process. They make smalltalk around the table, discussing work, personal lives, and Namjoon’s most recent tarot card reading. As he starts explaining, Yoongi miraculously refrains from giving him a hard time.

Jungkook doesn’t understand most of what’s being said, but the word “Death” definitely catches his attention. A queasy, heavy feeling naturally settles in his stomach though it’s quickly dissipated upon hearing the explanation, “Death is about endings and beginnings, change and transformation.” He’s never been sure if he believes in tarot cards and that kind of stuff, but Namjoon believes it, so it’s hard not to be at least somewhat convinced. After a few more cards he loses interest again, not seeing how this is going to affect him considering it’s Namjoon’s reading.

He idly wonders if Jimin is home yet.

Jimin walks into an empty house, but he’s expecting it. Hoseok and Seokjin are out getting drinks, which isn’t half as wild as it sounds. They occasionally go to this restaurant downtown to have non alcoholic beverages and talk about work, primarily about how scary Ms. Piper is. Jimin doesn’t understand how an old lady can be so terrifying to someone like Hoseok, who everyone loves (even when he’s trying to kill them over stolen food), but he can understand needing to vent after a long shift. He wishes he had that luxury right now, but he’d be talking to the walls which, in this case, aren’t too great at listening. They only seem to be interested in him, proverbially speaking, when he’s got a… companion over.

Tossing his keys onto the side table near the door and deftly kicking off his shoes, Jimin rubs his stiff neck muscles as he makes his way past the kitchen to his room. When they moved in, Hoseok and Seokjin had been kind enough to offer him the master suite because of his occupation, leaving enough space for the couch and any lights or other equipment needed for adequate filming. This led to his door being right off the living room, which means it’s so easy to pause and glance at the couch before going inside.

He doesn’t know when Taehyung is supposed to come back, but Jimin won’t lie. He’s (trying not to be) excited. Of course, there’s always the possibility that nothing will happen. Maybe Taehyung wouldn’t be into a hookup when he’s staying on their couch. Maybe he isn’t into Jimin. Maybe he isn’t even into guys.

But that’s the fun part, the possibility that he would be willing to try.

Jimin resists the temptation to just flop onto his bed and scroll through Twitter. He can at least take off his work clothes. He deserves that much. One pair of sweatpants and a threadbare T-shirt later, Jimin rolls onto his bed with a quiet groan. Numbers flit around behind his eyelids as he closes them, a side effect of being an anonymous accountant in a large company. It takes some effort to dispel the figures and formulas, effort that’s ultimately wasted as they crowd back into his mind moments later. Deep breath. His stomach growls, but he can’t be bothered to get up. Seokjin might make him food later if he asks very, very nicely. Or what if he called Jungkook?

No. That’s cruel. That’s abusing his friend and Jimin knows it, so he banishes the thought as soon as he has the self control and clarity of mind to refute it.

His phone pings from where he set it on the nightstand before he changed clothes. Rolling onto his side, curling into the fetal position, he winces when he sees the contact name. It’s a private message, not part of the group chat.

Jungkook: [8:20 pm]

Hey

Jimin: [8:20 pm]

Sup?

Jungkook: [8:21 pm]

Just sent you an email with the pics

Let me know if any need to be touched up

Jimin: [8:21 pm]

K thanks~

Jimin opens his email and looks through the pictures. It’s amazing, what Jungkook can do with some good lighting and heavy editing. Granted, Jimin has close to no idea what goes on after he stops posing. He’s never asked and Jungkook doesn’t tell him. All he knows is one day, they’re working on a shoot, less than a week later there are photos in his inbox, and they are always breathtaking. It’s not an ego thing, namely because Jimin knows he doesn’t actually look that good in person.

It’s just easy to get distracted by the fairy prince in some far away forest lounging on a couch, eyes heavily lidded in a perpetual “come hither” stare. He might’ve found it objectively pretty, maybe even seductive if he wasn’t so busy being disgusted.

Jimin: [8:24 pm]

They look good Kookie

Thank you

Jungkook: [8:26 pm]

Anytime. Hungry?

Jimin’s throat pinches a bit and he’s not sure whether it’s due to guilt or excitement, but he reigns his emotions in, just in case it’s the latter.

Jimin: [8:26 pm]

Why?

Jungkook: [8:27 pm]

Yoongi made stir fry

A small smile tugs gently at the corners of his lips, tugging equally at his heartstrings. Jungkook is the sweetest boy. He always has been. Kind, considerate, respectful. Even when Jimin teases him, he endures it like a good sport, often times just blushing or laughing along. Jungkook always takes care of him. Always. So he hesitates, caught between doing the right thing and what his body wants him to do. Both choices feel egregiously wrong.

Jimin: [8:28 pm]

Thanks Kookie but I think I’ll pass :)

I’m just so sleepy from work

Jungkook: [8:28 pm]

Okay no worries haha

Rest well and don’t forget to eat

Jimin takes a deep breath and sets his phone aside. Maybe he should’ve said yes. Hanging out with his friends might’ve helped, but now that he’s in bed, he doesn’t want to get up. Not even an explicit offer of rough couch sex with hot-Taehyung would do it. Well, Seokjin’s homemade soup might coax him, but Seokjin isn’t here right now. No one is. It’s just Jimin.

Always just Jimin.

It’s around midnight that there’s a knock on Jungkook’s door. Thankfully, he’s neither sleeping nor masturbating. He’s putting together a backdrop for Jimin’s next shoot, which will take place when Jimin’s boss gives them the go ahead, but he likes to be prepared.

Jungkook grunts in response, figuring it’s Namjoon wanting to tell him to pick up a stray dirty sock from the bathroom because he does that at odd hours of the morning sometimes and “I’ll be damned if I have to pick up your random sketchy socks all around the house” to quote him directly. The door opens.

“Hey, you up?” A deep voice, but definitely not Namjoon’s.

“Yeah,” Jungkook swivels around in his office chair to face Taehyung, surprised and a little nervous. He bites back the first two questions on his tongue: What’s he doing here? And: Is everything okay?

“Oh good I was afraid you were sleeping,” Taehyung sighs in obviously relief, leaning his shoulder lightly against the door frame. He’s still wearing his uniform from the retirement home, volunteer tag and all. He looks ridiculously good in navy blue scrubs and it’s obvious why Seokjin added on the “hot” qualifier when first talking about him. He continues, “You look like you’re almost ready for bed but do you maybe want to go get a doughnut with me?”

“A doughnut?” One of Jungkook’s eyebrows shoots up in curiosity.

Taehyung laughs lightly, quietly, “I know it’s a bit late for that so if you don’t wanna go, no hard feelings. I just got back from my shift and I wanted something sugary to eat but everyone else was asleep upstairs and Yoongi said you might be awake—”

“Yoongi answered the door?”

This question serves two purposes. One, confirming Taehyung didn’t just break in through his bathroom window or something. Two, it’s a self-diversion for the question he really wants to ask: why me? Taehyung probably has other friends aside from Seokjin and Hoseok, why choose someone he practically just met?

“Yeah. He was up watching a movie.”

“Oh, cool. Sure we can get doughnuts. Let me just…” Jungkook gestures down at his boxers. “Get dressed and stuff.”

“No rush. I’ll be in the kitchen,” Taehyung nods, seeming completely unbothered by any of it.

As soon as he’s out of sight, Jungkook closes his door again, slipping into some sweatpants and a hoodie. It isn’t too cold out yet, but one can never be too sure. He’d rather be warm and take off layers than be freezing and have nothing. Though, being hot and having no more layers to take off is pretty miserable too— concentrate.

He grabs his wallet and stuffs it, his phone, and his keys in the hoodie pocket, then goes to find Taehyung. He’s right where he said he’d be, in the kitchen, trying to balance a spatula on his index finger. Granted, he hadn’t said he’d be doing that, but anyone who’s read Ulysses and Moby Dick twice for fun is capable of anything. They’re obviously chaotic evil, or at the very least chaotic neutral.

Taehyung catches the spatula in his free hand as it falls, the action calculatedly effortless.

“Ready to go?”

Jungkook nods, watching him put the spatula back in the chipped ceramic pot that holds all four of the still functioning cooking utensils in the house. He hopes Taehyung didn’t drop it at any point. With a wave to Yoongi, who might be dozing on the couch or completely alert (it’s always hard to tell with him), the two boys head out.

“My car’s that way,” Jungkook points, but does a double take as Taehyung turns in the opposite direction.

The boy with the fiery red hair laughs brightly, pausing and gesturing for Jungkook to follow. His voice is soft and still surprisingly deep for his smile, “It’s just down the street. We can walk.”

“Okay but didn’t you just finish working a six hour volunteer shift?”

“Yeah, so I’m the one who should be complaining,” Taehyung says this teasingly.

“I’m not complaining,” Jungkook grumbles, but he doesn’t even try to suppress his smile. They walk in silence for a minute or two before he realizes he’s just been following without question or comment. Time for those good conversation skills he definitely has. “You know where we’re going right?”

Taehyung pauses and turns to look at Jungkook, who had been a few steps behind him, “What? I was following you. Just kidding don’t look at me like that. I totally know where we’re going.”

Jungkook joins in with Taehyung’s laughter, though the former’s is notably quieter.

“I just wanted to make sure so we didn’t get lost or anything.”

“Lost? But you live right back there.”

Jungkook shrugs, “Doesn’t mean I know where I am all the time.”

“Dude. How do you-?”

“I know,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, cutting off Taehyung’s inquiry, but allowing him to giggle instead. “I just kind of drive to wherever I need to be and then go home. I don’t usually explore much.”

Taehyung continues walking, an easy, amused smile having slid onto his lips, “Aren’t you a photographer?”

“Yeah.”

Jungkook can tell he’s about to get lectured, but he doesn’t mind. Something about Taehyung just reads as “old soul.” Despite his awful choices regarding tea and literature.

“Don’t you kind of need to be… out and about exploring for that?” He turns to Jungkook and arches an eyebrow. “Like, I’ve heard people say photos sometimes take the whole day to set up and find the perfect moment or whatever.”

Jungkook had heard that a lot too, and considering how much time he spends setting up Jimin’s photos, he can almost say he adheres to that philosophy.

Taehyung continues, “But I think good photography can also happen in an instant, like some random moment in a random place, yknow? Spontaneously.”

Almost as quick a camera shutter, an image flashes behind Jungkook’s eyelids. A smirk. A smile. A laugh. All caught spontaneously.

Those pictures are indisputably his favorite.

He doesn’t know what to think, so instead of admitting anything, he lets out a quiet, amused huff and says, “Seems like you know a lot about photography.”

“Oh I actually know close to nothing about it.”

At least he admits it.

Taehyung presses the button for the crosswalk, despite there being close to no cars on the street. Maybe he’s stereotyping hard, but Jungkook pegged him as the type of guy to just cross. Maybe without looking. Taehyung seems like that kind of ballsy, doesn’t give a shit person, but maybe that’s simply because of his dyed hair, and maybe he’s not like that at all.

They wait for the crossing light to come on before the conversation continues.

“So what’s your favorite thing to take pictures of?”

Jimin. Not that… he’s a “thing.”

Jungkook hums, stalling for time to come up with a decent answer, “Since it’s kind of my job, whatever’s popular at the time—”

“That’s an awful answer.”

Welp.

“What are you passionate about? I mean c’mon,” Taehyung pauses as he opens the door to the 24/7 doughnut store and gestures for Jungkook to enter first. “You literally have someone’s dream job.”

Jungkook fidgets a bit as he steps inside, fingers folding over the sleeves of his hoodie to press it into his palms. The weight of his wallet, phone, and keys hanging low against his stomach, almost at his crotch is awkward and makes a lump that looks too malformed to actually be a boner.

“I guess—”

“Don’t guess.”

The store smells like stale doughnuts, the ones in the cases likely made this morning. It’s underscored by a layer of too-sugary frosting or glaze or whichever the machines last ran, but what’s a doughnut without that? Besides, the stale sugary smell is typical of a place like this, a slightly dingy, nondescript Coffee & Donut (yes spelled like that and singular) shop that’s known more for its Donuts than Coffee despite the order of the words on the sign.

“People. I like taking pictures of people. Candid shots.”

“But isn’t there like a whole thing about consent?”

Jungkook’s cheeks suddenly feel very warm, “Yeah, which is why I don’t do it.”

Taehyung leads the way to the counter, much to the obvious displeasure of the (approximately) nineteen year old (maybe) college girl working behind the register. As is standard of all night shift employees, she clearly doesn’t want to be here, is probably on her fifth cup of cheap break room watered down coffee, and is likely running on a granola bar she ate six hours ago.

There’s a sign on the tip jar that reads: Just the tip.

Inappropriate enough to be appropriate for the night shift, Jungkook thinks.

They order their doughnuts, two for Jungkook, two for Taehyung, and a chocolate milk for each because why the heck not? They’re feeling wild. Once they’re settled at a table in the far corner of the shop and the female employee has disappeared into the stockroom to text or play games on her phone, Taehyung washes down a rather huge bite (even for Jungkook’s standards) with a swig of said milk and asks, “So is that why you do porn? Because you like taking pictures of people?”

Jungkook chokes, unsure if he’s surprised at the question itself or Taehyung’s casualness about asking, “I— I mean, I don’t know?”

Someone must have told him about the shoots. Probably Jimin. But when would that have happened?

“You don’t? How can you not know something like that?” he inquires with a straight face.

If there’s any judgment in his voice, it has nothing to do with the porn aspect of it.

Taehyung continues after a moment, a smirk slowly curling up the corners of his lips, “Or do you do it because you have a thing for Jimin?”

“I don’t… have a thing for him,” the hesitance is damning, even to his own ears.

Taehyung takes another bite of his doughnut, which consists of him stuffing the entire rest of the second half into his mouth. Naturally, he needs to chew this, which means the prolonged silence sits heavier over them than Jungkook’s overstuffed wallet, phone, and keychain with too many keys and charms sitting uncomfortably against his crotch. So like, really uncomfortable with zero boners.

The boy with the fiery red hair currently not held up by the faded navy blue bandana abruptly starts laughing. It’s not at Jungkook’s expense, he thinks. At least it doesn’t sound like it is. His reaction is lighter, quieter, and more “I’ve just confirmed your crush on the dude who wanted me to boink him or for him to boink me, I’m not quite sure,” which is very specific but highly accurate.

“You don’t have a thing for him. Right. Uh-huh. And I didn’t just inhale a glazed doughnut.”

Jungkook tries to find something to defend himself and settles on like, The Worst thing, throwing a crumpled napkin at Taehyung as if to say: I have resorted to the absolute minimal amount of physical violence to distract you.

He tries to save the retaliation by saying, “Technically, you didn’t inhale it. You took two bites.”

Taehyung laughs harder, dodging the napkin easily, but to Jungkook’s relief it seems he’s stopped the teasing for now.

“Touché. But really, I’m curious. Why shoot porn with one of your friends?”

Jungkook shrugs, “I needed to work on my portfolio.”

“Could you say you needed to make it… thicker?”

Jungkook has to swallow his bite quickly before he chokes from laughing.

“You can’t make a dick joke while I’m eating a maple bar.”

“Says who?” Taehyung ask, seeming very satisfied with himself.

“Fuck, just…” Jungkook takes a sip of his chocolate milk and playfully kicks his companion under the table. “Sure, I wanted to make my portfolio thicker and Jimin needed a new photographer.”

“That’s fair.” His companion nods, adjusting his scrubs before shoving the entire second doughnut into his mouth.

“What about you? Besides volunteering at the—”

“Can I ask you a question real quick? Sorry to cut you off.”

He chewed and swallowed impossibly fast, it was vaguely impressive.

“Shoot.”

Taehyung’s lips purse slightly as his eyebrows draw together. “Do you guys really refer to me as ‘hot-Taehyung’ or was that just Jimin?”

With the few seconds he’d had to go over the list of possible questions, Jungkook can say with surety that this had not been one of them. Thus he doesn’t have a good answer prepared and resorts to terrible and complete honesty.

“Yes we do, kind of. All of us.”

Smooth.

“Are there other Taehyungs that have qualifiers?” he seems amused by the possibility.

“Nope just you.”

“Cool.”

Jungkook can’t tell if Taehyung’s smile reads as pleased, intrigued, humored, or a mix of the three. He takes another bite of his maple bar, trying to get the pesky blush off of his face that just doesn’t want to go away. It wasn’t even him that came up with that prefix. Maybe he should say that.

“So what were you saying? Before?”

“Right, ah,” Jungkook takes a moment to swallow before he continues. “What do you do besides volunteer?”

“I do lots of random things. I paint murals, design websites, write an advice article for an online newspaper that really shouldn’t be called a newspaper. Oh, I also do a podcast about cloud watching and story telling.”

“A… podcast?”

“Yeah, like an audiobook but it keeps updating? And it’s free,” Taehyung explains before polishing off his chocolate milk in one swig. “Do you like riddles?”

They stay at this dingy Coffee & Donut shop for a few hours and Jungkook only prompts that they leave so the girl behind the register doesn’t have to pretend to look busy anymore. He says this as under-his-breath as he can, just in case she’s actually busy. It’s partially a lie though, a lie of omission.

The overly sweet smell of the store was starting to make him feel sick, considering the mush of carbs and sugar churning around in his stomach. He doesn’t want Taehyung to think he’s having a bad time though, because he isn’t. He’s having a great time, so he keeps this information to himself. The fresh (slightly less smoggy) night air does wonders for his mood and digestive system. The walking helps too.

As it turns out, Jungkook is not good at riddles, but it seems Taehyung likes watching him struggle for a few minutes before getting comically shocked by the answer, not that Jungkook minds. It’s interesting to hear the solution, to see all the pieces fit together, and Taehyung appears to have an endless supply of them.

“Okay, okay. You’ll love this one. You are my brother but I am not your brother. Who am I?”

Jungkook deadpans at the question, pretending not to notice as they take another wrong turn, the third one since they left the shop, considering they aren’t supposed to be making any turns at all.

“Wait, you’re my brother? But I’m not yours?”

“Yeah.”

“But…?”

“That’s the point.”

Jungkook can feel himself frown in concentration. The night air feels cool against his nose and cheeks, just on the cusp of feeling nippy. What? Note to self, never use the word “nippy” again. His heels drag against the concrete of the sidewalk, a habit he should probably kick before he needs to buy new shoes.

“Do you give up?” Taehyung giggles, giving Jungkook a big, boxy smile.

“No, I’m thinking.”

“Your face is so cute when you’re thinking.”

Jungkook flushes, voice cracking, “What?”

Taehyung laughs harder, “I’m serious! It gets all pouty— sorry, right, I’ll let you think.”

“You’re my brother, but I’m not your brother…”

Jungkook can feel the answer on the tip of his tongue, frustrating, like being edged because the phone started ringing.

“I’m your sister!” Taehyung declares way too comfortably for the sentence he’s saying.

Jungkook shoves him, not too hard, but hard enough. The boy with the fiery red hair cackles.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I almost had it.”

“Did you really?”

Pause.

“No.”

They both laugh.

Much to Jungkook’s surprise, the apartment building appears in front of them as they turn one last corner. Yeah, part of him was worried Taehyung was going to lead him into a back alley to be murdered brutally with a rusty pocket knife, but that’s normal right? To have that fear. Jungkook is learning to trust Taehyung though, not that that’s difficult with his bright smile and unconventionally interesting personality (which might sound like an insult but is really a compliment).

Taehyung opens the door to the building and once again gestures for Jungkook to go first. So he leads the way, grumbling in good humor, still pretending to be miffed about the riddle. When the elevator opens, Taehyung gets in first and presses the buttons for the second and third floor. The quiet that has settled over them is pleasant, not awkward, which is new for Jungkook considering how painfully awkward he normally is.

The doors slide open and yeah, he feels a little pathetic for taking the elevator up one floor, but that’s a personal thing. Since they’d just done all that walking and it’s now about three o’clock in the morning after what must have been a long volunteer shift, he’s assuming Taehyung is exhausted. Next time maybe Jungkook should suggest eating Pocky and watching bad late night TV instead.

“Alright this is my stop,” Jungkook announces like he’s in some romcom and he expects Taehyung to kiss him.

“Yes it is,” Taehyung leans against the back of the elevator, looking right at home with his soft smile and messy hair and wrinkled scrubs. There’s a baby pink sprinkle stuck to the left corner of his lips. “Thanks for coming out with me.”

“No problem,” Jungkook steps out, walking backwards to continue to face the boy with the fiery red hair. “See you around?”

“Yeah, see you soon— oh wait. I almost forgot.”

Taehyung steps forward and fits his foot against the closing door, causing it to open again.

“You have my permission.”

His what?

“Your what?”

“My permission. To take candid pictures of me. So now you don’t have to ask.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen in momentary shock, “Ah, thank you. I— wow. I mean, I really appreciate that.”

“No worries. Now get home safe.”

Taehyung winks— yes winks— and smiles, stepping back as the metal doors slide closed, simultaneously sealing their interaction and stamping the moment into Jungkook’s memory with the gentlest thump of the two panels meeting.

He stares at his own blurred reflection for a beat before turning and walking down the hall. There is a one hundred percent chance he’ll question whether or not this actually happened later.

The front door squeaks quietly as it opens, Jungkook’s hoodie pocket feeling a bit lighter without the clump of unnecessarily jingly metal attached to the end of a shabby Iron Man lanyard. He can hear the TV before he can see the living room. The volume is low, most of the voices only an indecipherable muttering. A soft blue glow illuminates room and Yoongi, who has curled up on the couch. He’s got a light blanket thrown over him, probably the result of a last ditch effort before dozing off or a sleepy Namjoon walking around to get water.

It’s weird, being awake at night when Yoongi isn’t. The older boy is notorious for staying up late even when he has to get up at the ass crack of dawn for work. Hoseok once asked Yoongi how he stayed alive with so little sleep to which the older boy replied: power naps and willpower fueled by my hatred for most people and things. He probably got the second part from one of Namjoon’s open mic poetry rants, then changed the context to fit his own cutely grumpy agenda.

Without much thought, almost as if on instinct, Jungkook maneuvers around the coffee table and slips one arm under Yoongi’s knees, the other bracing his back. So blanket and all, Jungkook lifts the older boy bridal style and gingerly sneaks his way out of the living room, only hitting one shin in the process.

Unfortunately, opening Yoongi’s door is a bit of a challenge, and it jostles the sleeping boy awake. He lets out a disgruntled huff, one eyelid cracking open.

“The fuck…?”

“You fell asleep on the couch. I didn’t want you to get a kink in your neck.”

The door swings open slowly as if to accentuate the awkwardness of the situation.

“Well I think you can put me down now.”

“Right.”

Jungkook sets Yoongi on his feet and backs away politely.

“How’s your finger?”

Yoongi pulls the blanket around him like a cape. He look smalls and angry with his bedraggled hair and the dark circles under his eyes, which makes Jungkook want to pat him gently on the head.

“It’s fine,” Yoongi says, then yawns. “I’m going to bed.”

“Okay, goodnight.”

If Jungkook had a tsundere translator, he likes to think there would’ve been a “thank you” somewhere in that conversation, which ends with a door in his face after a grumbled “yeah, g’night.” But with that, Jungkook goes back to the living room to turn off the TV, hits his other shin, and finally returns to his own room to flop onto his bed. It would’ve been ideal to be asleep before his head hit the pillow, but it naturally takes a couple tosses and turns before Jungkook finally manages to drift off.

Technically, that completes day two since Taehyung’s arrival, but it definitely feels like it’s been a week.

Day six PT (Post Taehyung) is a lot less bizarre than it might originally sound.

Jungkook can hear the elevator close behind him as he stops walking, then raises his hand and knocks with a small sigh. The door opens, just a crack.

“Password please?”

“Seriously? Let me in.”

“I’m sorry sir, I can’t do that without a password.”

“Hobi.”

The one eye peaking out behind the door narrows at Jungkook, sizes him up, then squints as the older boy laughs.

“Alright get in here, but the entry fee is—”

Jungkook cuts him off by ruffling his hair affectionately (roughly) and walking past Hoseok into the third floor apartment. It’s crowded, but not in the usual “we tried to shove six boys into a small living room” kind of way.

Upon the first step past the door, the murmur from out in the hallway becomes a louder, distinctive conversation, a conversation with about five voices all trying to shout over each other.

“NOW YOU LISTEN HERE. YOU DID NOT HAVE A FOUR.”

“I HAD A FOUR AND YOU CAN’T PROVE OTHERWISE.”

“SHE DEALT THE CARDS SO SHE SHOULD KNOW.”

“SO SHE’S COUNTING CARDS NOW IS SHE?”

“YOU CAN’T COUNT CARDS WITH THIS IT’S IMPOSSIBLE.”

“THEN HOW DO YOU KNOW I DIDN’T HAVE A FOUR, WOMAN?”

“FRANCIS, YOU CAN EAT MY FRESH BAKED ASS—”

“Language, Ms. Lee,” Seokjin coos from his place mixing drinks and cleaning glasses in the kitchen. Jungkook can tell by his tone of voice that he’s thoroughly amused.

Ms. Lee, a woman who is probably in her late seventies, wrapped in a baby pink crocheted shawl in her wheelchair, turns to give Seokjin a sweet smile, “Sorry dear.”

She then turns back to their game, all huddled around one of the three flimsy collapsable card tables. Jungkook’s never sure what they’re actually playing, only hearing words like “sets” and “runs” being tossed around in various numbers that always sound different. At the other two tables, it appears a few guests are either quietly playing poker with Namjoon as their dealer, or blackjack with Yoongi.

The room smells of moth balls, nature friendly cleaning supplies, and light perfume. It’s an odd mixture, but Jungkook definitely prefers this to Taehyung’s death tea. Speaking of, there’s a small woman maybe in her nineties sitting on the couch next to the boy with the fiery red hair. They seem to be having a calm, quiet conversation. Tasteful jazz plays in the background.

“What can I get you?” Seokjin asks, still amused, as Jungkook takes a seat at the island countertop.

“Do you have any cranberry juice?”

“Sorry buddy, fresh out.”

“Banana milk?”

Seokjin turns around and opens the fridge, placing a carton in front of the younger boy, “On the house.”

They share a quiet laugh.

To the uninformed person, this— being everything going on in the room— might seem like something strange, worth at least one eyebrow raise, but it’s actually pretty normal.

Once a month, typically on the first Friday, Seokjin and Hoseok host a “senior ‘underground’ gambling night.” Hoseok has still not managed to get the acronym SUGN to catch on despite this being the fifth or sixth event. According to Seokjin, the retirement home knows that they bring the residents here (considering they use the facility’s bus). The term “underground” just makes it seem more exciting. No smoking, no alcohol, just a bunch of cute elderly people getting “out of the house” as it were. All of the money they decide to bet simply circulates between them. The House keeps none of it except the small entry fee to cover the drinks and snacks. It wasn’t difficult for the rest of the boys to hop on board from the beginning, considering how much effort Seokjin and Hoseok are putting into it. Besides, free juice.

“Look who finally stopped by!”

The familiar voice makes Jungkook blush up to his ears, especially as Jimin’s hand brushes his lower back. It’s just a greeting, Jungkook tells himself, and is a little relieved when Jimin reaches forward to grab a glass of orange juice. He’d just been making sure Jungkook didn’t move and bump into him. That’s all.

“Sorry I’m late. I lost track of time finishing a project.”

“Was it my next background?” Jimin says quietly, his smile slowly turning into a smirk as he turns his head, making eye contact. He hasn’t moved his hand.

“Y-yeah,” Jungkook nods, then takes a long sip of his banana milk.

Jimin giggles, a pleasant sound amidst the loud talking, arguing, and card shuffling.

“I know it’ll turn out great, Kookie.”

He pats Jungkook’s lower back before leaving with the glass of orange juice, likely delivering it to one of the guests. The retirement home residents always think Jimin is adorable. Probably because he is. Jungkook watches him walk away, then slumps forward.

“He’s not helping, is he,” Seokjin says knowingly, leaning against the small island countertop. It’s less a question than a statement.

Jungkook pouts. Seokjin is the only one of his friends that Knows, unless Jungkook counts Taehyung. Are they friends though? Sure they’ve hung out a couple times and talked, but… Maybe Jungkook should find out the name of his podcast— concentrate.

“No.”

“Why don’t you talk to him about it?”

“Says you,” Jungkook laughs humorlessly. It’s a series of sounds that conveys sadness and, most importantly, empathy.

“Look,” Seokjin starts, placing both hands on the countertop. “Jimin is bi. At least you have a chance.”

“Do you even know what Namjoon’s sexual orientation is?”

Seokjin’s cheeks dust pink. “I mean, he’s never said anything about it. But look at him. How can he not be straight?”

Jungkook glances over his shoulder at Namjoon manning the poker table. All broad shoulders with neatly combed hair and a dimpled smile. He’s still wearing his business suit from work.

“I dunno. You might be surprised,” Jungkook says, shrugging.

The older boy’s reply is underscored by a quiet sigh, “I could say the same thing about you and Jimin.”

Needing to get to his primary SUGN duty, being floating around the room, picking up trash or refilling the little plastic bowls with snacks (because he’s not very good at the whole socializing thing, as previously established) Jungkook concludes the brief conversation with another laugh. But this time it’s genuine, even if a little quiet and doubtful and masked behind a shouted “FRANCIS, YOU’RE A LYING BASTARD.”

Jimin places the glass of orange juice on the coffee table, well within Ms. Piper’s reach. He hadn’t known who she was until Hoseok abruptly decided to switch with Yoongi, choosing to man the door (the furthest away he can get from the elderly woman) instead of dealing for blackjack. He was usually at one of the card tables, utilizing his naturally charismatic charms. If Hoseok made any profit from this, Jimin would think he might be cheating at the game, the way he makes the elderly ladies blush and giggle. But he doesn’t. And how can Jimin blame him for being charming? He does the exact same thing. It’s nice to be the cause of someone’s smile, no matter what gender or age.

Ms. Piper doesn’t acknowledge the glass, but she also seems to be in a deep, quiet conversation with Taehyung. It’s odd, how the two of them get along when someone like Hoseok, who gets along with everyone, is scared to death of her.

Taehyung looks up briefly and gives Jimin an acknowledging smile. He returns it with a nod.

After one last glance around the room to confirm he’s not needed at the moment, Jimin heads down the short hallway to the bathroom. Once he’s closed inside, he takes a deep, shaky breath and sits down on the lid of the toilet. Everything’s okay.

Jimin’s never had a good sense of smell, but he can immediately identify Hoseok’s fruity body wash. Someone left their toothpaste sitting out next to the sink. There’s the quiet drip of the leaky shower head, now audible above the voices in the other room. Beside the shower is the window screen still yet to be replaced since last Sunday.

He pulls his knees up to his chest, the heels of his feet resting on the edge of his improvised seat with a feeble squeak.

It’s been a long week at the office and all Jimin wants is to be able to relax, blow off some steam, maybe get dicked down. Yeah it feels good to fuck someone, but to be on the receiving end? That’s pretty nice too. Lets him focus on his own pleasure a little more, plus there are usually some really good cuddles afterward. What he wouldn’t do to have Taehyung bend him over any flat surface in this apartment and fuck him senseless. Jimin lets out a soft sigh against his thighs as his forehead comes to rest against his knees. The self loathing gnaws at his stomach, unwanted, dismissed.

Taehyung still hasn’t said anything about that rain check, but both of them have been extremely busy, never home at the same time unless sleeping. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck though.

Over the years, Jimin has learned not to expect too much of boys, taking into consideration that he is also male. Foolish, oblivious, proud. He closes his eyes, his mind conjuring up the flash of a camera. Jimin smiles. Him too.

[Next Part]

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[chimerabal]

Session 4 - So many geists.

We opened the session with a battle we set up the previous one: The party was traveling through a desecrated town seeking out any cult activity, and found two Really Angry Ghosts. Revenants? The party cleric, Mikela, tried to reason with them, failed, and was attacked- initiating group combat. My character, Uriel, took a quick 10 damage and fell prone dodging what would have been a lethal 16 more, she pretty much just cried the whole battle- got one or two mediocre hits in. The scaab, Ugly, was called from an alley over; a turn in or so he made a Grand Entrance to the battle- koolaid man style through an empty building.

Mikela and our necro-alchemist Sibyl dealt an impressive amount of damage through radiant attacks and giest-powered-spells. Sibyl dealt the final blow with a spell that I imagined looking like a more fire-y version of the ghostbusters plasma streams ripping the hostile giests in two. Extremely cool.

Post battle Mikela tried reasoning with some non-hostile looking giests that were floating around watching the battle. Impressively- thankfully- three of them came around and spoke with the party. They expressed a desire to pass into the aether, which Mikela gladly offered to help them do. She set up and began a 10 minute ritual to help first of the three ghosts move on- one that required concentration. Sibyl, needing ghosts to power her inventions and all, also decided to speak with the geists in an effort to persuade them help us save the town in the form of boo-juice. The friendliest/most helpful geist declined politely, the third ghost eagerly agreed to avenge his town and stop the probably-cult we are building up to fight against. 

This could have gone nicely, but, our cleric really, Really, objects to the concept of necro-alchemy and using ghosts as spirits as fuel. While Sibyl was speaking with the giests- getting consent and all to turn them into a power source- Mikela was unable to stop her ritual and confront Sibyl... and was getting progressively more and more angry. Just as the cleric had finished her ritual, the necro-alchemist was starting one to capture the ghost. Mikela charged Sibyl and grabbed her super-cool-ghost-storing-but-still-decorative-broach and triggered a mini-combat between the two of them.

Mikela had the broach, Sibyl acid-bombed the both of them, the broach was dropped and kicked towards my characters, Ugly flung the broach back to Sibyl. As Sibyl paused to inspect the item for damage, Mikela quick started trying to set up a ritual and force the avenging giest to move on. This Really pissed off avenging giest, and it threatened to turn hostile- shooting out some fireballs at Mikela. Sibyl also got back into the frey to tell Mikela off and smack her around a bit (which is... all they did to each other this time. a small slap fight). Damage was dealt, yelling and tears happened, and my character- for the most part- was enjoying the show up until about now like

However, with the two other party members were both crying, and the ghost was spitting fire everywhere, the whole ordeal had stopped being entertaining and Uriel was about ready to step in..... didn’t end up needing to though. Mikela finally, after a few solid throws, broke concentration on the ritual and dissolved into a blubbering teary mess. With Mikela having backed down, Sibyl was able to neutralize the angry spirit and absorb it as power. Both characters were Spent. 

Note: this was a great conflict and I’m counting on the character’s handlers to have all the details and arguments that went down because... I’m short on detail b/c I was building dice towers and this is actually a very interesting fight... and because this is the second time now the two have butt heads over Ghost Stuff :3c we have a Theme growing here folks.

Post fight Sibyl was staring into space (IS...pretty sure she ended the session Still In This State...) and Mikela was sobbing grossly on the ground. Uriel, despite this shit not being her forte at All, had to do something- suddenly becoming Party Leader. She approached Mikela and delivered silent paps, getting her pulled into a sobby bear hug. Mikela cry-ranted about hating the position she is in, having to fight and not being able to help anyone (ghost or not). She didn’t sign up for this shit. After some more (freaked and awkward) back pats Uriel summoned her monster over to take her place in the bear hug (unsure if this worked, I like to think Mikela koala clinged to Ugly just as quickly lmao).

Even after all this, that one friendly ghost stuck around with us. It tipped us off that “They are coming this way”. Uriel, staying true to last session’s decision of ‘not wanting to fuck with Them or That or whatever the fuck (cultists- its cultists)’ starts leading the emotionally broken/physically exhausted party back to town. Note: She’s the only one who realized we left some civilians we were traveling with along the cultists’ path.... but they’ll be Fine, they have an axe, we gave them an axe, they’ll be FINE. Sibyl doesn’t follow the group right away, so Uriel loops back around and offers consoling paps to her as well. When asked if she was okay, she says nothing but starts following the party.... which was good enough. 

Once in town Uriel starts knocking on doors and announcing that “The demon slaying heroes from yesterday need help, we helped you, please help us.” Mikela joins in, affirming loudly that, yes, we slay demons, and that we are with the church and would love some hospitality please. We get a dude to speak to us through a cracked door, Uriel manages to convince him to a point, but starts to flounder (largely due to my own not-great improv skills) and is backed up by Mikela. Sibyl I think is just... standing in the background, wall eyed, with the scaab and ghost... freakin’ this dude out.

 He agrees to let us in if we ditch the undead we have in our party. Mikela doesn’t want to give up the ghost (lol) and tries to persuade the dude to let our giest friend come in- against Uriel’s sound advice, “enough with these fucking ghosts” (thats a joke I didn’t say that). She has the ghost tell what it knows about cult recruitment; the cult is gaining more members by terrorizing the town with devils and shit and making them question Avacyn’s powers and protection. They then prey on civilians who’s faith has wavered and introduce them to the cult. 

During her persuasion the LOUD EVIL VOICE from the night before starts speaking from an adjacent row of houses- out of sight but still getting Uncomfortably Close. It pretty much word for word confirms what ghost friend said, but in an insufferable boisterous evil way. Both Uriel and Mikela are about to change course and follow the cult- pretty much resigned that there’s no Way they’re getting shelter now- but the man allows everyone, ghost and all, into his home (We snuck Ugly in as well.... and by snuck we mean it forced itself through the door before the kindly dude could shut it completely). And that’s where we ended, in a random strangers’ home with cultists doing some recruitment outside. 

Note to myself: if I don’t get answers out of Sibyl during our stay here I’m gonna d i e.

And like last post- im tired and not proofreading this. good luck.

#long post #OC: Uriel #Fantasy RP Campaign

[artificialqueens]

I look spooky but I'm really nice (Vatya) Remény

AN at end of fic.

Tap, tap, tap

I woke to hear knocking on glass, one of my friends must have forgotten their dorm key again and I was the convenient friend who lived on the main floor. I had only been in this dorm room 4 days and people knocking on the damn window had already happened three fucking times. One wasn’t even a friend!! Hazards of living close to the front entrance I guess.

I sighed heavily and hauled myself out of bed and into my wheelchair. Whoever it was, they were going to get ran over! “Damn accessible dorms being on the main floor! Stupid fire safety!” I grumbled. I checked my watch, it was 3:20 in the damn morning! I yanked the cheap accordion blind up, ready to give them hell.

The Tap, tap, tap came again and that’s when I realized it was coming from the mirror.

Again.

“Nope, nope, nope! This is not happening!” I said, going around the room and flipping on the light switch and my bedside lamp and my vanity light and the bathroom light. “First thing in the morning, I am banging down maintenance’s door and getting rid of you! I don’t know what I am going to tell them yet, obviously the first reason I gave them wasn’t good enough to make it happen.”

tap, tap, tap

“NO! SHUT UP! Listen to me, I’m sorry I laughed when my friend said this room was haunted, I’m sorry alright?” I babbled as I paced from one side of the room to the next.

tap, tap, tap

“Stop that right now! Listen Mr or Miss or whatever the gender neutral term is. Listen ghost or spirit or living impaired, whatever you call yourself, I don’t want no trouble! If you leave me alone, I’ll leave you alone. Deal?” I stopped wheeling and ground my palms into my eyes, letting out an aggravated groan and face-planting myself onto my knees.

“You’re fine Violet! You. Are. Fine.” I whispered to myself, “you are just overtired. You know how your imagination gets going when you are tired. So you are going to sit up and turn off the lights, well MOST of the lights anyway, and get into bed. This is not real. You’re already probably just dreaming.”

I pulled my hands away as every light in the room systematically turned off, one after another. “Doooon’t dooo thaaat!” I panicked and wheeled towards the door, banging into every piece of furniture on the way.

tap, tap, tap

“Ouch! Quit it! Dammit! That’s gonna leave a mark!”

tap, tap, tap

I jammed my fingers in the process of finding the door knob, sicking my thumb in my mouth and tasting the metallic tang of blood. I finally located the knob but it wouldn’t budge. “No! No! No! This can’t be happening!”

tap, tap, tap

“CUT IT OUT!!” I flipped the switch madly but the lights would NOT come on. “Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!!” I started to pound on the thick metal door with my palm. “Help! Help me! I’m stuck!”

My desk lamp flickered a few times and then stayed on and there was a more insistent tap, tap, tap and my phone lit up.

MY PHONE! I can call Katya!! She has the spare key to my room in case I’m ever sick and can’t get to the door! If I can call her, she’ll come rescue me!

“Ok ghosty person,” I said to the room at large, “uh I’m gonna cross the room now. Th…thank you for turning on a light for me.”

tap, tap, tap

“I REEEALLY wish that you’d stop doing that.” I inched along the room, giving the mirror an extra wide berth. “Don’t look in the mirror, don’t look in the mirror, don’t look in the mirror.” I repeated over and over under my breath to myself, eking across the floor at a snail’s pace not to scare him/her/it.

tap, tap, tap

I jumped and looked towards the mirror, dumbest thing ever. You know what happens though, when you hear a noise, you turn to see what it is out of instinct. Then the room went dark and I screamed like a little girl.

And then, there she was. White-blonde cloud of hair and pale skin, well d’uh she WAS a ghost after all, the most unsettling thing about her was her eyes. They were devoid of any colour. She was standing in the mirror, hands pressed on the glass, dressed all in black which contrasted with the white and made it look even more shocking.

“Boo!” She exclaimed with a smile. I jumped almost to the ceiling and fell out of my chair, whacking my head on the footplate. HARD! Like bitch-I’m-from-Chicago-and-I’ll-kick-your-ass hard.

Next thing I know, I’m having the stuffing shaken from me. I let out a little yelp and the being relented.

“Возлюбленная? Violet, speak to me.” A sweet thickly-accented Russian voice that I recognized spoke. I opened my eyes and blinked at the weak sunlight that was streaming through the window blind I had angrily and haphazardly opened the night before.

I lifted my splitting head from the floor and looked around frantically for the girl without looking at the mirror.

“Vhat are you looking for? Vhat happened? I vas vaiting for you at front door. Vhen you didn’t come, I got key for room. Can you sit? I bring chair over.”

“Thanks,” I said with a nod, my chair was almost 2 feet away. God my head hurt, I pulled myself to sitting as Katya pulled my chair up and put on the brakes. I hoisted myself up, thankful for my slight gymnast frame…well slight former-gymnast frame.

Katya got down on her knees so we were the same level and pulled me into a gentle hug. “You are shaking? Vhy? Did someone come in room?”

I let out a little chuckle as she let me go, “in a manner of speaking. Yes and no.”

“I am not understanding, both nyet and da at same time?” I loved how Katya cocked her head to one side like an adorable blonde puppy when she asked a question.

“It is a long story, but it’s fine now darling. I think I just had a bad dream. Don’t worry!” I reassured Katya with whatever attempt I could make at a smile while my head basically felt like it was imploding.

“You vant pills for pain in head?”

“GOD YES! They’re in the bathroom.”

Katya grabbed the water off my table and brought it over, “I got vashcloth for head. Is bleeding.” She went behind me and started to wipe at the back of my head, her hands were gentle as an angel’s but I still let out a little hiss of pain. “I am sorry! Is not deep, like scrape, you need Doctor love?”

“No I’m ok, should we get going?”

“Nyet, ve are not going anyvhere but you go to bed for little bit.”

“No I’m ok, I swear! You’ve been looking forward to this Frosh week event at the board game cafe for days!” I insisted and checked my watch, it was 10:00. “C’mon,” I held her hand, “The bus leaves in 30 minutes. I just have to get out of this.” I pointed to my dorky zebra onesie. “Then we can go.”

She knelt down again and pulled my hands into hers. She spoke slowly and patiently, holding eye contact which was easy since I was always captivated by her baby blues. “You are more important than any cafe and is not like it vill not be there another time. Come.” She pulled me to the bed. “You need help?”

I shook my head and then stopped as a wave of dizziness hit me. I hated getting help, it always reminded me of after my accident when I couldn’t do anything for myself. When I was stuck in a hospital bed pissing into a bag and spending the day staring at the ceiling.

“Возлюбленная? Vhere did you go?”

“Sorry, took a roll down memory lane.” I sighed and let Katya help hold me up as I used the bars to transfer into bed, I let out a relieved sigh when I laid down. I felt the back of my head, I had one massive goose egg. Katya sat on the side of my bed, pushed my hair back off my face and gave me a gentle kiss.

“I vill go get ice for head, da? Then I let you sleep.”

I would say no but I knew she would do it anyway, I pulled her hand into mine and placed it over my chest and then up to my lips to kiss her palm, “ok, thank you but will you please stay with me when you get back?” I didn’t even want her to leave now and I swallowed around my pounding heart that felt like it was in my throat.

“Da! I mean yes! Of course I vill! But you are shaking again, should I call Resident Assistant to bring ice so I do not have to leave? Are you scared of something? Did someone hurt you? Vhat happened?” She fired off, worry clouding over her eyes.

“No! Don’t call the RA! She has to report accidents and she’ll make me go to the health center and wait forever and I really AM fine! It’s just a bump. I’ll be fine here, I’m just…uh cold.”

Katya twitched the blankets on top of me. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! Please don’t call Max! She has enough to deal with. They seriously need to pay RAs more than just free room and board!”

“Agreed. Ok I vill go fast.” She pressed my cell into my hand, “call me if you need something. Vhat food you like to eat? I vill get it vhen I get ice.”

“I would LOVE some coffee, I have some granola bars and fruit. I’m not very hungry but you should eat something. I’m f…fine here, take your time love.”

I totally didn’t mean that. I wanted her to sprint the whole way to the ice machine in the caf 2 buildings over but if I told her that, she would know I was scared and wouldn’t leave. She would also probably get Max, over what I was convinced with the boldness that came with day, was a bad dream. I still hadn’t looked at the damn mirror though.

“No I vill go fast.” She took her hand from my mouth, cupped my face and pressed a kiss onto my forehead, “rest please.” She stuck her keys back in her pocket and grabbed her purse. “I vill be right back,” she repeated before stepping out the door.

Katya was entirely too good to me considering the first impression I had with her. World Gymnastic Championships 2014, I was a stressed out child who was almost 16 and Katya was one year my senior.

It was between the short and long programs and team USA was passing by team Russia. My coach, ever the optimist, decided to introduce us. I guess he was thinking that with a common interest we would all hit it off. Wrong.

I kept my face sour as I was introduced to Katya, the bitch had almost beat me out in the short program and I was bitter that she had landed a perfect Omelianchik, a move that was the bane of my 15 years of existence. I stared her right in the eye and squeezed her hand really, REALLY hard when I shook it. Tears sprung into the corners of her eyes but she refused to retaliate and squeeze back.

She whispered venomously in my ear as our teams parted, “I vant to beat you because I am better than you, not because I hurt your hand. Is called sportsmanship, look it up.” She flipped her long blonde ponytail in my face as she turned and marched away.

Through the following year, we learned to have a mutual respect for each other. I apologized to her for how I acted when we first met and Katya graciously forgave me. We weren’t friends per se but not the vicious enemies we once were.

Then during the pre-olympic season, when I landed wrong during uneven bars training and fractured my spine, Katya was the first gymnast that was not on my team to reach out. She sent me a huge bouquet of flowers and a nice card, one of the first things I saw when I woke up from surgery and learned my life had been turned on it’s head.

About a week after my accident, I messaged her to thank her for the flowers and we started talking through email which turned into face-timing, which evolved into her flying to see me at the rehab centre I was at. I couldn’t believe that she flew halfway across the world to see me on her 4 day training break.

I made an offhand comment during one of our face-time marathons about ex girlfriend troubles and she told me she was bi. I was the first person she ever told, it was not safe to be out in Russia. It made me sad to know it still isn’t.

We got together almost a year ago and when she announced that got a full ride to Stanford, I was so excited because it was one of the 5 universities that sent me an acceptance letter too!

My phone buzzed, startling me out of my reverie. I had two new texts.

Katya - hey Возлюбленная, are you sure you do not want anything to eat? They just got in fresh bagels! Or they have the cracker and cheese plate you like? With the grapes? Please?

I grinned, knowing she would persist til I caved. She knew exactly how to get to me too, bread and cheese were like forbidden fruits in the gymnastics world. She worried about how little I ate but it was a habit that I found hard to break.

Me - cheese and crackers sounds great!! I’ll pay you back!

She must have been waiting with her phone out because her response was instantaneous.

Katya - I think the university does not mind if I treat you! I will be there in 5.

Me - K thank you!

I was still smiling when I checked the text from “Unknown caller”

Unknown Caller - Hello, I’m sorry I woke you up last night. I was bored. You’re much nicer than the last one.

I felt the smile slide off my face to be replaced with a look of confusion as I typed in.

Me - Who is this? You have the wrong number.

It didn’t take long to get a reply.

Unknown caller - No I don’t. I can’t talk right now, I’m strongest after 3, all you need to know is my name is Sharon and I may look spooky but I’m really nice. Please don’t get rid of me!

Author’s note:

Возлюбленная (Vozlyublennaya) means Sweetheart.

There was a prompt on pinterest that had to do with a haunted mirror and I felt inspired. I put a bunch of queen’s names in a random name generator because I couldn’t decide which queen to use as the living impaired person. The choices were Sasha, Shea, Robbie, Nina, Willam, Acid Betty, Laila, Thorgy, Trixie, Henny, Chad, Max and Sharon and it chose Sharon!!

I’m like the fanfiction tinkerbell…if Tink was in a chair and had an attitude. I will die without feedback so whether you love it or hate it, please tell me about it at @paperdollsandhyperbole! If you want more spooky stories or another chapter, hit a bitch up! I’m VERY excited to share this with you!

Love n glitter, Remeny

(Additional I-was-a-pharmacologist note: don’t put any meds in the bathroom, the heat and moisture from the shower can affect the efficacy of the medication.)

#I look spooky but I’m really nice #violet chachki #katya zamolodchikova #vatya #sharon needles #lesbian au #horror #rpdr fanfiction #remény

[lily-is-writing]

Guys, read this!! Part two!

Bastard. I rubbed my neck where the fabric of my sweater had chafed, wincing. Capital B, ass turd. And now he had left, gone into the shadows or what fucking ever he did. What an ass. Leaving me with the mess and three articles to finish before Saturday. My patience had run out with these two, a long time ago. I should have kicked them out earlier, I thought, as I knelt to pick up the chess pieces. I had tried, pushed them, pleaded, everything except openly bribe them. That, I left to Dark. Dropping the black pieces into the bag, I bit my lip. Why did Dark want ME so much? It’s not like I was fucking special. The whole bit about the Rook did its job, to jolt him, but he took it personally. For such a monochrome guy, he sure was sensitive. Or maybe I was good at pinpointing his weaknesses. As he had said once casually, “hundreds of people if not thousands have fallen” to his “charm”. His “charm” extended to pulling me from the river and paying my hospital bills. The rest of it was bribery. And considering how I didn’t expect to get out of the river, I hardly considered it a favor I had to repay. I started gathering up the wooden pieces of table, trying to think of a new place to buy one, when- “Sonofabitch.” I dropped the table pieces and examined my left hand. A sliver of wood had impaled into the crook of my thumb and my hand. Shaking my head with a sigh, I stood and strode over to the medicine cabinet. My microwave beeped and I looked up to see “HA HA HA” on the timer. I raised an eyebrow and turned my attention back to the meds. “Not funny, Anti, not really. How long have you been in there?” I pulled down tweezers, band-aids, a cotton ball, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. The main occupants of my bare medicine cabinet. The tweezers felt cold on my fingers; I heard a glitchy chuckle in the background. “What’s wrong, Sweetheart, did Darky give you a boo boo?” “Fuck off,” I muttered, pulling out the sliver. I bit down on my tongue as I daubed it with the alcohol. “I have too much to do.” “Why not do me?” His voice was low and rough near my ear and it chilled me. I sent my elbow back and it missed him; he jumped out of the way. “Other things.” “Like Dark?” “What’s with all the sexual shit? Trying to finally pay rent in some way?” I pressed the band-aid round my finger and turned, not bothering to put away my medicine stuff. I was too irritable now. “Not interested.” “Mm. Are you sure?” Anti smirked and held his arms open. “I’m always ready.” “Fuck OFF, Anti,” I groaned, pushing past him and back to the wooden pieces on the floor. My knees pressed into the hardwood. I needed to clean this shit up so I could get work done. Without realizing it, a tear dropped from my face and onto the floor. My eyes burned, and I realized more were on their way. Furiously I rubbed at them and continued to pull together the wooden pieces. Dammit. I heard soft footsteps behind me and I tensed, ready for another stupid sexual joke. But instead- Black-denim covered legs knelt in front of me. I turned my face back to the floor to search for any tiny pieces of wood, but I could still feel his glitching presence. “Gonna make a ‘nice to see you down on your knees’ joke?” I asked quietly. Pale hands placed pieces of wood on my pile. I looked up in confusion and saw him looking around for more pieces, frowning in concentration. All I could do was watch as he put more and more pieces on my pile until the floor was clean. I sat there in astonishment. He swept them up into his arms and pushed past me. I stared at my hands. I heard the wood drop into the trash can, footsteps towards me. A sigh. Pale, glitching hands took mine. “Come on. Get up.” He pulled me up. I stumbled on my way up, standing with my head facing the ground. I hadn’t had anyone hold my hand so gently for…. a long time. One hand made its way to my chin and it tilted my head up. Anti was looking into my eyes, carefully, kindly. It was so strange, having someone care like this. Especially someone who I hated so much previously. “Calm down. Don’t take things so seriously,” he said quietly, drawing circles on my chin with his thumb. The gesture was so gentle i could feel my eyes widen. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I don’t like that.” “You like hurting people. What’s the difference?” My voice cracked slightly at the end and I pressed my lips together tightly. “There is a difference. Physical pain and emotional pain are different. Dark is the one who likes to mess with people’s heads.” I let out a tiny sigh. “Thanks, very reassuring.” “No, it’s-” he pressed his lips together and for some reason he looked-uncertain? Unhappy? Confused? Anti turned away and let go of me, running a glitchy hand through his hair. He glitched more nowadays. “It’s what?” I was curious now. My frustration was replaced with a fascination, a worry. Why was he getting upset? “Never mind.” He started to stomp towards my laptop, no doubt to slide in and sulk on my electronics. In a spur of the moment I grabbed his wrist. Blood roared in my ears as he whipped around, green eye glowing with power. “Let go.” His voice was a low growl. His head was starting to whip side to side in cracked reflections. “No. What is going on in your head?” “None of your business. Let go. Now.” “No.” Resolute, I stood with my feet firmly planted on the floor. “What the fuck, Anti? You’ve never given a crap about what Dark does around here and suddenly you’re cleaning up after his messes for me and telling me to calm down.” “That’s all I know how to do.” He started to slump, then stiffened. “He manipulates. I get to kill. That’s it. That’s all we do.” His voice shook with rage. “T h a t i s a l l w e d o.” The lights started to flicker. The dull hum of my microwave, my laptop, my phone, started to get louder. Asurge of power shot through my hand and I jumped back, hardly able to contain a yelp. I rubbed my wrist furiously and glared at him. “What was that for?” “You don’t understand us. You try and try so you can get under our skin, but we don’t even have skin. We don’t have hearts or brains or the kind of feelings you humans do. You think it’s easy to just step away?” Anti’s voice rose in anger. The lights flickered faster and faster, the hum of my electronics becoming a roar. “You think I can walk away?” “You have a will of your own, just do what the fuck you want! He doesn’t control you, he’s not more powerful than you!” I yelled to match him, clenching my fists. Nails dig into palms that cut into veins-I could feel the blood trail down my wrists. “What do you want?” The lights were moving so fast Anti’s face came in and out of shadow, the roar of my electronics matching his roar as he stomped towards me. His dark figure loomed over mine, that green eye glowing acid, the blood on his neck glistening, and as I looked up into that face, I thought it would be the last thing I saw before I died. I had finally pushed too hard. I was not expecting the lips that pressed against mine. Warm. Soft. Foreign. Shocked, at first I went stiff. Anti’s arms snaked around me. One bound me by my waist. The other hand made it to my hair, lacing though it. Suddenly I began to feel very light. Was I standing on my toes? Yes. Was I kissing him back? Now I was. My eyes closed and I wrapped my arms around his neck. I let one of my hands slide through his hair, playing with the ends of it. Something warm fell over me, from my head to my toes. We stood there, kissing. Then the lights blew out. That time I did yelp, jumping back from Anti. The entire apartment was dark, save for the light on my laptop and microwave. The only light that came in was from the window, moonlight streaming in over the floor. Breath heavy as my heart, I looked over where I had jumped away from Anti. His face was right in the light, and I could see his smile. A real smile…. not a smirk or a mocking grin. “That was….what you want?” I asked softly, pushing my hair back into place. My cheeks felt hot. Did they look it? “Yes. For a long time.” “You scared me,” I admitted. His face lit up with a more playful smirk, the one I was used to. I felt my lips curl up to match. “Do it again.” - - This one is longer….. whoops I heard you’re feeling down, and since you liked the first bit, I thought you’d like another snippet of the fic I’m writing! Mind the Addams Family reference at the end, aha Hope you like it! Xx

Thank you again for submitting work, it was brilliant!! I love the Addams Family reference, it was beautiful, everything about this was beautiful. Thank you for considering that I have been down lately, that is very kind of you!

This was written and submitted by: @bellflowerboy

#Antisepticeye #submission

[loveiscosmicsin]

The Final Frontier

Older Glompto/Promptio is a blessing, and yet my heart’s in a drought. Give me lots of content for this ship and those two in their thirties, please and thank you. Ao3 Link

-

“You had me at hello, goodbye and everything in between.” - Shannon L. Alder

-

Prompto Argentum had the perfect plan.

It’s a mission that had constantly been on his mind for the last five weeks. Weeks spent rehearsing in front of Iris, enduring much-needed pep talk from Noctis and Ignis, and kicking nasty thoughts of not being good enough. All that’s left is for him to just go for it. Go big or go home sort of deal, go where no man has gone before: asking Gladiolus Amicitia to tie the knot.

Yet, Prompto got tongue-tied when he felt ready to propose.

The timing was never the issue, Gladiolus’ undivided attention easy to summon for brief periods away from rebuilding Lucis and shadowing the king. Instead of feeling confident after streaming late-night videos of best proposals of all time, Prompto felt a little out of his league. Gladiolus was out of his league. But for whatever reason, they’re been steady for ten years.

There wasn’t any doubt in Prompto’s mind that Gladiolus was the future Mr. Argentum or he himself be Mr. Amicitia. It didn’t matter. The surnames clicked better than what he expected after a moment’s deliberation. Anyone who knew how the Sworn King’s Shield was with words would want him on the spot. Gladiolus always made it look so easy with how he connected to people and it’s not even reflected on the fact that he’s a blue blood. The impressive eagle tattoo and the muscles were something a little extra for Prompto to appreciate.

That’s why if Prompto was to propose to his boyfriend then he’s going to take the grease-monkey goddess’s mantra and do it right. Because they’re practically a little bit married, just needed a ring to go with it.

He may not have a theater troupe to reenact a favorite film or a carriage drawn by a team of glorious chocobos, but Prompto’s heart was in the right place. He was ninety-seven percent positive that Gladiolus wasn’t a fan of outlandish ceremonies. He had to make the moment special, just enough to stun him for a good minute before saying yes.

Prompto met Gladiolus when he was in high school, fifteen and eighteen respectively; Noctis introduced the two of them. The bodyguard definitely fit the bill for intimidating thug more than bodyguard, that was probably the point. The blond thought of him as nothing more than mean-spirited guy who could break cinder blocks with his head without batting an eye, and there were times that that assumption was justified: Gladiolus was a jerk at times. But Prompto had never met a more driven and compassionate man.

Maybe that’s why Prompto was drawn to him and didn’t realize it at first. The livewire was determined to get Gladiolus to crack a smile and laugh at his puns, bad as they were and recycled as they were. (Of all people, Ignis laughed at his jokes long before Gladiolus did, Ignis.) Occasionally, the joking got Prompto in trouble and Gladiolus had always been there to bail him out.

It was probably love somewhere between the lines of that relationship. Maybe it happened when Gladiolus playfully returned the jabs or the day the two laughed to the brink of tears and the older man noticed that the blond had dimples, calling them pretty. Or when Gladiolus suddenly recited poetry word for word and Prompto had no idea what he was saying but listened because he was so pleasant to listen to. This might be reaching, but it had to be that day when he and Noctis showed up at Prompto’s house unannounced, a bloody gash over the Shield’s eye and a startled prince at his side. No, it had to be during the epic road trip where Prompto proved he could carry his own weight and had Gladiolus’ back in battle. Maybe it got more serious when the world got fucked up beyond belief some years later.

Prompto sighed into his hands, blowing exaggerated huffs of air at imaginary crumbs on the counter. Now wasn’t the time to be wistful of the memories. Long story short, they had been through thick and thin, the final chapter to the King of Light’s story recorded for the legends, and the lucky ones got their happy ending, remembering the beloved that helped pave the way to this conclusion. But tales don’t end there, new ones had to be written. This tale had just begun when the blond let it simmer on the back burner of his head. It was what he wanted to do when this was over, only to have recently shared the idea to his friends.

He stared at his palm, a ring crafted of orichalcum with a matte finish, a relic he had picked up during his travels. It wasn’t around any skeleton’s finger and it definitely wasn’t the Ring of the Lucii 2.0 so Prompto can safely declare it safe to wear. Though the thought didn’t occur to him until after the light was restored to the world, it screamed ‘instant noodle-loving, Coleman pack rat bibliophile’ when he found it. Not literally, of course. The size was perfect and it didn’t look like just any conventional wedding ring.

Prompto dropped the ring into a Cup Noodle he just prepared and buried it in the stringy noodles and vegetables. He knew Gladiolus loved to eat them right after a workout. At one point, the big guy admitted that he loved Cup Noodles almost a little more than he loved Prompto. He could hear the wedding bells now.

It was just too bad that someone got to the noodles first.

“Nooooct! Nooooo!” Prompto cried out, lunging to secure the stolen cargo as the hapless Lucian king tilted the cup up, soup and all going down in two gulps.

As crazy he was for thinking it at that moment, Prompto should’ve guarded the Cup Noodle with his life.

“What’s with you?” Noctis demanded as he leaped back, dropping the Cup Noodle.

It was all in vain. The bottom of the container was empty. The soft, merry harmony of wedding bells that had went through the gunslinger’s head became a jarring cacophony of cymbals being repeatedly clashed together by a band of not-so-talented goblins.

Prompto wanted to tear his hair out, but decided against it remembering who his biological father was. He would like to keep a full head of hair for as long as he could, not go bald early. “The ring was in that!”

Noctis went pale as a sheet, clutching his stomach. It didn’t take him long to figure out what ring he spoke of. “You got to be kidding me!”

“You didn’t feel that going down? At all?”

The king balled up his shirt, looking unwell. “No.”

Instead of throwing an obscene comment accusing Noctis of swallowing things bigger than rings, Prompto defeatedly threw himself on the counter. “I can’t believe you ate the ring, man.”

“Ate what?”

Gladiolus entered the kitchen with a towel draped over his neck, shirtless and glowing radiantly from post-exercise. The blond’s jaw would be on the floor at the sight if he wasn’t so wired from the fact the ring was in his best friend’s stomach.

“The noodles!” Prompto yelped, his voice cracking as he trashed the evidence. “That I made for you!”

“That’s pretty generous of you, but I was thinking over what you said about eating healthy.” Gladiolus announced as he walked straight for the refrigerator. He pulled out a plastic container. “I’m gonna stick with a kupoberry salad for lunch.”

“Yeah? That’s great, honey boo bear because I care about you staying healthy.” Prompto patted his boyfriend’s rear with a grimace though the professed sentiment didn’t come close to matching his inner thoughts:

Whaddaya mean you’re going healthy now? You just gotta throw a curve ball at me, don’t cha? Why today of all days you decided to listen to me? At any rate, it doesn’t even matter. Big guy could’ve swallowed that ring or dumped it down the drain.

Prompto forced a laugh and as if there was any way that Gladiolus had overheard his inner monologue, he added, “Love you.” He winced, despising how weak that sounded aloud.

Gladiolus raised an eyebrow at this, reaching out to touch the shorter man’s forehead before laying a big smooch on it. “Love you, too. Catch you later.” He shook the salad in a sort of inconspicuous farewell to the king and Noctis meekly waved back.

Once Gladiolus was out of earshot, Prompto gave the finger guns and clicked his tongue, “Start gagging.”

Noctis crossed his arms with a scowl. “Prompto, I can’t just throw up on cue.”

“Noct, I love you, man.” Prompto, undeterred and unsatisfied by that answer, laid his hands on the king’s shoulders. “You’re the greatest buddy in the whole universe and I couldn’t have picked a better best man, but that ring is coming out of you, one way or another.” He pointed to a package of bran muffins. Fiber always got the job done and best friends don’t stick fingers in each other’s mouths, induced vomiting’s just a little too far. “Eat these.”

Be it that maybe Prompto was ten years early or ten years too late, he needed to hear it from Gladiolus’ lips. Some part of him is relieved that he could delay the proposal a little longer.

“Anything for you, I guess,” Noctis sighed, taking a bite out of a muffin with disinterest. That piece fell out of his mouth. “Ugh, stale. You know, you went about this all wrong. Said 'today’s the day I’m gonna spill my guts to the majestic eagle guy’.” He picked up a muffin and threw it at the blond’s shoulder. “'Noct, can you do it for me? The words aren’t coming out.’”

“I don’t say say that.”

Noctis gave him a stern look.

“Okay, okay, once that ring’s out, then I’m going to propose. For realsies this time.”

Obviously, the anxious gunslinger couldn’t follow Noctis all day, they both had other things to take care of. Lucis couldn’t stabilize all on its own and the king left after choking down four muffins. Besides, Noctis promised to let the blond know when the ring would be ready. Well, that was long before he set his phone off to silent and Prompto’s calls had to go to voicemail. That was criminal. Still, there are other ways around this, a second assurance.

“I came as soon as I could. What’s the emergency?”

Prompto may had told a tiny fib to get Ignis to come over. He felt a little guilty for that.

Before the prince consort could remove his jacket, Prompto took his hand and laid a box of sandwich bags on it.

“Iggy, when Noct poops, you go in there and scoop it up in one of these and call me ASAP.”

Ignis weighed the box of bags, running the clear packaging between his fingers with an undecipherable expression and gave the blond a sarcastic, “Ah-ha.”

“Please, Iggy,” the blond clapped his hands over his head, knowing that the gesture would fall short in the blind man’s range of perception. “I’m begging you.”

“I fail to understand the nature of this request,” Ignis deadpanned, “though I doubt your explanation or Noct’s would prove worthwhile.”

Prompto made a noise of discontent.

The corners of the prince’s lips curled in amusement. “But if you were this forthright with Gladio, I’m most certain he would appreciate it.”

The blond gasped. “The all-knowing daemon strikes again.” Whatever excuse he had to gain Ignis’ attention, it wasn’t anywhere related to the proposal and Noctis hadn’t been with him since this morning. Ignis had eyes and ears where they shouldn’t be other than on his body, but he knew everything going on.

Ignis frowned at the nickname received about a seventh sense that emerged from his blindness. “Enough of that. I receive plenty provocation from my husband. This is your future at stake here, Prompto.”

“Thanks for your blessings all-knowing one.” Prompto whispered, hoping he wouldn’t be heard as the older man had his back to him. “Don’t poison our water supply, burn our crops, and deliver a plague onto this house.”

Ignis flicked him across the forehead. “I heard that.”

-

“What? You’re leaving?” Prompto bolted upright from his comfortable position on Gladiolus’ chest. He immediately regretted it when he saw the room spin.

Gladiolus nodded, stroking the blond’s shoulder. “Gave you a heads-up three weeks ago, remember? You’re the first person I told.”

Prompto searched the older man’s face in silence.

The Shield chuckled. “You don’t remember, huh?” He held out a finger inches away from the blond’s nose. “You’re giving me that same look you made three weeks ago.”

“Does a behemoth ever forget?” Gladiolus opened his mouth and Prompto interjected, “No, no, they don’t do there. I didn’t forget.” He scoffed, “Pfft. But refresh my memory where you’re going and how long again?”

As Gladiolus explained, suddenly all the words became white noise and it would’ve been the perfect opportunity for major ad-libbing, Prompto’s mind drifted off to a whole separate train of thought:

Ohhh… That’s why Ignis had me try on clothes and brought like five outfits. Knew they were a little too fancy for casual wear. Still can’t get over how that man has a great sense of fashion no matter what. Did Gladio tell him what we’re doing just so I can be reminded?

“So,” Gladiolus broke Prompto out of his thoughts and none the wiser of how he spaced out completely, “are we still good for dinner tonight? Like I said, I head out pretty early.”

“Yeah, sounds perfect, big guy.” Prompto grinned, patting his boyfriend’s hand. Or it would’ve been if he had the damn ring on him! All the more reason to get it as soon as possible.

-

“It’s been six hours and you still don’t feel you gotta go?” Prompto exclaimed once he finally cornered the wayward king.

“And whatever you told Ignis earlier made my life harder.” Noctis sighed, putting his hands on his hips. “Surprisingly, he can’t be deterred from the false calls you pulled. He wants results.”

“I know, I know!” Frustrated, the plucky blond threw his hands up. “But without the ring, this would be a bust.”

“Better think of something. Gladio’s going to be gone for a month.”

“A month?” Prompto was desperate, but not before an idea hit him. “What if I just cut you open?” Noctis was stupefied by the suggestion so the other man added sternly, “If you love us, man, you would do this.”

“Surgery?” The king was flabbergasted. “L-look, just let buy you a new one…”

“That’s not the same!” The blond rubbed his chin, eying the king’s midsection. “I knew that watching the medical dramas would come in handy one day. You won’t feel a thing. Probably.”

“You’re not performing surgery of any kind.” Noctis narrowed his eyes. “Why couldn’t you just slip the ring in a book and give that to him?”

“Um, dude, that’s like how you proposed to Iggy. Learned Braille in secret and wrote the question out yourself. It’ll be copying if I did something like that.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Rude. At least one of us don’t got a ring in his belly. That’s new.”

The king rubbed his forehead into his palm. “Are you sure you put the ring in those noodles?”

“Yeah, and that’s how we got here.”

“Fine,” Noctis sighed, shaking his head. “But I’ll do anything, but not surgery.” He added immediately before Prompto pressed further.

-

“So when I asked if we’re good for dinner, I thought it’ll be just the two of us. Uh, no offense, Your Majesties.”

“Pardon the intrusion on your soirée,” Ignis elegantly swirled a glass of white wine between his fingers. “We thought this would be a more fitting get-together before sending you off.”

“Don’t mind me.” Noctis poked at his plate in annoyance. “Prompto won me over with a free meal… by candle light. Real romantic.”

“Is there a reason why you’re not touching your food?” Gladiolus asked.

“I had a big lunch.” The king replied, cheekily, shoving vegetables into a cloth napkin.

“Right.”

Gladiolus had made reservations at a high-end restaurant. Prompto made it a condition that Noctis be present while Ignis wished to be a spectator to the grand proposal. At a compromise and invitation, it was a double date. Everyone was dressed in their finest tonight.

Prompto barely tasted his food and water did nothing to save his parched throat. He didn’t want to risk touching Gladiolus with clammy hands. “I got something really important to ask you and it can’t wait until you get back.” After receiving subtle nods from Noctis and Ignis, Prompto took a knee, albeit rather slowly, his foot was trapped around a leg of his chair. He wiped his hands down. “Gladiolus Amicitia, will you marry me? Come on, crown citizens, let me hear you! Tap your glasses in the name of love!”

Ignis commenced with the polite chinking of glass tapping before the patrons of the establishment joined in. He turned his head when Noctis didn’t join right away and the king groaned.

“Wow, I wonder if I was this obnoxious before proposing to Ignis.” He said under his breath.

“You knighted your husband Gentleman of the Bedchamber before crowning him as the prince so shush!” Prompto sniped in a hushed whisper.

“I’d appreciate if everyone forgot that time.” Ignis protested calmly, voicing his dissent in the word choice. “Or choose not to mention it in my presence.” The tapping of glasses ended and the entire room waited on bated breath.

In all the commotion, Prompto realized that he was forgetting something. He laid his hand on the king’s stomach from beneath the table. Noctis gave him a look, but it wasn’t any less uncomfortable for Prompto either. It gave him some comfort in knowing where the ring was. This was more for Prompto’s belief in luck and reassurance that this would be nothing less of perfection.

“I don’t have the ring on me,” Prompto admitted in a half-truth to the Shield. Technically, it was in someone. “But trust me, it’s nearby and I’m pretty serious about this. About you.” He clutched the front of Noctis’ suit tighter and prayed. “About us.”

Gladiolus grinned. “Yeah, I’ll marry you.”

“What? Just like that?” Prompto lowered his hand. “Did someone rat me out?”

“Nah, ever since you asked me where we’re meeting in the afterlife, figured you’re gonna pop the question eventually.”

“At the ice-cold pool of Jetty’s right next to the chocobo farm! You do remember!”

“We ain’t dead yet so don’t try going before me.” Gladiolus rolled his eyes, but Prompto wasn’t fazed by it, not when the Shield’s grin was the brightest he’s ever seen. “I love how you purposely sing off-key in the shower. I love that you pour cereal while wearing one of my favorite jerseys. I love how your smile’s liquid sunshine even when the weather’s shit. And nothing’s sweeter than that look you get on your face when you gotta show me a cute animal you caught on film.”

Prompto’s stomach had performed a hundred somersaults and at least a dozen backflips by now. “Oh em gee.” His eyes were starting to water, yet he couldn’t avert his gaze, smirking endlessly like a fool in love.

“I love you even more when you say things like that.” Gladiolus fondly stroked the blond’s goatee. “When I’m not feeling by best, you boil the best ramen and we eat straight from the pot. Where I’m getting at is… Yeah, I love you and I want the rest of my life to be with you.”

Prompto reached up and weaved the Shield’s loose ponytail between his fingers. “H-hey, I’m supposed to be the one proposing here. You’re stealing my thunder.”

Gladiolus inched closer until their foreheads were touching. “Needed to set the record straight,” he whispered huskily. “Before we get hitched.”

When they kissed, whatever doubts he had before, it was the perfect marriage proposal in Prompto’s mind. Applause went off like fireworks. If he wasn’t on the floor, his right foot would be raised just like in the rom-coms.

“Was that perfect or what?” Prompto was beaming from ear to ear as he waltzed to Noctis’ side as his fiancé and the prince consort made way towards coat check.

Noctis was walking exceedingly slower than usual. “I’ll give you that…”

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Need to head to the restroom… right now.”

“The ring’s coming? We’re having the ring today?” Prompto cupped the king’s stomach. What timing. “Hey, big guy, Ignister, we’ll be back.”

Gladiolus nodded, waving a hand that bore a ring fashioned from the foil of after-dinner mints, a temporary accessory until the real ring could be procured, before the older man turned his attention back to the counter. Ignis called the ring charming and vintage, praising the ring maker. It still made Prompto giddy with joy as he pointed it out to a random couple in passing:

“That’s my fiancé.”

And once more to every guest, employee, stuffed animal, and inanimate object along the way for good measure. He was certain to indicate where said fiancé was even when he had to squint, turn his head, and visually and physically lead them there.

“What are you doing?” Noctis’ face was flushed, ducking away before people got a good look of his face. “I don’t need you in there!”

“Of course I’m coming in with you! You’re having Gladio’s ring. I can’t miss that for the world.” The plucky blond threw his arm around the king’s shoulders. “You know, Noct, this is the best day of my life. Scratch that, I mean, I still have other milestones to look forward to like being a dad. Maybe. Still gotta talk to my future hubby about that. And uh, launching my own magazine, but I’ll get there eventually. I’m not rushing this at all.”

-

“So that’s what you meant when you said it was nearby.”

“But I promise you I washed, steam-cleaned, and polished it a good thousand times before giving it to you.”

The Shield chuckled, watching the band glimmer in the light. “Well, I’m always on Noct’s ass.”

“And now you got a bit of him around your finger.”

Gladiolus gave Prompto a hard look, one that spoke of how unimpressed he had to learn of this a year later.

“Right. That was bad, but think of it this way: not everyone can say their wedding ring was blessed by the King of Light. I mean, once it finally cruised through the digestive system and he pushed it out, it still counts. We couldn’t been happier. Right?”

“Ask me again in another ten years.”

“Gladioooo!”

#Promptio #Glompto #Gladiolus Amicitia #prompto argentum #final fantasy xv #ffxv #ff #ff15 #final fantasy 15 #final fantasy #Prompto/Gladiolus #Gladiolus/Prompto #ignis stupeo scientia #Ignis Scientia #Noctis Lucis Caelum

[kittenclysm]

tf2 highlights

playing Highly Casual 2Fort and a guy joined called “the priest” playing medic with the mitre. he was trying to get people to jump in the 2fort water to baptise themselves. lots of friendly killers around and also people who didn’t want to go in the water so I changed my name to “compulsory baptist” and went pyro, airblasting people in the water. set up a bind that said “you are now baptised.” couple of friendly killers targeting the priest so I set up a second bind that said “if you won’t be baptised with water, we’ll do it with fire” and started backburning anyone who ran away from the water when i’d airblast them. eventually a couple of dudes went demoknight to protect the priest and started memeing about the crusades.

next round i was hanging out with this pyro and he started a jetpack taunt. i dodged out of the way but went in to hit him with my saw and got caught in the blast and died. changed my name to boo boo the fool.

took a break, then queued for some payload games under the name xX_pussy_slayer_69_Xx with another med main I’d added from 2fort. really lovely and communicative team, and there was a girl! we did great, i was top scoring. then my friend left and the server emptied out so we were in like a 3v3 and started fake-beefing with this rando... fuck what was their name, some kind of spoonerism. anyway spoonerism rando was teasing me ‘cause obv with a small team i was doing pretty poorly so they were like “pussy slayer slay my pussy” and i was like “throw or no pussy slaying” etc etc back and forth. we lost and i changed my name to FORMER PUSSY SLAYER in shame. some dudes on the other team were like noooo pussy slayer, come back and slay all our pussies. so i made my name “pussy slayer 2″ and made a bind that said “pussy slayed.”

at some point the server filled back up and i think people thought i was seriously trolling with the pussy slayed bind so at the end of that round i switched to one of my usual alt names, “soda streamed hotdog water” and in that round I met my second soldier main of the night. stayed in the server for like 3-5 matches and had some great games with him. very communicative, tryhard but not rude about it. added me after i quit. those matches were largely great and successful but one of the rounds, this Gamer Boy stock medic was put on our team and when I would do a callout he would go “um... okay?” or like repeat what i said condescendingly. basically just trying to create a hostile situation so i would stop talking. gamer grill oppression, amirite. anyway i ignored him for the most part but toward the end i had died and this guy was calling E about 5 feet from him and died, and the guy who died types “wtf why didn’t you heal me” and I was feeling mean so I was like “well I was dead and (bitchy Gamer Boy medic’s name) is bad, so idk who you wanted to heal you.” and bitchy gamer boy went afk after that and eventually got votekicked.

took another break, then saw my normal, non-tf2 voip friend playing casual so I joined him. called myself “trusty Patches” that round and as I was buffing before round start a soldier was like “you’re not going to kick me into a hole, are you Patches?” and my friend who’s consistently hilarious was like “you should yell go go go, ready to charge, go go go, and then not uber him and run away.” I didn’t but wouldn’t that have been a Patches move.

i don’t usually talk about alt name jokes, but this session it was relevant a whole lot.

the soldier with the Patches jokes added me too, tried grouping with his friends when mine left but i was declining by that point so i quit.

total soldier main haul for the Binder Full Of Soldier Mains: 3

#meow(3).txt