#it's the strength of hell because she's closer to it bc she's so fucking short

[wellfell]

the moment akina senses you're trying to treat her like something delicate she'll start laughing so hard she'll snort . (⁠•⁠‿⁠•⁠)

#lIKE !!!! #she looks small she has vvv boney hands and wrists and she might fall if you shove her too hard but listen #.... she's mad strong . #it's the strength of hell because she's closer to it bc she's so fucking short #ooc.

[withahappyrefrain]

-Oh my god, if you ever get into a bar fight with someone, he just wraps one arm around your waist, lifts you up, and kinda situates you on one hip? And just walks around like "Nope, ladybudy, we are not getting arrested tonight"

Omg I need to see this scene as it’s own thing…?! How would he react to reader being a little spicy jalapeño after too many drinks and too many rude a*holes?

not me asking bc I too have a temper hahahahahaFUCKhahaa

- @liz-allyn

Hi @liz-allyn I am tipsy and got this idea in my head and couldn't get it out soooo here we are this is pure crack have fun ♥️♥️♥️

As Peter turns around after getting his drink from the bartender, he goes on high alert at the realization that you are no longer by his side.

He quickly scans the bar, reminding himself to look both up and down due to how short you are.

He finds you. You've just downed your drink and from the way you're talking with your hands at the person across from you, Peter knows you're feeling the effects of your drinks.

It's when you shake your head and put a finger up at them, your mouth clearly forming the word "no", that Peter begins to make his way through the crowd.

The last thing he needs is trying to fight someone without showing off that he had super strength. As Peter got closer, he could begin to hear your conversation.

"How....like how on God's green Earth, could you think they deserve that?" You said.

"You just have to look at them! It's so obvious!"

You shook your head. Peter could see the anger bubbling up.

Oh God, you were pointing your index finger at them and saying no.

"How....how?! You're wrong. You are so fucking wrong. I have never heard a person say one wrong thing, right after the other."

"You're reading way too into this." Peter could tell they were starting to get frustrated. He did his best to move in-between the sea of people.

"And you are taking such a shallow approach to this!"

"It's just a movie."

"Ryan and Sharpay deserved those roles more than Troy and Gabriella!"

Oh God not this again.

At first, it was cute how fiery and passionate you would get when intoxicated. But then you put your hands on someone after they suggested Shrek was better than Shrek 2. Peter had to get you out of there quick.

"They sung the song the way Kelsey wanted it to be sung!"

"But Breaking Free is a bop."

"The way Kelsey had it was boring as hell. You're telling me you would have wanted to sit through that boring ballad? Ryan and Sharpay had the vision, they knew they needed to spice it up because they actually did theatre! They didn't just try it out on some whim!"

Before he met you, Peter had never seen the film. Your passionate rants were one of the many things he loved about you.

He just loved it a little less when you got drunk and threw drinks at people over it.

"That Ryan and Sharpay would have nailed! Could Troy and Gabriella pull off Bop to the Top? Absolutely not!"

"Ryan and Sharpay were shitty people!"

You looked ready to lunge at the person's neck.

Which was Peter's cue to step in.

"Alright ladybug, it is time for us to go! I am so sorry. Good thing she's cute, right?" Peter joked to the person you had been arguing with.

"No, we are not leaving until I knock some sense into-"

"Oh yes we are!" Before you could protest, Peter had one arm wrapped around your waist. He lifted you off the ground, your hip awkwardly resting on his.

"Sorry about that dude, she gets really passionate about her film opinions!" Peter whispered before turning around.

"Do not apologize to that person! They have shit taste!" You yelled over the music, "They probably think Glinda is a good witch!"

"She is!" You tried to turn around, but Peter's grip tighten as he walked out of the bar.

"Ladybug, I love you so much. But we are not getting arrested because of High School Musical."

"But Sharpay and Ryan-"

"Deserved those roles over Troy and Gabriella. Absolutely."

"See? You understand," you sighed and leaned your head into the crook of Peter's neck. Peter sighed, happy that you two were finally out of the crowded bar.

"We gotta start walking home now, okay?" He explained. You nodded your head.

"I'm.....I'm going to put you down now." You nodded your head again. Peter on the other hand, still maintained his grip on your waist. Your feet were still dangling above the ground.

"I know," You sighed.

".....We are not going back into the bar," Peter explained, his voice stern. You simply nodded your head.

Peter gently placed you back on the ground. After you stood there for a few moments, he removed his hand from your waist.

"They said Glinda was good, they need to understand she's a bitch!" You called out as you ran back into the bar.

Peter ran after you, calling your name. He should know better by now.

He'd be carrying you all the way home this time.

#peter parker imagine #tasm peter x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #tasm!peter x you #tasm peter x you #my writing #ask #lovely lizzy

[writingtoforgetreality]

You’re A Winchester? (Castiel x Winchester!Reader)

Request: You are so sweet, is a little sister Winchester reader good? Like in her late 20s that is their sister from another world/dimension, but they don't have a sister in their world? And she is just trying to fit into their family but she is a good hunter? It can be with Cas Meg or both, whatever you are inspired to do :) (by @sourpatchspinster), [Supernatural-Masterlist]

Part Two

Summary: You woke up in the middle of nowhere. How the hell did you get here? The last thing you remembered was being in a motel room & all of a sudden, you found yourself lost with the worst headache ever. Who would have thought your life was about to be changed forever?

Words: 5,270

Warnings: takes place in season 15 bc I want “everyone” to be alive & happy, language (do I still have to mention this?), mentions of our dear friend Chuck, angst?, innocent reader (I don’t know what happened to me during my writing break tbh), not my fav piece but I loved the request so there you go, fluff, (possible second part?), (Y/E/C) = your eye color

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

Black. That was all you could see. Your head was killing you, it felt like someone tried to crush it with their bare hands. It took you a lot of strength but after a few attempts, you managed to open your eyes & were met with a blue sky. Huh…Did you fall asleep outside? No. WAIT?! Were you captured? No, you were just lying on the grass. Slowly, you got into a sitting position, looking around to figure out where in the hell you were. Unfortunately, your surroundings were unfamiliar. Taking deep breaths, you tried thinking logical for a second. The last thing you remembered was you sitting in a motel room, turning pages in an old diary your family left behind.

You had never met any of your family, growing up in a children’s home because…well, you had no idea if you were completely honest. Throughout the years, you had been to multiple foster families but in the end, you always ended up back at the children’s home. Not that you cared too much. It was not like you ever felt like you belonged with them anyway. On your 18th birthday, Sally, one of the employees, came into your room with a small package in her hand. That was the first time you had ever received a gift.

“It says I should give it to you today.” she handed you the small wrapped gift with a genuine smile on her face.

“What is it?” your curiosity got the best of you.

“Open up & see, I guess. I have no idea.” & with that she left you alone once again.

The day you got the diary was when you left the children’s home for good. You could not believe what you had read. Apparently, you did have a family. Or so it seemed. But why the hell had you never met them? And why the hell did it seem like your family suffered from psychological problems? Schizophrenia? To be honest, you did not care about that. The only thing that mattered to you was that it seemed like you had a father & two brothers out there somewhere. It looked like your mother had died a while ago…

~back to your confused ass self~

Being alone out in the middle of nowhere was not particularly comforting. What scared you even more was that you did not even have your stuff with you. Where was your diary? Your phone did not matter to you that much, neither did your clothes. It was not like you owned much to begin with. But that diary? That meant the world to you. Even after years of unsuccessful searching for your family, you never gave up. Because deep down, you knew you would come across them eventually.

Coming to a standing position, you dusted off the dirt that was on your clothes. A black car in the distance caught your attention. What was a car doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Maybe your kidnappers were driving it & brought you here? That thought let your heart race. Yet, you found yourself moving closer to the car. The closer you got, the more you could make out. Was that a ’67 Impala? Out here? And it looked like it was in great condition? If you had enough money you would buy a similar car & you sure would treat it the same way that the Impala’s owner did.

You risked a look inside the Impala, finding it relatively empty, but before you could spend much longer admiring it, you saw something silver in the corner of your eye. Was that a…door? Okay, yeah, you were definitely kidnapped. But not by professionals, that was for sure. Not the right time to joke? Okay, okay, right. Upon closer inspection, you noted that it was most likely a door to a bunker. Why you did not run right away, you were not sure. Something about this place felt like…home. Huh, weird. How could you be so anxious yet so at peace all at once? Only one way to find out. Oh boy, you would so regret this later.

Before you could think too much, your hand was moving towards the door, ready to push. Surprisingly, it was not locked. You had to push your entire weight against the door to keep it moving since it was so damn heavy. By now, your legs were moving on their own & all of a sudden you were standing inside a…bunker? There was not much to make out because your eyes had to adjust to the dark inside at first.

It sounded like footsteps were approaching fast but because of the echo in the bunker you could not quite tell where they were coming from. There was one thing you did notice, though, & it was the fact that there was more than one person coming your way. Fuck.

“HANDS IN THE AIR!” the click of a gun was followed after the loud voice. Obeying, you put your hands up even though you were sure nobody could see what you were doing anyway. It was still dark after all. Right this instance, light illuminated the room & you were stunned by how big the bunker was. Eyes wide, you looked around, only to find you were upstairs & the voice you heard was coming from beneath you. Gazing around, your eyes fell on two broad looking men, both of them pointing a gun at you. Fucking great. You should have run.

“DOWN. NOW.” the shorter one of the two yelled once again. Not wanting to mess with them, your legs moved towards the stairs & slowly you got down, not once letting your eyes move away from the man with the shorter hair. He seemed like the bigger threat. While the taller man looked scary as hell too, he held something behind his eyes that eased you a tiny bit more.

“Who are you & what are you doing here?” this time it was the taller man who spoke up & you had to take back your previous thought. He was scary as shit, especially with his voice sounding like he was up to no good.

“Um, I-I swear, I don’t know. I-“ but your attempts were cut short.

“Cut the bullshit right there. Did Chuck send you?”

“Chuck?” your eyebrows raised up, showing your genuine confusion.

“Dean, I don’t think she’s with Chuck.” the one with the longer hair mumbled. Dean? Huh. The name made you think of your lost diary again. You hoped you would find it eventually.

“Sit down & start talking.” he was not to be messed with so you followed both men further into the bunker until you reached a huge table. Choosing one of many chairs, you sat down but still eyed the guns that were no longer pointed at you but still very much a threat. The men each took a seat opposite of you, putting the guns on the table in front of them. At least they were not holding them anymore. You noticed you held your breath & again, started taking slower ones to calm yourself.

“I’m Sam & this is my brother Dean. We won’t hurt you, just…who are you?” what a coincidence. Brothers Sam & Dean. Were you dreaming? Of course, why did you not think of this sooner? It would make sense.

“My name’s (Y/N).” your voice was barely above a whisper & your eyes shot down to your lap, suddenly feeling small.

“(Y/N), okay. Well, (Y/N), um, why are you here?” Sam’s voice was a lot softer than at the beginning. Dean had not said anything else, he simply looked at you sternly, still thinking you were a threat. You did not even have weapons on you. Hell, you did not even know how to fight in the first place. But clearly they did not know that. Fuck it, if you were about to die then you could actually tell the truth, right? What did it matter? Your voice was quiet but loud enough so the boys could hear you.

“One moment I was reading through a dia- book & the next I wake up in the middle of nowhere with the worst headache ever. I saw the Impale parked outside & then found the door. I don’t know where I am, I don’t even know why I thought opening this damn door would be a good idea.” a slight chuckle was all you could muster right now. Hopefully they would believe you. When neither of them said anything for a few moments, you looked up & saw them eyeing each other, having a silent conversation.

“What book were you reading?” this time it was Dean but his voice was a lot kinder now. The boys knew you were not a supernatural being, the bunker was safe when it came to that & you would have not been able to enter otherwise. Yet, you were confused by his question? That was really all he cared about? Not the fact that you had no clue where you were or how you got here? Not wanting to anger him, you answered, looking him straight into the eyes.

“My dad’s diary. Nothing special, why?” a noise coming from the entrance made you look towards the door. There sure were quite a lot of people for being in the middle of nowhere. Your conversation was cut short when a voice spoke up.

“Sam! Dean! I salted & burned the bones! Case done! Well, Castiel helped me but he said he was proud of my work.” how could someone sound so excited about…burning bones? What the fuck?

“Jack did a good job today.” the other person spoke up. He was wearing a trench coat & his voice was deep, deeper than the others. Obviously, they had not noticed you yet but a look at Sam showed you how uncomfortable he was. At this point, you were more than confused. Salting & burning bones? Why did this sound familiar though? Shit. No way. Your dad’s diary was filled with salting & burning stuff. What was happening to you?

“Uh, guys…” Sam got up & approached the two men who were called Jack & Castiel. Somehow, your gaze fixed on the man in the trench coat. He looked good. Again, wrong timing, (Y/N). Get it together! Jack & Castiel saw you & their faces turned into confusion.

“Who’s that?” Jack asked, his voice did not scare you, he sounded sweet. He seemed like a kind person.

“Jack, Cas, this is (Y/N). She showed up in the bunker out of nowhere.” Dean eyed you once more before getting up himself. Frustration could be felt & you hated that you were the one causing it. Never was it your intention to cause trouble in their lives but it looked like you just did by opening that damn door.

“Could you all maybe sit down? It makes me nervous when you’re all pacing like that.” you were surprised by your own voice. Usually you were never one to intervene, especially not in a situation like this. But you were exhausted & all you wanted was just to get back to your motel & these were the only people who could help your right now. All eyes shot to you & to your surprise, they began walking towards the table. Sam & Dean, taking the seats opposite of you. Castiel sat down right next to you & you hated how your heart skipped a beat by this simple action. You did not even know this man, he could be a killer. Jack took the chair next to Castiel & Sam made it his job to explain your situation briefly. All you could do was listen, your hands fiddling in your lap, still somewhat anxious to be here.

“Cas? Isn’t there a way you could…I don’t know, check her memories?” Dean added right after Sam finished explaining. Your confused face shifted between the two men, not understanding a single word. How could a stranger help you with your memories?

“I could try. But I need your permission to do that.” while saying the last part, his eyes looked straight into your (Y/E/C) ones. Damn, his eyes. His head tilted slightly & it was only then when you registered that he had asked you a question & you simply stared at him.

“Um, permission for what?”

“To take a look at your memories & see what you remember. We could help you after that.” his voice was so casual, as if he had done this multiple times. To you, though, it sounded like he was crazy.

“Right. And you can do that because…?”

“Because I’m an angel of the Lord.” Castiel stated. A what of the what now? A short laugh escaped you. Not because you laughed at him but because you were shocked & confused.

“Cas…” Sam mumbled & put his head in his hands. That was something he had wanted to keep from you. He had a feeling you had no idea about the supernatural & he wanted to keep it like that.

“You can trust him, (Y/N).” Dean chimed in.

“Will it hurt?” not that you were scared of the pain, your pain tolerance was pretty high but on the other hand, he had just told you he was an angel.

“Only a little.” Cas gave you a reassuring smile & that was when you decided you would let him do it. Because, frankly, you did trust him. Even though he might have some sort of mental illness.

Sam, Dean & Jack left the room to give Castiel some time to prepare & to give you time to calm down. He could tell by the way your leg was bouncing that you were highly uncomfortable but he was not sure how to help. His idea was to get it done quickly & then to bring you back where you came from. Hopefully, you would not ask too many questions. He already gave too much away by saying he was an angel. Replaying your face when he had said it eased him a bit. You did not look convinced at all which was probably for the best.

“Try to breathe more evenly, it’ll help.” you could tell he was trying to make this easier for you but you just wanted to get it done.

“I’m ready, let’s do this, please.” the plea at the end was almost inaudible but Castiel could hear it anyway.

Your eyes closed as you saw Castiel approaching. His fingers touched your temples gently but the next thing you felt was a short but piercing pain shooting through your entire body. It only lasted a few seconds & the only words you could make out before you fell unconscious were “You’re a Winchester?”.

“What do you mean she’s a Winchester?” Dean asked with shock written all over his features.

“She’s related to us?” it was Sam, he took the information way better than his older brother.

“Your sister, to be exact.” Castiel paused briefly, waiting if one of the boys wanted to add anything. He took their silence as a sign of continuing. “Her father’s diary, the one she was reading before she got here, it was John’s.”

“Wait, wait, wait…WE have his diary. There’s no way she has it. Besides, we would know if we had a sister.” Dean gestured with his hands to get his point across. He had never seen you, you could not have stolen the book from them.

“You’re right. But in her world, she was the one owning it. In her world, you guys are her brothers.”

“In her world? What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam decided to join the conversation, now wanting answers himself.

“She’s from an alternate universe. I expect she was reading through a spell or something similar & somehow she got sucked into our reality. From what I’ve seen in her head, the portal closed itself behind her so if she has no idea how she opened it & got here…well, it could be hard to bring her back. Besides, I’m not so sure she wants to go back there…” Castiel’s voice got quieter at the end of his sentence.

“Why not?” Dean imagined himself in your situation & he would do anything to get back.

“It’s not really my place to tell, I believe.” & before Dean could argue any further, Jack came running into the room.

“(Y/N)’s awake.” to that everyone followed behind him to one of the many bedrooms the bunker had to offer.

You were tired but the pain had completely disappeared. No matter how hard you tried, you still could not remember how exactly you got here. The door creaked & you looked up to find Sam, Dean, Castiel & Jack entering the room. You were no longer scared. Probably because you were way too exhausted to care.

“So?” you spoke up after a few seconds of silence. Castiel stepped forward & took a seat at the end of the bed you were lying in. His ocean blue eyes looked you over, making sure you no longer were in any pain. You nodded at him to show you were fine & with that Castiel told you what he had seen. It was a lot to take in but your tired state simply made you nod at everything he explained.

“The thing is…We don’t know how to get you back.” Sam approached you slowly, took a seat in a chair next to your bed.

“Cas?” ignoring Sam’s statement, you only had one question on your mind. Back in your world, you had spent years looking for your family. For your brothers. The ones being in the same room with you right now. Also, when did you start calling Castiel by his nickname? When did that happen? His humming gave you enough confidence to continue.

“Are they alive back home?” you did not have to mention names for Castiel to know who you were referring to. His face turned into one of sadness & you knew the answer without him saying anything.

“I don’t wanna go back.” every ounce of uncertainty was gone, you knew it was fate that you were here with all of them now. The four men shared a look, having a silent conversation again. Dean nodded but left the room a second later.

“Don’t mind him, he just needs time to process.” Sam’s sympathetic smile relaxed you a bit. The bunker was nice, so was the fact that you practically met your brothers but you were not planning on staying with them. Dean’s reaction showed you why. They had lived their lives without knowing they had a sister. You, on the other hand, had known about your brothers for years & yet you did not feel the satisfaction you had so desperately hoped for after finally finding them.

“It’s fine, I’ll get going soon.” with that, you sat up straight & tried standing up. A wave of dizziness kept you from doing so. Castiel was at your side in an instant & guided you back down.

“You need to rest.” he told you.

“You’re not staying?” Jack’s voice erupted from the door. You had almost forgotten he was there too. Your eyes focused on him briefly before you looked back down again, a blush slowly making its way up  on your cheeks.

“It’s for the better. I’ll be fine.”

“(Y/N). You’re our sister. Doesn’t matter if you’re from here or from another world. You’re family. We just found each other, we won’t let you leave again.” Sam’s words made you tear up. He did not know you, yet he told you that you were family & he wanted you to stay. For the first time, you felt like you belonged somewhere & you were overthrown with emotions. Since Castiel was closest to you, he sat himself next to you, threw an arm over your shoulder & pulled you into his chest. Usually, you hated crying in front of people but right now you could not care less. Besides, being in Castiel’s embrace felt right. What was it about him? Neither of them left the room, all staying with you for as long as you needed. When you could not feel more tears flowing down your cheeks, you slowly removed yourself from Castiel, immediately missing the warmth of his body. If you were about to stay here, he would be trouble, you could feel it already. Sam, Castiel & Jack then left the room, telling you to get some more rest & to scream for one of them if you needed anything. Details could be discussed another time.

They were right, you needed sleep. Time to sort your thoughts. Maybe that was the reason why you entered the bunker in the first place. Why you were not concerned about them brutally killing you. After waking up, you were more comfortable with the idea of sticking around with the boys. Sam told you Dean would come around eventually & you just hoped he was right. Getting up, you paddled to the door, quietly opening it since you did not know how late it was. There was a long hallway that looked exactly the same, no matter what direction you were looking at. Distant voices could be heard so you followed them & prayed you would not get lost in that labyrinth of a bunker. You had to ask your brothers a question. Your brothers. It felt weird to call them that but they were, right? Back home, you had read through your dad’s diary about a thousand times. You were familiar with what he wrote about. He called himself a hunter. Sadly, you were not about to meet him. Castiel had told you that he had died a long time ago. Sam & Dean were the only family you had left.

“Um, hi.” you made yourself present & Dean turned around to meet your eyes. He looked a lot less tense, thank God.

“Slept well?” at least he was attempting to start a conversation with you. Nodding your head, you walked over to where Jack was sitting. Dean spoke up again.

“Hey, sorry for how I acted earlier. It was just a lot at once. I do want you to stay. We do.” he emphasized his words. This made you smile. At first you were not sure about how Dean would react but this showed you that he was trying & that was enough. Telling him it was fine, you sat down next to Jack & looked over at what he was reading. The book was old but the condition it was in was surprisingly well. A cup was placed in front of you by Dean & you thanked him. He brought you coffee.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Where is Sam? I wanna ask you guys something.” feeling silly with how you put it, way more dramatic than it actually was.

“Right here.” Sam entered the room, walked past Dean & straight to you. A pat to your shoulder eased the tension a little.

“What is it?” Dean seated himself on top of the table.

“Okay, so…I just want you guys to be honest with me, okay?” both men nodded, Jack was lost in his book, he did not even hear you conversation. You continued.

“Monsters are real & you hunt them?” their eyes widened at your question but deep down they expected something like that. The diary you owned was filled with the supernatural.

“Yeah, we do. It’s kinda the family business.” Dean chuckled at the end. You were family but clearly you had never hunted any monster before.

“Okay.” was all you answered.

“Okay? That’s it? You’re not running outta the door?” Sam could not believe you. He expected you to freak out. On the other hand...you were a Winchester.

“I don’t know about you, Sam, but I let an angel of the Lord look into my head. Monsters don’t sound too crazy after this.” all of you laughed out. “So, you guys hunt the supernatural. Castiel is an angel? And Jack? What is he? Your trainee?” the mention of his name made Jack look at you & before the boys could answer your question, Jack decided to take matter into his own hands.

“I’m a nephilim. The offspring of a human & an angel. Lucifer is my father but not really, you know. My mother died when I was born but I have Sam, Dean & Cas. They are my family.” his smile was too pure for this world but the way he so casually talked about the fact that he was Lucifer’s son had you stunned.

“Sure.” was all you could manage at that point. Jack’s smile grew wider & he got back to reading.

“Welcome to our world? I guess?” Sam’s smile was faked but if you were honest, you could imagine yourself being thrown into this mess. Nothing you could not handle.

~a few months later~

“Guys? Have you seen Cas?” you came running into the kitchen where Sam & Dean were having breakfast.

“What? You boyfriend ditched you?” Dean teased & earned a slap from Sam. You simply rolled your eyes at him. Your brothers realized very soon after coming to them that you had a big crush on Cas & Dean loved to mess with you.

“Shut up, asshole. We’re about to leave for the case in Wisconsin but he’s not here.”

“I haven’t heard from him but come on, sit down & have breakfast with us.” Sam offered. You walked over to the boys & sat down next to Dean who handed you a cup of coffee right away. Your smile was a thank you enough.

“Seriously, though. When will you tell him?” Dean munched on his food, not even looking at you but you knew the question was directed at you.

“That we’re leaving for the case? He knows that, Dean.”

“That you like him.” scoffing could be heard. Sam enjoyed your banter in silence. That was one indicator that you were a their sister. After warming up to them, they found out you were actually a lot like Dean. This made you guys argue more often, never too severe, mainly siblings teasing each other.

“Right, & then we’ll have that apple pie life. Is that what you want? Dean, he doesn’t like me like that.”

“Yeah, he does. Poor dude is a mess whenever he talks to you.” again, you simply rolled your eyes at him. Yes, Cas could be awkward when you guys talked but then again, this was Cas.

“(Y/N)?” Cas came into the kitchen where he could hear voices. Immediately your head snapped up & a smile started forming. An action that did not go unnoticed by both, Sam & Dean. Neither mentioned it though.

“There you are, I got worried for a second.” you got up & pulled Cas into a hug. That was nothing special. The two of you hugged each other all the time. Another thing that Dean commented on a lot of the time. Apparently, Cas had never been much of a hugger before you had come around. You simply shrugged it off even though, deep down, your heart skipped a beat at the idea of you being the reason for his change.

“Jack needed to talk to me, I’m sorry.”

“No problem, are you ready?”

“Yes, we should get going anyway.”

“Alright, bye boys.” whenever one of you got ready for a hunt, you made sure to say goodbye properly. You never knew. The last few months, your brothers had helped you with the basics of hunting. If they were honest, it felt like you were born to be a hunter. You picked up the skills quickly & learned a lot about the supernatural in a very short time. Cas told you that it probably was because you were always meant to be here. After a while, you started believing him. At first, Sam & Dean told you you were not allowed to come on a hunt with them but after realizing that you were good at what you did, you became an inherent part of the team which you were grateful for. Now, they even let you leave with Cas, a big step forward.

“Your bag’s already in the trunk.” Cas pointed at the back of the car.

“Thanks, Cas.” you lovingly smiled at him. Yeah, you were totally into him. Cas stopped briefly & got closer to you. Yet, he made sure to keep a little bit of distance between the two of you.

“Why don’t you tell me?” he whispered & you felt like you could not breathe for a second. Had he heard your conversation with Dean earlier?

“W-What?” you hated how weak & nervous your voice sounded. Why could you not play it cool? Why did you have to make a fool out of yourself? Before you could even process what was happening, Cas slowly leaned in & pressed his lips to yours softly. You were too shocked to kiss him back, not knowing if it was really happening right now. Cas pulled back & he looked rather uncomfortable. Your face was still full of shock.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done this. Just…Dean told me you liked me & then I heard your conversation & I thought you might-“ you cut his rambling off by pulling him close again. This time you kissed him & he lost no time in kissing you back. You let yourself get lost in the moment. You had dreamed about this particular moment for months & the fact that it was happening right now? Your body was on fire. When the both of you pulled apart for air, you could see Cas’ smile & you were sure your were blushing like crazy.

“So, Dean was right?” Cas’ hands settled on your waist & it felt natural. As if you had done it a thousand times.

“Remind me to kill him after this case.” you laughed & pulled Cas into a hug. He tightened his arms around you. Who would have thought, all those months ago, that you would end up with an actual family?

“Wasn’t he our…how do you call it? Wingman?” Cas chuckled after planting a soft kiss on the top of your head. He released you from the hug & you moved over to the passenger side. Your elbows were propped up on the hood & a smirk started forming at the corner of your mouth.

“Still. I told him to keep it to himself & he is my brother. I think I have permission to kill him for this.” of course you were joking & if you had to be honest, you were kind of glad that Dean could not keep his mouth shut. Cas walked over to the car, shaking his head at you but you could still see a small smile, opened the door & got in. You smiled to yourself. Finally, you knew that Cas did like you too. Where you were going from there? You were not sure yet. But there was a case you had to finish & it would take a few days to get it done. That would be enough time to figure out what you two were but you had a good feeling about this. It felt right & you had a home with people you loved & cared for. You were meant to be here from the start.

~to be continued?~ (let me know)

Part Two

Published (03/18/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @teelagurl558, @babymango-writes, @hollymac79 (thanks for your support <3)

#castiel #cas x reader #castiel x reader #supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfiction #SPN #spn fanfiction #spn season 15 #fanfic #fanfiction #one shot #oneshot #imagine #reader insert #reader imagine #winchester!reader #winchester!sister #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #Jack Kline #Misha Collins #Jensen Ackles #Jared Padalecki #alexander calvert #alternate universe #angst #fluff #writing #original story

[elliesguitarstrings]

Silence (Part 5)

Masterlist//Series Masterlist

Peter Parker x Stark!reader

Summary: You and Peter have been best friends ever since he stepped foot into the avengers compound. After a year of being friends you realize you’ve developed a crush on him, but he doesn’t feel the same way… at least, you don’t think he does.

A/N: Last part!! I really enjoyed writing this and I hope you enjoyed reading it :) I may or may not do an epilogue to this but we’ll see bc I have a lot of other stuff I want to work on.

Warnings: language, angst with a happy ending

~~~~~~~~

You lay on your bed, contemplating how in the world you’re ever going to manage ignoring Peter on patrol. Truthfully, you know you won’t be able to avoid him, but you want to go as long as possible without talking to him, which will be nearly impossible since it’s just going to be the two of you. Why couldn’t you just go with Nat, or Wanda, or like… anyone else?

Then the dreaded moment comes when your dad calls you downstairs to suit up for patrol. You rush down to the lab before Peter gets there, slipping into the suit you’ve been working on for the past few months. It’s nothing special, just your average stealth suit with a little bit of tech incorporated, but it’s yours. And now you can finally wear it for something other than basic training.

You admire your suit in the mirror, excited to put it to good use. In the reflection, you see Peter walk into the lab, already suited up in everything but his mask. Presumably he already knew you were joining him on patrol, but he still looks surprised to see you nonetheless.

Luckily, before he has the chance to say anything to you, your dad steps in.

“Great, you’re both here! Pete, you know the drill. Station at a tall building, look for bad guys, be back my midnight.”

Peter nods, “Yes sir. Same as always!”

God, what a suck up.

Your dad turns to you, “Y/N, follow Peter’s lead. He’ll brief you on the basics of patrolling and what to expect. Tonight’s a quiet night, but still watch out for trouble. And please, for the love of god, behave yourself.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, dad, got it.”

“Alrighty then kids, get to work. See you later.”

You follow Peter out, trailing behind him at quite a distance so you don’t have to talk to him.

Peter starts lecturing you about the basics of patrol (which you already know) as you walk out onto the roof of the compound, getting ready to head to Queens. He offers to swing you there, but you cross your arms and shake your head, still keeping your silent streak. Thankfully, you had installed jet thrusters into your suit, and while they aren’t very strong, they are enough to get you through the short trip to Queens.

As you fly through the city, you contemplate just going off on your own, away from Peter. But you decide that the lecture from your dad when you come back wouldn’t be worth the trouble.

You loosely follow Peter and land on a tall apartment building in the middle of the city. He sits on the edge of the roof, looking out over the city, motioning for you to come sit next to him. Instead, however, you swiftly turn your back and sit on the opposite side. Luckily, he takes the hint and doesn’t come to you, and the two of you sit in silence for a while, with both of you surveying each side of the city.

It’s not until about thirty minutes in that something finally happens. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a man in a black hood sneaking into a dark alley. You know if you say anything to Peter, he would want to come with you, so you slip down the building as quietly as possible, going to see for yourself what’s going on.

At first it looks like an average drug deal, something you could easily stop in no time. But then, you see one of the three hooded men pull a glowing weapon out of his duffel bag, something you recognize as alien tech. You try to sneak further around the corner to get a better look at the weapon, but you make the mistake of not looking down and you step on stick, the crack audibly heard by all three of the men in the alley.

You try to turn and run, but it’s too late. They already have you cornered, each of them equipped with one of the alien weapons, so you prepare to fight.

One of the men slowly inches towards you, weapon in hand.

“Well well well, if it isn’t little Miss. Y/N Stark. Daddy finally let you join the team huh?”

You don’t answer him and reach for the gun in your holster, but stop when you feel another gun pressed to the back of your head.

The man speaks again, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you sweetie. One shot of any of these weapons would kill you in an instant, so I’d do what we say.”

“What do you want from me?” you ask, trying your best to hide the fear in your voice, while also trying to devise an escape plan from this unfortunate situation.

“We’ve been looking for you for a long, long time Miss. Stark. We have questions about your dad and his little gadgets, and you have answers. And you’re going to give them to us, whether you like it or not.”

You decide that it’s now or never, so you take action.

“No.” you state, and swiftly kick the man behind you in the stomach, dodging the blast of his weapon as he shoots it towards you. He’s too hurt to try to shoot again, so you steal the weapon from his hands and hit him across the face, successfully knocking him out.

Unfortunately, you fail to pay attention to the two other men advancing behind you. Before you can even process it, the weapon is knocked out of your hand and you are pinned to the ground, with the smaller man holding your shoulders and the larger one restraining you with his knee. You writhe and struggle to try and loosen their grip, but they are too strong.

“So, you wanna play hard, huh little girl?” the larger of the two men drove his knee further into your abdomen, making you cry out in pain.

The other man speaks up, “Since you won’t cooperate, we’re just gonna have to make you,” he motions to his partner, “get the needle.”

Your eyes widen as the larger man pulls out a giant tranquilizer needle, still keeping you down with his knee. Both of the men tighten their hold on you, trying to restrict your movement. Still, you kick and writhe as much as possible, keeping the man from stabbing you.

“STOP FUCKING MOVING” the smaller man screams, following with a hard blow to your face, drawing blood from your nose and cheek.

At this point, you are helpless, accepting your fate as the needle inches closer to your neck.

“Not so fast!”

Peter.

The needle is snatched out of the masked man’s hand, catching him off guard and making him loosen his grip enough for you to swiftly knee him in the groin. Peter catches the needle and uses it to stab the smaller man in the neck, immediately knocking him unconscious. The man who you had previously knocked out starts to stir again, so Peter runs to fight him while you still struggle with the larger man.

Although the masked criminal is much larger and stronger than you, you are able to use his own strength against him, throwing him to the floor (you learned that from Nat). Establishing control over him, you repeatedly punch him in the face until he is successfully knocked out. Once you are sure the man is fully unconscious, you glance at Peter, who is already webbing up the other two criminals.

You motion for him to web up the man you just knocked out, and you call your dad to explain the situation.

“Good job Y/N, we’ve been looking for those guys for a while now, so not bad for your first patrol. I’m sending agents to come pick the three criminals and bring them to the compound for interrogation, so just wait there with Peter until they show up.”

“Got it dad, thanks,” you say, still breathing heavily from your fight.

“Proud of you kid.”

He ends the call and you smile to yourself, happy that you made your dad proud on your first day as a part of the team.

And then Peter ruins it.

“You’re welcome,” he says flatly.

With all the adrenaline flowing through your veins making your blood boil, you decide to finally break your silent streak.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, would you look at that. She speaks!” he comments sarcastically.

You roll your eyes, “What am I supposed to be thanking you for, exactly?”

“Uh, for just saving your ass out there. Or maybe you didn’t notice that you were about to get tranqued in the neck and kidnapped by some of the city’s most wanted criminals.”

“Oh please, I could have handled myself just fine.”

To be honest, you know you wouldn’t have been able to handle yourself, and deep down you are grateful for Peter coming and saving you, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Come on Y/N, we both know that you would have been fucked if I hadn’t come to help.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you Peter.”

“Yeah, okay. Go back to giving me the silent treatment. That’s what got us into this mess anyways.”

“I’m sorry what? How the fuck is this my fault?” your voice is rising increasingly in anger.

“If you had just stopped ignoring me for one fucking second and didn’t sneak off on your own, we could have handled this so much easier!” his voice rises as well.

“Why does it even matter anymore Peter? We took them down anyways, who cares how it happened?”

“Because you’re ignoring me Y/N! And I have no fucking idea why!”

Oh, so he wants to go there.

“Don’t play the innocent card here, you know exactly what you did.”

“Please, enlighten me, because I have no clue what the hell you’re talking about.”

“YOU’RE SHUTTING ME OUT PARKER!”

“I’M SHUTTING YOU OUT? YOU HAVEN’T SPOKEN TO ME IN THREE FUCKING DAYS! YOU’RE THE ONE SHUTTING ME OUT! WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING THIS Y/N?”

“BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE YOU OKAY!”

Oh fuck, you just messed up. You didn’t mean to say it, but your mind kept wandering back to your conversation with Nat earlier and it just… slipped out.

Peter stares at you in bewilderment.

“What did you say?” his voice becomes noticeably softer.

Fuck it.

“I love you Peter. I’ve loved you since the first day I fucking saw you when you walked into the compound and we watched A New Hope on my bed and I fell asleep on your shoulder but I know you only see me as a friend and you like MJ and I just ruined our friendship but I-“

Peter cuts you off by pulling you into him and pressing his lips onto yours. After a few seconds he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours and taking your hands in his.

“I don’t like MJ, I like you. Fuck it, you know what, you already said it so why don’t I, I love you. I’ve always seen you as more than a friend but I never thought you felt the same way.”

So many emotions are flowing through your head, trying to process what the fuck just happened. The main one, however, is just plain confusion.

“But then- then why have you been avoiding me for MJ?”

“Is this about our friendiversary thing?”

You nod your head, still trying to get an answer out of Peter as to why he was being such a dick.

“Look Y/N, I know this sounds stupid, but I- I was avoiding you because when you woke me up and told me about our one-year friendiversary, it reminded me that we were just friends, so I got weird. It wasn’t just you that remembered it, I did too. And I was actually planning on telling you how I felt about you, but then I got scared and bailed. And then I invited Ned and MJ to come with us because I didn’t think I would be able to handle myself if it was just me and you. I’m so sorry Y/N, it was such a shitty thing for me to do and I hate myself for it-”

This time it was your turn to cut him off with a kiss, still holding on to his hands.

“I forgive you Peter. And also, I’m sorry for giving you the silent treatment for three days,” you laugh.

Peter starts laughing with you, “We’re both such idiots, aren’t we?”

“Yeah. We totally are.”

Both of you are still giggling as you kiss for a third time, this one more passionate. He wraps his arms around your waist and you move yours around his neck, drawing him as close as humanly possible. You deepen the kiss, the both of you completely getting lost in each other, and in this moment, its like you and Peter are the only two people on Earth.

You pull away from Peter only to rest for a moment and catch your breath.

“I love you Peter,” you smile.

“I love you too Y/N, so much.”

~~~~~~~~

Taglist: add yourself to my taglist here!

Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you :(

All: @pxkajesus @hollanddolanfangirl @roseke @agentsofparker @lifeasjazzz @damnrancidchicken @loopyolivia @iwannabekilledtwice @rafehogwarts @non-eexistent @rosiexx8 @nearlydanger9 @realityisabitch07 @midgardassassins @jbreenr @cap-marvxl @ellesmythe @deepestcolorgiantopera @that-one-person @clandestine-nerd @nevertrustapanda16 @ohabbyoh @rxmanxff @bubbleskz @quinn-spn58 @baby-pogue @strangebouquetqueen @thatforgottenangel @pjmjams @tiredstudenttrinity @isabella-bby @i-will-take-care-of--you @hollandprkr @ladykxxx08 @white-wolf1940 @runawayolives @geekgirleve @thathurtbrolol@heyiheardyouwereawildone36

Peter Parker: @blizzardbabe @ifyouwereanybraveryoudbealioness @newsies-yeet @zosia-cichoracki @elismacleod @parkerpeterparker2004 

Series: @t-hollanderr  @allycat449-blog @haley-talks-too-much

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker angst #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x stark!daughter #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland angst #tom holland x reader #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #peter parker series #tom holland series #stark!reader #stark!daughter #marvel #avengers #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction

[1kook]

skirt chasers - drabble i

a skirt chasers drabble bc they are my fave fictional couple to date <333

tags: coupley and domestic, jk’s terrible attempts at seducing via text, making out, dry humping, spitting (ik idk what came over me), too much talking for this to be sexual pero hey here we are wc: like 3k

entirely based off jungkook from bv3 that man had NO right to look that good and  the holy jirkenstocks (jungkook birkenstocks). wont lie this has been completely written in my drafts since November (yes 2019) and i hoarded it under the belief i would make this a whole part 2 which i did not 

que dios los bendiga <3

-

Much to everyone’s dismay, Jungkook’s spring break in Vegas with the boys is cut three days short when Jimin’s dog sitter suddenly cancels, citing a case of homesickness as enough cause to abruptly go home. When you first hear news of this, you’re preparing yourself for the return of a mopey, useless Jungkook, too drained from four glorious days in Las Vegas to carry on. What you’re not expecting is the mysterious text he sends you before boarding a five hour flight with no service (he was cheap).

kook still on vegas lockdown. Have that pussy ready when i get home

“The fuck does that mean?” Chaeyoung is the first to see the message, your screen lighting up on the kitchen counter beside you as you scrub through a mountainous pile of dishes. You try to play it off, after all, Chaeyoung had seen parts of you you hadn’t even seen, but there was no worse embarrassment than having your homegirls see your clown of a boyfriend’s ridiculousness. “He’s so romantic,” she swoons, and you shoo her away from the offending device as you wipe your hands down on your t-shirt. 

you for what?? One 20 second round 🤥

Chaeyoung suddenly cackles from over your shoulder, and you swear your soul leaves your body. 

You don’t get a response until exactly five hours and thirteen minutes later, your phone vibrating like crazy on the edge of your bathtub, and if you hadn’t given it a hearty kick and sent it flying across the room, front screen shattering into the most intricate spider web of glass shards, it would have fallen into the water. The terror. 

kook pls pick me up 

kook also haha. U r soooo funny 😑

You’re halfway to the airport, idly sitting in traffic and giving the public a free, Beyonce-like experience of The Script’s Breakeven, when you realize you’re not wearing any pants. You’re not exactly sure which part of Jungkook’s long t-shirt had tricked you into believing you were decently dressed, but you’re not too mad. After all, Jungkook’s trip with the boys had been a last minute decision that did not take into consideration your never-ending thirst for your boyfriend, so a little payback never hurt anybody. 

He’s sitting on top of his suitcase outside the airport when you get there, cute Birkenstock-clad feet swinging back and forth as he waits for you like the good boy he is. He crouches down by the passenger window, “Uh, yeah, is this the Uber?” 

You can’t even bother hiding the smile that consumes your face, and it only grows tenfold when he finally gets in and immediately leans over the center console to kiss you. “Look who’s finally back from their little bachelor party,” you murmur, eyes lidded dangerously low when he breaks away. 

“Oh, the party where I accidentally sleep away my life-savings to a stripper named Aries and then have to go home and beg for my wife’s forgiveness?” He responds immediately, devious pink tongue swiping out to lick at your bottom lip. 

You snort. “Joke’s on you, because our hot pool boy kept me company and treated me better in four days than my husband had in six years,” you mumble, finger looping into the silver chain around his neck to pull him close again. 

“Not our hot pool boy,” he whines, smile pressed adorably to your lips. 

You almost retort, but a ten-second horn blast from the car behind you has the two of you jumping three feet from each other, like teenagers caught making out in the school parking lot. 

-

Just as you’d predicted via text, Jungkook barely has the energy to walk up the steps to your apartment, much less fuck you like he’d promised. “Fuck, stop being healthy and let us take the elevator,” he grunts, pushing his suitcase onto the final platform leading to your floor.

“Nope,” you concede. “The stairs give me a good view of your ass going up.”

He shoots you a scandalized look, like you’re an old man who’d just catcalled him on the street. “Pretty sure that’s my line.”

It’s when you’re unlocking the front door, sending out a little prayer to the heavens (Chaeyoung) for the blessing of an empty apartment, that he notices your lack of proper clothing. “Oh, hell no,” he groans, immediately crowding you against the armchair nearest the door. 

You laugh, struggling to turn to face him as he nuzzles his face into your neck. “What seems to be the problem?”

He sighs against the shell of your ear, and you’d be a liar to say it didn’t send a gush of wetness to your core. Jesus, just a single puff of air from Jungkook was enough to turn your coochie into a Fruit Gusher. “Not your sexy legs again,” he whines, and you giggle when he presses those pouty lips to yours. 

“Thought I was supposed to have this pussy ready for you,” you tease, tilting your head up until your noses brush against each other. Jungkook lets a soft huff of a sigh go, eyes fluttering shut at your close proximity. 

There’s a hand that creeps along the back of your thigh, fingers pressing into the soft skin until he finally guides it upwards, hitched over his hip. The new position has your body curving backwards, tilted over the edge of the couch as he continues crowding closer and closer to you. “Baby,” he whines, and the tone and sudden usage of your favorite nickname wipes the teasing smile off your face. “I missed you so much,” he purrs, in that tone that says he knows he has you under his complete control, all he has to do is take care of you. 

Still, you try to put up some sort of a fight. “I’m sure your eyes were kept entertained in Vegas,” you retort weakly, not even bothering to hide the jealousy in your tone. 

Jungkook laughs, before puckering his lips and smothering you. Instantly, you throw your arms around his broad shoulders to pull him closer. His hair tickles your face from how long it’s gotten, and when you brush it back, collecting it into a makeshift baby ponytail, you can’t even enjoy the sight because Jungkook is pressing his rock hard member against your inner thigh. 

“You think I’m a cheater?” He muses when he finally pulls away, a little entranced by the saliva that coats your lips in a thin sheen. “Couldn’t be even if I wanted to.” Before you can ask what that even means, he’s hauling you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his tiny waist, his cock now cradled between your thighs, right where you want him most. You moan immediately, head lolling backwards at the touch you’d craved for days. “Feel that? No one gets my dick hard like you do, baby.”

Even though his adrenaline is on one hundred, and he’s clearly blinded by his lust, Jungkook still sets you down on the bed like you’re made of glass. Any comments you may have made are smothered by his lips on yours, fingers gripping your waist like it’s the first time he’s ever touched you. When he pulls away, his eyes are dark and his breath is a little heavy where it fans against the lower half of your face. 

“So pretty,” he huffs, rolling his hips against yours. You groan, eyes rolling back as the familiar feeling of your boyfriend between your legs consumes you. Jungkook presses his mouth against the skin of your neck, where the faintest sheen of sweat had begun to form the moment you unlocked the front door. 

If you thought you were loud, the sounds leaving Jungkook’s throat are teetering on the edge between a pornstar and a yodelling-enthusiast. You can’t help the smirk crossing your features. “Are you really gonna come?”

Jungkook was many things, and drama queen was definitely very high on that list. He gives you the most scandalized expression, stopping the movement of his hips to scoff. “As if,” he snorts, but you know that little eyebrow furrow a little too well. 

You snort, reaching down to his sides as you try to discreetly urge him to start up again. “Baby, your jaw is twitching,” you point out, a soft whine leaving your lips when he shifts your leg up. It’s this same sound that has him finally moving again. 

“Yeah, well,” he groans, one hand deathly gripping into your hip now, pressing you down onto the bed so hard you feel the comforter will swallow you up any minute now. “I just got my wisdom teeth removed, ‘member?”

Your retort is briefly cut off by the cry you let out when he ducks down to suck a mark beneath your jaw. “M-Months ago,” you weakly respond, 

Jungkook ignores you in favor of using his Hulk strength to fold you in half, groans borderline animalistic as he grinds his cock into your soaked panties. His jaw is tight like you’d said, but you can tell he’s holding himself back. He hated coming before you, seldom doing it unless it was one of those rare days where he wanted you to pamper him. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, swallowing your pitiful whines before pushing his tongue down your throat. There was something sexy about your boyfriend being so turned on that his saliva production was off the charts. “You’re gonna ask me to do that thing again, aren’t you?” He predicts. 

All you can do is nod, and Jungkook smirks. “Ah,” he says, much like a doctor would, and you comply, mouth wide. You see the muscles beneath his jaw twitch, and a moment later he’s leaning over you with puckered lips, a glob of saliva begging to drip down. 

The moan that catches in your throat has him smiling, tongue peeking out to cut the bridge of saliva that connected the two of you, and you want to tell him you love him, but then he’s raising his eyebrows at you, motioning for you to swallow, so you do. “Absolutely filthy,” he grins, and then returns to thrusting against you. 

As much as you liked to tease him, he’s good at fulfilling the sexual aspects of his boyfriend role, and he guides you to your orgasm moments later. Of course, he does so by toying with your tits just the way you like, lips pressed firmly to yours as you become a boneless heap beneath him. “That’s it, pretty baby,” he murmurs, pressing one final kiss to your lips before he’s shifting back onto his haunches, tugging you closer until the backs of your knees are cradled carefully in his elbows. 

Despite your transcended state, you love watching Jungkook get himself off, and your eyes flutter as you watch him thrust sloppily against your soiled panties. They’re soaked by your own arousal, and had Jungkook’s sweats not been as dark as they were, you’re almost certain you’d see how they stained. 

He comes a moment later, body twitching and fingers tightening against your skin. His chest heaves, head lolling back as he tries to regain his senses. Silence envelopes the room. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You blurt, no longer able to pretend like something isn’t completely wrong. 

Jungkook rolls his neck out, a satisfying crack resounding, as he angles to look at you again. His tongue is poking against his cheek in that cocky way it does sometimes, and he furrows his brows at you. “What?”

You shuffle up onto your elbows, motioning towards him with the vaguest wave possible. He blinks. You groan. 

“What did you do?” You question, and immediately his eyes go wide and shiny in that way they do when you’re reprimanding him and he doesn’t see the wrong in his ways. 

Cute little lips forming a pout he remains as confused. “Nothing? We really just went to fuck around and get drunk—“

“Kook.”

“You don’t actually think I cheated, I thought we were just joking? Unless…” he trails off, doe eyes suddenly filled with fear. “You weren’t?”

“Jungkook—“

He intercepts you, “did you do something while I was gone? Who was he? Or she? Wow,” he huffs to himself in disbelief. “I don’t even know you well enough to know if you’re into more than just men.” The frown on his face is getting deeper with each word he utters and you almost can’t believe how dumb he could be. “No wonder… am I a terrible boyfriend?” He asks, voice louder and more concerned than it’s been all night. 

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” You say, and Jungkook looks just as lost by your response as you are with his. “Because I’m talking about whatever this is,” you explain, reaching up to drag a hand through his dual-colored locks. 

They’d been carefully tucked under his bucket hat when you’d picked him up, a tuft of blonde peeking out from in front of his ear. It wasn’t until he’d tipped you over the side of the couch that it had tumbled off. Of course, at the time, there had been other pressing matters at hand than wondering why your Hannah Montana blonde boyfriend had returned as Todoroki, which is why you’d waited until now to revisit the topic. 

Jungkook doesn’t move for a solid ten seconds. Then, as if processing the emotional episode he’d just given you, he gives you a sheepish smile. It’s one of those smiles where his lips press together thinly and cutely and the apples of his cheeks seem like the squishiest things in the world. “Oh…” he says, voice soft and nothing like the man that spit in your mouth five minutes ago. “You like it?”

#jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #kpopwonderlandtag #ksmutclub #bts smut #jjk smut #mine #what did i even use to tag with lolol #sc universe #skirtverse #skirtfic

[unprofessional-bard]

Chapter 8 - Truth or Dare

Losing My Religion Series Masterlist

Unprofessional Bard's Masterlist

Previous Chapter • Next Chapter

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader/OC

Warnings: A lot of angst and when i say angst...

Summary: The reader is stuck to the hospital bed, healing considerably slow. Her feelings and emotions are scattered all over the place and things are harder without her lover by her side.

Word Count: 2.575

Author's Note: Hey y'all!! I'm terribly sorry this took so long but I was really busy with moving and everything, I honestly had no angst in me to write this chapter bc I'm just so happy that I moved here, but the past few days were a lil exhausting so I finished this while resting... I didn't wanna update with this short ass chapter but I have to update y'all so I separated the chapter into two, I hope y'all still have interest in Losing My Religion, I love you and thank you all for being patient with me! 🥺🥺

Enjoy!

"Be careful!"

The ice under your feet was inches thick, it didn't seem like it'd break, but you didn't trust that: "It's alright, I got this."

The girl didn't wail or scream for help, she anxiously waited for your approach. You held out your hand for her: "Grab my hand, I'm gonna get you across, it's gonna be okay." The girl hesitated but grabbed your hand anyway: "Don't worry, you're not gonna get in trouble, I'm gonna make sure of that."

"Alright, okay," The girl shook her head and followed you with careful steps. Everything was going fine until you reached halfway, when the ice under her feet cracked, making your ears perk up. You snapped your head back to meet her frightened eyes: "Uh..."

"Felicity!" You shouted across the frozen river, catching her attention. With all your strength, you grabbed the kid's coat by the neck.

"Woah, what are you doing?" She grabbed your arm, alerted by your action as the ice cracked more underneath your feet. You pulled her coat's zipper down a little.

"Watch yourself-" You said, grabbed the back of her coat with your other hand, then launched her across the river to where Felicity was; the ice under your feet crushing altogether a second later, swallowing you whole.

Your body reacted to the cold in a panicked way, naturally, but you remembered your training and swam up immediately, calming yourself down. You gasped loudly as soon as your head was out of the water, Felicity calling for you: "You alright?!"

You were too cold to speak, so as your breathing calmed down you gave her a thumbs up instead. Your cold-shock response was better this time as you hadn't swallowed any water, so you spread your arms and started kicking at the water with your feet as soon as you raised them. You calmly but quickly pushed yourself out of the water and onto the ice.

"(Y/N)?!" You heard her shout over to you a couple of times as you breathed, but each time she did, her voice got closer and closer, although she was still on the ground away from you.

"(Y/N)?"

----

"(Y/N)?" You felt a hand on your shoulder, shaking you gently. "Come on Dolly, wake up..."

It was Ellie. You wanted to open your eyes, tell her or move a limb to let her know that ou were awake, but you just couldn't. What the hell?

After a few more seconds, you managed to sigh loudly through your nose: "I think she's waking up, Katherine."

After what felt like an eternity, you woke up in a different room where Ellie, Maria and Tommy were by your side. There were bandages wrapped all over you: Your head, shoulder, chest area, your knee and the same ankle you fractured months ago. One of your eyelids was lower than the other.

"You look like a mummy," Ellie chuckled softly as you examined yourself. You nodded but didn't speak, your throat hurt terribly.

"Could you give us a minute?" Tommy cleared his throat as you gained better consciousness with each passing second. You watched the girls leave the room and Tommy pull his chair to your side: "How're you feelin'?"

"Like shit," You whispered and sighed. "At least it doesn't hurt too bad- for now, anyway."

"Yeah, Katherine and Daisy are taking care of you just fine..." Tommy put his hand on yours and gave it a light squeeze. "You're gonna be okay, but it's gonna take some time."

"No shit," You smiled bitterly.

"Joel wants to see you," Tommy pursed his lips, pulling his hand away. "He's been worried sick- Ellie says she saw him leavin' the house with bloodshot eyes..."

Your heart broke at his comment and your face scrunched up, feeling terribly nauseous with this new information: "Is he here?"

"He's outside the room," Tommy spoke and got up. "Look, I know I don't get to have a say in this but... He'd never do anything to hurt you- especially on purpose. He loves you."

Your eyes teared up and breath got stuck in your throat as he turned around and left, then you distantly heard something he said to Joel and waited for the long awaited confrontation between you and your lover.

----

Joel immediately got up from the chair he was sitting on right before Tommy came out of your room, looked at his brother intently: "She needs some time, but she'll come around."

Tommy patted Joel on the shoulder after his comment and walked away from him, leaving you two be. He took a deep breath and slowly, almost gently, got in the room, closing the door behind him: "Hey..."

"Hey," You whispered. The lack of emotion and the abundance of red and purple bruises on your face crushed Joel.

"Did Ellie ever tell you how we met?"

Joel was surprised at the question: "No, she didn't."

You chuckled, which at first helped him relax a little, but you coughed afterwards and Joel was back to worrying. He sat down on Tommy's previous spot silently as you leaned back on your pillow and spoke: "There was a student gone missing from the QZ... We tracked her down to this lake but it was frozen and she was standing right in the middle of all that ice. I went over to her but the ice decided to crack then. I got her out but I fell-" Joel's expression broke your heart furthermore. "I had training of course and it wasn't my first time falling into icy water... That's how we met- and began getting along, I guess."

Joel nodded and smiled softly, face riddled with pain, tiredness, fear and relief all at the same time; you turned your head towards him and asked: "Is there anything else I should know, Joel?"

He knew damn well what that meant, even though he'd never seen this side to you. It reminded him of his ex-wife for a brief moment, before speaking: "Yeah... actually there is one more thing, but if I'm honest?"

"Hm?"

"... I don't got the stomach to tell you."

"Why not?" You were genuinely stressed out and confused now. What could be worse than what you two just went through?

"I've realised now that ah-" Joel looked away, a hand brushing past his watch in the process. "I kept it from you for too long... I- I should've told you earlier-"

"Told her what earlier?" The younger Miller suddenly appeared by the doorway, leaning on it. Joel gave Tommy a grave look, the one he gave him when he told his younger brother how he had saved Ellie - it made Tommy immediately understand what was going on, his face going slightly pale.

Joel suddenly got up and as he made his way over to where his brother was, you called out for him with your weak voice: "Joel?!"

He gave you one last look, before looking down and walking past Tommy. Were those tears in his eyes-?

"What the hell is going on, Tommy?" You sighed, exasperated.

Tommy stared at you for a while, not knowing what to say, then slowly closed the door: "It ain't gonna be pretty, (Y/N), but if you ain't too tired, let's talk huh?"

Your muscles tensed at his words, but despite how bad you wanted to rest you were dying with curiosity to know exactly what the hell happened that made the brothers' tails go between their legs. Tommy pulled a chair to your left and sat down. He was also tense, he didn't sit like he usually does - like the Texan he was. He gulped, searched for the right words, then sighed and began: "I thought Joel would've told you this, but it seems not."

"For fuck sake, Tommy," You sighed, then a wheeze and a cough followed. "Just spit it out."

"'Kay, okay... The reason why Joel never really told you what happened on his journey with Ellie after they dropped you off here- it's ugly. Joel's ashamed, I guess he didn't want you to think badly of him-"

"But he told you?"

"Yes." Tommy crossed his arms. "What did he tell you exactly - about their journey I mean?"

"He said the Fireflies stopped looking for a cure - that there were a bunch of immune people and that they ran a couple of tests with Ellie and then let them go... I didn't really believe it. At first I did, I think- I trusted his word and didn't really wanna push it, but then I thought: If there were a bunch of other immune people, surely someone would've made the vaccine over the course of the twenty something years we went through - or at least the last two... but here we are."

Tommy nodded: "The reason for that is because Ellie's the only one."

"I figured that much."

"They were going to make a vaccine too, but when Joel found out it'd cost Ellie's life to make one... He uh-" Tommy took a deep breath, he was struggling to put the words together: "He didn't let them kill her."

You just stared, processing it all. You blinked a couple of times, then spoke: "He didn't let them make a vaccine."

"Remember what I told you- about Sarah?" Tommy's tone came off shaky.

You nodded and he continued: "I guess I was right... He came to care a great deal about Ellie apparently. Probably felt like he was with Sarah again while travelling with her, so..."

You didn't know how to feel - the only two solid thoughts in your mind clashed agaisnt one another in a great battle:

I can't believe he was selfish enough to rob humanity of it's only chance at survival.

Versus,

I understand. I probably would've done the same thing if I were him. Probably.

"Does Ellie know?" You breathed, feeling a little dizzy.

"No."

You gulped and looked down, guilt washing over you like a tidal wave: "Have you... I mean, is the doctor-"

"He's dead," Tommy murmured. "We don't know if there's anyone else out there who could make a vaccine out of her."

You were actually struggling to breathe at this point, looking around in a panicked state: "You need to tell Ellie."

"No, (Y/N)," Tommy spoke in a clear and strict tone. You were about to argue, but he added: "It's not our place to tell her... Joel asked for this, he is gonna be the one to tell her."

You were breathing through your mouth with a grave and distressed look on your face, staring at Tommy: "Please, (Y/N). She can't know."

You knew that was the end of conversation, so you laid down and tried to calm your breathing, closing your eyes and interrupting Tommy when he tried to ask if you needed help: "Just leave, Tommy."

You didn't see it, but he nodded and got up, letting you fall into a long sleep.

----

You had a lot of visitors for five long days, but neither of the Miller Brothers paid you a visit in that period of time. Well, Tommy showed up briefly with Maria from time to time but you weren't upset with him and it took him three days to understand, after reassuring him.

Ellie visited the most: Twice a day - once before patrol (usually in the morning) and once after. When she didn't have any chores, she'd visit you at night as well. You mostly talked about the other kids in town she was friends with, she'd treat you like a journal and vent or rant to you, which you really valued and appreciated ever since you found out about what Joel had done.

One morning she had asked about you and Joel, after a long time of not asking.

"So..." Her arms were crossed while she sat by your bed, her guitar against the desk on the other side of the room. "You and Joel... Have you guys figured things out yet?"

"He hasn't visited me in four days," You groaned, mood going down almost instantly when you remembered how he left you with Tommy five days ago. "I don't want him to... I want to talk to him when my healing processes, but it doesn't."

"How do you mean?" Ellie gave you a quizzical look.

"Katherine said some of the wounds she pointed out would turn some other colour and that a few things I'm feeling around my body would go away by this time, but they haven't. It's been almost a week and I'm not healing."

"You were beaten up pretty badly, (Y/N)," Ellie tried to look for an explanation to relax you. "Katherine did say it'd take some time."

You remained quiet for a moment, looked down, then spoke: "Five more days and you'll see what I'm talking about."

Ellie was confused and didn't know what to say, so you continued: "I've had bruises worse than this," You pointed at your half swollen eye. "Even they healed quicker than this."

There was an awkward silence, the realisation of Joel not visiting you a hard punch in the gut. As much as you weren't ready to confront him with your exhausted state, you still loved him and you wondered about his wellbeing. You felt like a five year old child crossing her arms and pouting while stomping her foot aggressively on the ground when she's denied a lollipop. You wanted to cry like the said child and hammer your fists against Joel's chest without hurting him. You wanted to do so many things, confronting and forgiving your lover being the first and foremost, but you just weren't ready. You weren't ready and you were frustrated and angry - traumatised and stressed and depressed, you wanted at least one of these to ease up a little but most importantly you didn't want to be on pain relievers anymore. You were asleep most of the day and didn't want to talk to anyone at the times where you weren't, except for Ellie really.

You closed your eyes and sighed, tears forcing their way out of your closed eyelids and dropping on the sheets: "Els?"

"I'm here," Ellie replied equally quietly.

"Will you sing me to sleep, darling?" You requested, voice cracking a little as you laid down, eyes still closed.

"Of course mom," She murmured and grabbed her guitar. After settling down in her seat and thinking of what to play for a while, she started strumming her guitar:

"When does it get quiet?

Time was supposed to extinguish the desire

But the embers won't snuff out

Haunted by your smiles

The mask keeps getting heavier

One step forward, two steps back

There's a noose round my neck and the further I get

It's harder and harder to breathe

Can I find a way to cut the rope?

I've been waiting for dawn

But the light is all gone

Don't know if I'm already blind

Can I leave it all behind?"

...

Joel watched and listened through the doorway as Ellie sang to your sleeping form, not being aware of the small confrontation which was going to take place in a few hours. A sad expression was present on his daughter's face, bringing tears to his eyes as he, once again, walked away from the two of the three people he loved the most.

#joel miller #joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #tlou x reader #tlou fanfic #the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us imagine #the last of us fanfiction

[hydrobes]

*Sigh* am on too much crack these days

But anyway

Imagine you and dottore being a couple in secret bc why tf not

Imagine you wearing a skirt (because your the stereotypical rich ass classy business woman)

That's p short and shows your ass

Everyone just staring at it while dottore glares at them like the cute menace he is

Covering it with his coat and you looking at him all confused even tho you know what's going on

Him just grumbling and saying it's nothing

"If you say so, my doll."

You coming close to his ear and whispering

"but if something is wrong you can always come to me and I will fix the problem for you~"

Him blushing heavily at that while you laugh with lust and power 😈

At the meeting

Alain who can't stop thinking about what you said and dirty, wet, cute, sexy, horny thoughts going through his head and can't even stop

Feeling horny at the thoughts his dick became hard

Painfully hard to the point he has to cover his mouth with two of his hands

Alain's mind:

Mm..! fucking hell th-this is a fucking t-torture..a good kin- what the fuck are you even thinking Alain?

Lord s-she just had to wear that t-tiny ass fucking s-ski-skirt…. M-making me go all crazy for her ass!

* Glaring at darling *

On f-fucking tsaritsa i just w-want her to f-fuck me s-so har-

Smiling ever so innocently yet he knew lust was behind that rather innocent looking smile "Darling are you okay?"

Heh, my plan is working perfectly, just how i like it~

Alain glaring at you with desperation written in eyes

Alain's POV & mind:

Alain's mind: I f-fucking knew i-it!

S-she wo-wore that dumb sh-

Hohhh.. this is..mmm!

POV: Y-yes am perfectly fine dear.

Mind: st-stop with yo-your goddamn teasing alre-ady!

And fuck me like the wo-world is ennnding!

Some bitchass harbinger talking some dumb bs: Doctor, Are you alright?

Yes, yes I am.. * looks down in nervousness*

While the wackass harbinger goes back to talking some random bs Alain scoots closer to you and asks how long this dumb meeting will be

"Mm, 2 hours"

Looking at you in horror and fear

"What?~ is smth wrong?~"

So hard for mommy, just how i like it!~

That expired garlic powder smellin ass harbinger: (name) and doc please pay attention.

Some harbingers giving glances to dottore and him glaring at him like a monster and them immediately turning their heads away while you look in amusement and horniness

One hour later. .

Alain's mind:

I can't take th-IS! Anymore..

I need relief from mY momMMy.. ahh..

Keep it i-in Alain.. you c-can do this fucki-Ng shit, you liTErallyy~ m-mAahh…

Nobody's POV:

Alain scooting closer to his (soontobewife) gurl tugging on her arm, trying to get her attention while looking at the dumb shit who's talking some bs

You knowing exactly what he wants you simply left him to the torture he has to deal with becuase he has been ignoring you and giving more attention to his work and so you decided this will be the punishment he will go through

Alain trying not to lose his shit and wondering why you are ignoring him and thinking back to what he did to make you ignore him then realisation struck him

Feeling bad but still horny he puts his hand near yo pussy (wussy, lushy, wushy, gushy-) alerting you and giving him a quick glare of confusion

Sweating at that knowing he's going to have a huge punishment up his ass but still rubs your pussy, Gentle yet a little harsh

Putting your gloved hand to your mouth and giving him a glare that can scare the bravest while some harbingers looks at both of you in confusion

Giving them a smile and whispering it's nothing while you try your hardest and best to not let out a moan in a room filled with harbingers

Alain is still hard as fuck (for your boobas and pussy wu-🏌️‍♀️) while your hand finds his arm

Trying to get his arm away from your pussy (WUS-) while he nervously smiles looking at the harbinger giving some ideas to power the fatui up

You using your strength (super man?) to get his hand away from your now a little wet pussy who's horny for some dick

Alain being a little sad and using some tissues to wipe (use them to wipe your existence) away the dirtiness

You coming close to his ear and whispering he's going to get a huge punishment for being a bad impatient baby boy

Him being thankful he wears a mask (ay wassup am from planet corona) because his face is the color of diluc's bushy ass hair

After the meeting. . .

Part two coming soon <3!

Hope all my babies enjoyed it 💆‍♀️🍷

Now am gonna go to sleep cus I gotta wake up at 9 a.m

And gimme some advice on how to improve if y'all like

- your loving mother anon🕴️

djcbrissj, 🕴ANON, i had to stand outside to cool my hot flush after reading this~

NSFWness below:

dottore KNOWING he’s in for a rough pounding after teasing you is what i’m living for 👀 oh he definitely knows he shouldn’t tease you, especially during an important meeting, but the punishment he’ll receive afterwards is all he craves and desires~

masochist dottore is just a brat who always ignores your warnings, because archons know he just wants you to be rough with him tonight~

also consider darling teasing dottore during a meeting; you slip your hand over his bulging crotch and delicately unzip his trousers (slowly so no one hears ;)) and grasp him firmly. he’s thankful he wears a mask here too as it covers half of his lips, which twitch as he grits his teeth-

he absolutely struggles to not thrust his hips up to meet your hand, he just has to clench his fists together on top of the table and try act naturally as you make him cum under the table~

patiently awaiting the next part of dottore getting what he deserves <3333

also ‘diluc’s bushy ass hair’, mother please that’s my husband 💔😭

#bes.rambles #🕴.anony #Bes.Thirsts

[ddaenggtan]

black irises in the sunshine | kth

anger is everything. other gods tease you for the short fuse, but it comes with the territory. people have called you stupid, have called you dumb, oafish, useless, incompetent, insolent, rude, arrogant. all of it. insults and mockery flung at you, but even your skin isn’t thick enough to deal with constant abuse. it’s the exact reason you keep going to the underground, knuckles bloody and bruised, fighting anyone that dared enter the cage. it’s the reason you go to the clubs, surround yourself with mortals and their writhing bodies. it’s there that you see him the first time, voice husky as it rolls through the room. it’s there you find someone who treats you differently than the rest. you just never expected him to be one of the muses. | monsters and gods pt 3 (masterlist)

pairing | taehyung x reader

genre/warnings | greek god au, calliope!taehyung, ares!reader, theres a lot of violence and it does get descriptive so be aware of that, none of the main characters other than ares get hurt and its not uncalled for or anything in a narrative sense, so just be aware of that; there are mentions of other idols, but if you can guess them you get a cookie because they are Vague; suuuuper bisexual Ares, Ares Can Step On Me, like I am SO gay for her it isn’t funny; explicit smut ft: cunnilingus, taeHUNG bc hes got MASSIVE SCHLONG,  some body worship kind of and then just....regular worship? like? idk how to explain that? lots of praise and lots or orgasms

word count | 14k | cross posted to ao3

a/n | HOOOOOOO this has been sitting in my google docs for literal months waiting for an ending and i decided to try to get it out for tae's birthday bUT that didn't work because i have a Job and shit so YEET I GUESS HAPPY FUCKIN NEW YEAR??? LIKE??? YEEEEEEEEEEEEE this fic is very near to me because Ares is my sweet sad angry babie and i love her, and i love tae and i love suho and i love the muses and i just........lOVE this fic like i think this is currently my favorite of the mag series so!! i hope yall also enjoy it!!!! yall are welcome to send me messages about this even tho I'm terrible at replying to them in a timely manner!! thanks to everyone who helped me with this, and everyone who has expressed interest in it, and everyone who has ever read anything of mine, because you're genuinely the best people ever, and this is literally a gift to y'all because you deserve it. 

Fuck, that was too hard .

The guy across from you goes flying, hitting the chain link wall of the cage harder than you intended. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, and even holding back, you've got a better buzz than even the best nectar can give. Your blood sings as the guy gets back up, and you almost wish you could remember his name, because he's put up a hell of a fight. For a mortal, anyway. 

He charges at you again, and time slows as your vision tunnels. You can see the feint as he decides on it, how he hesitates in bringing his left up. You wait, watching him get closer and closer. You start to dart to your left, letting him think he's got you, before you side-step and dart to your right instead. His punch goes wide as you steady your balance and move. The top of your foot connects with his ribcage and the resulting crack of bone is lost amid the cheers and yells of the audience. 

Your opponent steps back and you're proud of the way he doesn't show the pain. He doesn't wince, doesn't move to touch the spot you hit, just tightens his stance and clenches his jaw. It's only you that notices the hitch in his breath, the way he flinches with every inhale. Your eyes narrow at that, zeroing in on the rib. You'd meant to just crack it, had been holding back most of your strength to keep from hurting him too seriously, but as he steps forward, you can see the way he grits his teeth against the pain. 

The fight leaves you immediately, like a bucket of cold water straight to the chest, and you drop your hands. 

"Yield." He just stares at you, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Yield to me, and then go to the doctor."

"I'm not gonna yield," He says. He spits a mouthful of blood out onto the floor. "I'm not weak."

"Seriously, dude," You insist. "You're not gonna win this, and I don't want to hurt you more." 

His scoff has you seeing red. "As if a princess like you could hurt me."

Your fist connects with his face before either of you registers that you've moved. There's a voice in the back of your head reminding you that he's just mortal, he can't take the same kind of beating you can, but it's lost in the haze of fury. The next thing you know, the ref is dragging you away and slamming you into the cage wall. Your opponent is being dragged out - you still don't know his name - and he looks beaten senseless. Victory rolls through you accompanied by a sick satisfaction at the way his blood looks decorating the canvas beneath your feet. 

It lasts for less than an hour. It's always like this; the thrill of the fight, the burn of success, it's gone faster than you can blink. It's what drives you to keep fighting, to keep going to match after match, just to seek out the under-the-table stuff afterwards. It's never enough, not anymore. Back in the old days, they'd let you fight anything. Bears, bulls, lions, giants, anything they could get a noose around long enough to point it at a colosseum. That was a long time ago, though, before all the rights movements happened. You won't lie: you miss fighting beasts like that. The sheer power and strength they have, the survival instinct that makes them such fierce competitors, it's so much better than the rules and regulations of the mortal world now. Fights have gotten dull, rehearsed, more like a performance or a show than an actual fight. People make more money losing than they do winning and it's made the world boring. 

You flex your hand as you open the door to your favorite bar. Something caught it at some point in the last fight, a cheekbone or a tooth, and it stings a little. Doesn't hurt, not exactly, not for a goddess, but it did enough that you feel it at all, which means it couldn't have been anything but torture for the guy on the other end. The bartender waves at you and gets your usual ready as you sit, and you idly wonder if Busted Rib Guy will be okay. It looked painful, for a human, and you'd tried to hold back, but…

Well, you weren't really responsible for what happened to condescending little fucks, were you?

You sip the bourbon, enjoying the burn as it goes down. The lights are dim, tonight. You're glad. You don't want to deal with people looking at you, men coming over to talk to you, trying to advise you on how to properly bandage your knuckles or how to avoid the bruise on your cheek next time. If you had wanted to avoid it, you would have. You'd intended it to hurt worse, honestly, but that first guy'd had a weaker right hook than you expected. 

You look around, wondering if anyone here would provide a decent distraction for the night. There's a pretty brunette in the corner with carefully crafted braids, and as your eyes travel, you imagine what's hiding beneath the silk and leather. You're pulled from the thought by the sound of music, and you curse under your breath. You forgot that it's an open mic night and you'd meant to go to the bar across town instead. Irritation colors your vision; every open mic night is awful, full of lofty poets talking about their trauma and wannabe Taylor Swifts thinking they're on the same level as Sappho. Ah, now that was a girl with a set of pipes. You miss her, wonder what she would say to the butchering of whatever song you're about to hear.

The voice that comes isn't what you expect. It's smooth and deep. The world turns to velvet around you as the voice wanders from one speaker to another, creating a mesmerizing multi-dimensional effect despite the way the singer doesn't ever leave the stage. You turn, knuckles white around your bourbon glass; he's utterly magnetic, every eye in the room trained on him as he purrs into the vintage mic. Long fingers are wrapped around the scuffed metal, decorated with jewels that glitter in the dim light of the bar. You can smell the lingering cigarette smoke from the guy beside you and the Jäger from the girl two stools down and for once, you don't even care. He's captivating, voice travelling between speakers in the bar and coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. 

Your eyes don't leave him, and you wonder if you can memorize the way the blond waves fall against his forehead if you stare long enough. 

The red seeps away from you, slinking back into the corners of your mind, settling once more into a low thrum under your skin. It fades into the background of this man's voice, the charisma that rolls off him in waves as he pulls the mic in close just to push it to the side with a teasing smirk. It settles something in your chest that hasn't been calm since the fight in Athens so long ago. 

The music fades out sooner than you'd like, and he gives a slight bow before wandering into the crowd. You do your best to follow him, but the gold of his hair disappears almost immediately, lost in the throng of people around the stage waiting to speak to him. You turn back around, downing the next bit of bourbon that Suho pours you. 

"I know," He says with a grin. You cock a brow at him, not having said anything he could agree with. "He's good. That's what you were thinking, right? He's why we're so packed on open mics. Got the audio and lighting guy whipped, so he's got all these special effects, too. Drives people crazy.”

"He's alright," You mutter. You toss a few bills down on the bartop and step back. Suho gives you a courteous nod as you leave. The bouncer gives you a dirty look when he spots the lit cigarette between your lips, but he knows better than to try to tell you otherwise. You've taught him better. 

You lean back against the brick wall of the alley and take a drag. The warm smoke fills your lungs and you close your eyes. It's a different kind of burn than you're used to, a distraction from the crawling sensation that drives you to fight. It's calmer, more controlled. Feels like the smoke from Hestia's fires. Feels like home. 

"Never expected to see you here," A voice calls out. It's deep and startling in the darkness, but you don't jump. You just open your eyes, exhale, and look to where it came from. 

The singer stands before you in the same undone white button up and black tee he performed in. He doesn't have a cig, doesn't seem to have much of any reason to be outside. He moves almost lazily, as if he doesn't even need to, just wants to, and when his gaze flicks up to meet yours, your vision fills just for a breath with every opponent you've ever faced lying at your feet. 

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" The words slip from your tongue before you can stop them. It's not his fault, the voice in your head says, he didn't mean it that way, but still, your blood is thrumming now that he's here and you want to know what he's talking about. Want to know why he thinks you wouldn't be here when there's attractive people and good bourbon and you've never seen this man before in your life. Want to know why he already seems to think you aren't civilized enough to be at a bar, why he spoke but all you heard was Zeus' voice in your memories.

"Exactly what I said. Should I be clearer?"

"Yeah, probably," you spit. Yet another person that assumes you're stupid, that you don't understand basic languages, as if you haven't been speaking them since the ancient times. As if you couldn't speak circles around him if you wanted. "Unless you want your teeth on the fucking ground."

"Good to know the stories are true." He tsks and you're filled with a strange sense of disappointment and fury, both at him and yourself. Your vision turns red at the edges and the cigarette between your fingers is crushed in your grip. He pays no mind to it, just saunters past with a lazy, swaying gait that draws your eyes to his hips and then down the long leather-clad legs. "See you around, Ares."

"That's not my fucking name," You yell after him. He doesn't respond when you shout your actual name, the one you chose, on your own, as a middle finger to the Olympians. "Get it right next time, dickwad."

He turns the corner of the alley and the streetlight catches his face just enough for you to see the smirk he wears. For once in your life, you're torn; you want to smash his face in, yes, because how dare this random guy speak to you like that when you could kill him with one finger to the right pressure point. You also find your skin's hotter than usual, stretched too thin over your bones, and you want him to run his hands over you until it feels right again.

Until it feels like it did when he was singing. 

How did he know my title?

The thought comes unbidden, days later, with the desperate hit of a palm against your shoulder. You've got the woman in a headlock, patiently waiting for her to pass out completely so the fight can be called, and your mind is wandering. 

How did the singer know who you are? You hadn't thought anything of it at the time, distracted by fury and frustration, but with time comes a special kind of clarity. You've never seen him before, not that you know anyway, yet he didn't hesitate to call you Ares. The only ones who know of your kind are your kind, but you haven't seen any of your siblings among mortals in a long time. You thought you knew the other gods and goddesses, but maybe not. It has been a while since you stepped foot in the golden city.

The woman in your grip goes slack and you release her. You're still lost in thought as the ref calls the match and leads you out of the makeshift ring. The cheers of the audience are background noise at this point, akin to static or the buzz of electricity, and you pay them no mind as you head to collect your winnings. You didn't even get any kind of buzz from success this time, too immersed in the way the singer walked and talked and looked. The image of his smirk is burned into your retinas. 

"Yeah, you didn't hear? He just got out of the hospital. They had to keep him overnight because they thought he might puncture a lung. I heard that if it had been a little worse, they would've had to wire his jaw shut." You stop, fingers brushing over the stack of bills you don't even remember being handed. You look up, making eye contact with the guy whispering nearby. Your suspicions are confirmed when his friend smacks his arm and juts his chin in your direction before they both disappear into the crowd. 

You shove your way outside, frustration creeping through you and coloring your vision. You manage to keep it contained long enough for you to make it to the alley behind the warehouse, but it explodes from you in a rush of thrown dumpsters and sheet metal. 

Fuck , you never meant to hurt him like that. You told him, you fucking told him to yield, it isn't your fault he didn't listen. It's not your fault that he went and insulted you, acted like he was better than you just by virtue of being a dude, as if you weren't worshipped in the old days for the power you had and the blessings you could give. You'd held back, through all of it, you'd told him to yield, and he insulted you. It wasn't your fault. 

You slide to the ground, running a shaking hand through your hair. It isn't your fault , you repeat. You close your eyes and take deep breaths, the way Hestia taught you, willing the fury to dissipate. It's like a fire in your veins, burning and bubbling your skin until you can't resist anymore. You take another breath. It isn't your fault. You tried. You offered an out. It isn't your fault. Fuck, what was his name? 

With a growl that quickly morphs into a scream, you kick the dumpster once more before stalking off into the darkness. You need a fucking drink and you're gonna find a distraction in someone else if it's the last thing you do. 

The club is packed when you get there; you're not usually a fan of clubs like this, too full of people who are too friendly, but they're perfect for nights like tonight. You don't even need to wait in line, just slip the bouncer a 50 as you pass, and the bartenders are quick to spot you. You're pretty notorious in the city for over-paying, which means you're knocking back bourbon before you have a chance to ask for it. There are people everywhere, pressed up against both sides of you while the bass thrums in your throat, and it takes you longer than you're proud of to realize why. 

There's a band playing, apparently. They're not bad; the vocalist isn't anything like the singer from Suho's, but it doesn't make you want to tear your ears off, so you consider it a success. 

You're dancing before you remember deciding to. Everything's a blur when you get the itch in your bones, the need to make someone bleed. To feel something that isn't rage or condescension. People are even closer here on the dance floor, suffocating in their proximity, but there's a woman grinding her ass into you, and it sparks the dying fire in your gut. The beat of the music drowns your own heart, and it's all flashing lights and heat and a body pressed against yours that is all too willing.

She follows when you go back to the bar for another drink, and giggles when you lick salt from her wrist before downing tequila. Her hands are wrapped in the leather of your jacket as she kisses you, your own resting lightly on her hips. She laughs against your lips and says something you don't hear before ordering another drink. Something makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You take the brief reprieve to look around the club, searching for whatever it is that has you on alert. You find him on the upper level of the club, leaned over the balcony with a drink in hand. You can't make out his expression, exactly; it's too far away and too guarded. But you'd know him anywhere now. The singer knocks back whatever's in his glass, eyes never leaving yours. You don't know why he's here, if he comes here often or if the Fates are having a laugh at your expense, but you do know you want to make the most of it.

The girl is back, pressing a heated kiss to your lips and drawing your attention from him. You return it, nipping at her lips and getting a small gasp in return. You smirk and bite your way down her neck. She's breathy in your ear, hitched moans lost in the beat of the music, but you barely hear her as you suck bruises into the skin of her neck. He's still watching you. His drink is gone and he's gripping the bannister of the balcony, rings glinting in the light. You wonder if the cool metal could soothe the burn in your bones. You want to know if he can bring that calmness from before back, if he can soothe the frenzy in your mind with his hands the way he can with his voice. Just imagining it has you soaking through to your jeans.

The girl makes a particularly loud noise in your ear and you're brought out of your thoughts. As if he can sense it, the singer straightens. He gives you one last look before disappearing back into the crowd, and you wonder if you're imagining the disdain in it. You draw back from the girl's neck, about to tell her to find her friends when she slides her hands in your hair and tugs.

The burn in your blood is back, now, and you hope this girl is prepared for what awaits her.

"You're here early," Suho says when he spots you in the nearly empty bar the next night. He's not wrong, either; you skipped the fights tonight completely. There was no buzz last time, no relief, and you have no reason to believe there would be tonight. Not with the way the singer captivates your thoughts. 

Besides, you have enough money leftover from the previous few to last a couple days.

"What, did you decide not to kick someone's ass before getting wasted?" Suho doesn't wither at the look you give him, just pours you a couple fingers of bourbon and slides the glass over. "Or did they just stop letting you in completely?"

"I might change my mind if you don't shut up," You tell him. There's no real heat behind it. You've known Suho for years now, been coming to his bar for so long it almost feels like home. You're almost friends at this point. 

It helps that he knows when to bite his tongue so he doesn't get his teeth knocked out.

"Seriously though, I don't think I've ever seen you here this early. Especially not on mic nights." You're very careful in your lack of a reaction to his words. You'd seen the workers setting up for it when you came in, and even if you hadn't, you know when mic night is. You've spent enough time avoiding it.

"Does he sing every time?" You ask in lieu of an explanation. You don't look away from the amber liquid in your glass, letting the silence hang as the bartender does his best to follow your thought process. 

"Taehyung? Most weeks, yeah. It's been a nice change from the usual drunken karaoke. He goes around to some of the other places in town, too. Apparently he just likes to sing." 

"Taehyung," You repeat. The name rolls from your tongue a bit awkwardly. It's more than you expected, somehow, but you can't place exactly how . Just...more. "Is he always that good?"

"Oh, yeah. We have regulars now for mic night because of him. He's got a whole fan club and everything."

"Hm." You drain the rest of your bourbon and Suho refills it. He leaves you in peace then, serving some others that appear at the bar. 

The place fills faster than you can blink. That's what it feels like, anyway. It's like one moment there's you and a handful of other people scattered around, and now you're being jostled between some dude a million feet tall that definitely doesn't look old enough to be here and a girl with her tits up to her throat and surrounded by a cloud of perfume so thick that it starts a migraine behind your eyes almost instantly. She flirts with Suho a little, likely trying to score free drinks, and you roll your eyes. She pouts at him when he gives her the total, batting eyelashes that go on for miles, and for once, you wish Suho would just give in and comp the drinks. 

"I'll pay for them," You say. She was definitely saying something, maybe you should have been paying attention to it, but fuck , this migraine is only getting worse the longer she stands there. "I'll pay for your drinks."

"Oh, thanks," She says. Her smile is hesitant, and quickly turns apologetic as she takes in the boots and the ripped jeans and the leather jacket. "Um, I'm not...I don't, uh…"

"Do I look like I want to fuck you, sweetie?" She looks a little affronted and a laugh escapes you. You lean closer, letting your breath ghost over her cheek as you speak in her ear to be heard better. "If I wanted to fuck you senseless, you'd know it. And I can guarantee you it would be a hell of a lot better than the watered down rat piss this guy's giving you." 

When you lean back, her face is flushed and she's stammering. You smirk and hand her the drinks she'd ordered. 

"Too bad you’re not, you don’t, huh?" You tell her. The patronizing tone isn't lost on her, nor is your mockery of her earlier words, and she shuts her mouth with an audible click before strutting off. Suho glares at you as he pours more bourbon.

"Can you please try not to run off my patrons?" He mutters. "Some of us actually need money to live."

"Some of us would like decently timed refills and to not choke on perfume," You quip. "And better bourbon, for that matter." He hisses something about what he's giving you being top quality but you tune him out, throwing one leg over the stool Perfume Girl vacated. You'd like to keep just a little bit of personal space. 

Across the bar, you catch a brief glimpse of the girl from the night before and you wince. Her neck is thoroughly bruised, and you catch a peek of bruises and scratches on her back as she shrugs her jacket on. You didn’t mean to be so rough with her, even if she had been into it; you’re usually pretty good about remembering that the mortals are just that - mortal - and as such have to be handled delicately. They’re so fragile, it feels like they could break with a strong wind. Guilt settles in your gut and turns the bourbon in your glass to cough syrup. You’ve half a mind to just leave before she sees you, are about to turn and do exactly that, but the speakers screech to life and the deafening feedback from the mic keeps you glued to your seat. 

The crowd quiets even as the excitement ramps up, all talk silencing but for the occasional hushed whispers here and there. The first few notes of the song echo through the speakers, and a spotlight appears on him. 

He looks different this time, his hair dyed a vibrant blue that matches the glinting jewels in his ears and on his hands. He's an absolute vision and you wonder how Aphrodite has allowed him to live so long when he's so beautiful. His voice hangs in the air and calms you, the same settling in your chest as last time, the same freedom from the burn in your veins. It's addictive. 

The song doesn't last nearly as long as you want it to but the stillness inside you lingers long after he's done caressing the microphone. You place a few bills down for Suho and light up a cigarette as you head outside, ignoring the dirty looks from other patrons as you do. You're on a mission, the thrum of bloodlust returning with every second that passes, and you can't even be sure if he's still around or if he's wandered off already. 

You stand in the alley for what feels like hours, turning at every sound and smoking cig after cig just so you have something to do. You've almost decided to say fuck it when footsteps sound from the back of the bar, coming closer to you. 

His blue hair is visible even from the other end of the small alley, a giveaway similar to the light at the end of your cigarette and the smoke you blow into the air. There's no way he hasn't seen you, you think, you're making no effort to hide or be sneaky, and yet he's continuing forward as if he doesn't see you at all, eyes focused on a phone in his hand. You wait until he's just a few steps away before speaking.

"How do you know my title?" You ask him. He stops as if he'd always meant to and doesn't even bother to glance up at you or respond. The edges of your vision turn scarlet at the blatant disregard and you're speaking before you can even process the words. "I asked you a fucking question, pretty boy, you're gonna answer me. Unless you want that precious mouth bloodied up."

"And you wonder how I know who you are," He drawls, still not bothering to spare a glance at you. A scowl grows over your face at his sarcastic tone. "If you're going to hit me just get it over with. Otherwise, I have places to be."

He stands, waiting and expectant, but you don't move. He's humming, quiet and to himself like he doesn't even realize he's doing it, and the red seeps away from your mind until you're left clear-headed once more. You sigh, long and heavy, and crush your cigarette into your denim-covered thigh to put it out. It tickles. 

"I'm not going to hit you," You tell him eventually. "I just wanna know how you know me. And how you do it."

He cocks a brow at that, finally looking up from the phone in his hand to level dark eyes on yours. "Do what? Sing?"

"No." You swallow around the sudden lump in your throat. The words are harder to find than you thought they'd be, lost in the depths of his gaze, in the clarity you're so unaccustomed to, in the way you feel like you can breathe for the first time in days. "I don't care how you sing, that's not important, it's the...fuck, you know what, never mind, it doesn't fucking matter." You push off the wall and step past him to head towards where the streetlight gleams off the bar windows. 

"Tell me." The command has you stopping in your tracks, and you're again flooded with just wanting to know how. How he clears the haze, how he stops you, how he makes you feel real. You turn, hands stuffed into the back pockets of your jeans. "How I do what?"

It takes you several long breaths before you can answer, and you aren't even sure he can hear you over the sounds of people leaving the bar, and you find yourself disappearing into the crowd without waiting for a response. Your own words are reverberating in your skull, getting louder with each step you take, and you wish you could just turn it off . 

"How you make me feel like a person again."

You avoid the bar for a few weeks, going hours away from your usual area to an unfamiliar hole in the wall just to make sure you don’t see him. You’re more deadly than usual in your fights, victories coming quicker, injuries piling up along with the guilt, but you can’t bring yourself to return. It’s unnerving, the way everything goes quiet around him, the way you can think, but the worst is the way you can feel. Everything’s calm and steady and blue, and it only makes it easier for the regret and the guilt and the anxiety to curl around your throat and squeeze until you can’t breathe, to clog in your throat while the laughter of your siblings echoes in your ears, and you...can’t. You can’t do that, you can’t let it win, you can’t let them win, they can’t know that you’re everything they think you are and worse. 

You can’t let yourself drown in that, and yet you find yourself back at Suho’s, lost among the crowd while Taehyung’s voice surrounds you. The ache in your bones fades away, chased by the thrum of the fight that still lingers despite the hours that have passed since you felt your opponent’s femur break under your palm and their screams echoed in your ears. Everything is calm again, and the guilt nearly drowns you.

He hasn’t even finished singing before you’re outside, chest heaving as you gasp against the weight on your chest. You broke someone’s femur , and did you even really need to? The fight itself is a blur even now, snapshots playing through your mind like a montage. The way they’d darted at you first, how their foot felt connecting with the backs of your knees, the determination in their eyes when you went down, the jolt of shock as your hands wrapped around their leg, the dull throb of a barrage of hits against your waist as you pulled them down as well and bloodied their face, the blood-curdling scream as you snapped the bone like a pretzel stick.

Your breath comes faster in your lungs, forced out by the growing guilt that lodges there in its place. Images swirl in your mind, chased by a never-ending stream of thought and regret that you should be used to by now. Fuck, you didn’t need to, and you still did it; you lost control, you fucking hurt them, and for what? A couple hundred? Was it even worth it? Who knew when they’d be back into shape to fight, what if they needed the money? They weren’t even half-bad. They got you down, at least, shouldn’t you have gone easy on them? You don’t even remember their face, can’t remember what the announcer said their name was, words drowned out by the buzz under your skin.

Metal crumples under your grip and you spare a half-second to mourn Suho’s dumpster before you slam your knuckles against it. It tingles, not even real pain, and you don’t hesitate to repeat it. By the time the metal is disfigured completely, a distorted mess of paint and steel and garbage, you still aren’t in pain, but there’s a sheen of gold across your knuckles and you feel less like you’re drowning and more like you’re suffocating. The usual. You can handle that. You think. 

You don’t even realize that you’ve slid down to the ground beside the dumpster until the back door of the bar opens and footsteps echo through the alley. You wish you knew how long you’ve been here, how long you’ve sat among empty bottles and stale beer and broken glass, but you can’t be sure. The brief reprieve brought by Taehyung’s voice is long gone, chased away by the guilt and rage that still sits heavy in your chest. You hope you’re not noticeable here, that whoever’s left will just pass by and leave you to piece yourself back together on your own. 

Voices tell you that it isn’t likely, the deep baritone of one too familiar to ignore. The other is new, but you’re familiar with the tone, the inflection, the intent behind it. You've heard it before, in crowded clubs as a guy pushes too close to some girl who can barely stand, in a coffeeshop when a random customer can't take a fucking hint, at the local campus when some professor insists that there could be maybe one thing her student could do to pass. It makes everything in you curdle, the bourbon from earlier threatening to work its way back up; it screams predator , and you absolutely refuse to let anyone fucking talk to someone like that, like they have some right to whatever it is they want. 

You refuse to let someone talk to him that way. 

"Seriously, Kratos, didn't I tell you to leave me alone? Did Aphrodite not teach you your lesson last time you harassed someone?" Taehyung's voice brings a calm that's an unsettling match to the anger washing over you. You're used to the red at the corners of your vision, the tint to everything you see, but you aren ' t used to the way it all turns purple and focused and clear . 

There's no haze this time, there's no abrupt shift of you moving before you know you've done it. You can feel the glass crunching under your boots with every step you take, can feel the way the air has a chill that creeps down into your lungs with every breath, can almost taste the apprehension that's rolling off of Taehyung despite his relaxed stance. The only thing that gives him away is the tense set of his jaw and the mix of relief and fear when his eyes land on you. 

"I'm pretty sure he said no, Kratos." The god turns at your voice and you watch the realization wash over him as he realizes what - who - you are. 

"Been a while since anyone's seen you, Ares." He scoffs a little, not moving from where he has Taehyung caged against the wall of the bar, one hand pressed firmly into the brick. He's entirely too close, and you have no doubt that the stench of him permeates the very oxygen around them. 

"Been busy. Doesn't change the fact that the man said no. Take the loss, walk away." Kratos' eyes narrow at your words and he steps away, but only to move closer to you. 

"Why do you care so much? You've never been one to care about any of us before." Kratos inches closer and the hyper-focus that Taehyung's voice causes starts to melt away with every twitch of your fingers. You've never liked Kratos, all brute strength with no respect for the challenge, no appreciation of the fight, too focused on sheer power and exhilaration. He is the worst of the worst of the worst of your kind, of all the war-focused gods. Every bit of yourself you hate is every piece that Kratos loves about himself. 

"I care that you don't seem to be able to understand when someone doesn't want to be around you, you absolute piece of filth. Taehyung had a point though, I really thought the whole thing with Aphrodite would've taught you how to back off. Or should I pull the video out, I think I still have it saved for when I need a good laugh." Malice and fury twitch across the other god's face and you absolute revel in it. You can feel his anger prickling across you, like needles in your very pores, and you ache for it. It's been so long since you last had a good fight, a real challenge where you didn't need to hold back at all. 

Too long since you fought a god like yourself.

"You're testing my patience, cousin," Kratos spits. It's a little generous to call the two of you cousins - you're several times removed, at best, and potentially closer than that with your family's warped history - but you let him have it. It might make him feel better. "I'm having a conversation, that's all. And if said conversation means that we end up back at my place, then, well, can anyone really blame me for what might happen to this pretty little m-"

Your fist connects with his jaw immediately and the red floods you for the few seconds it takes to register Taehyung calling your name. The calm struggles for a second, warring with the rage, but it wins out eventually. The singer's talking, but you can't make out any actual words. You're too focused on Kratos, the way he's righting and readying himself for a brawl. There's a fire in his eyes that matches the one in yours and everything in you feels alive for the first time in too long. 

This fight is different than your usual ones. There's no blur, no warped sense of time that usually comes with the adrenaline. You're focused and controlled in a way you haven't had to be for centuries, careful and precise and deliberate with every swing and every kick. The red seeps back in slowly and every time you think you're about to lose it, you hear Taehyung, still pressed against the wall of the bar. 

Kratos lunges at you for what has to be the tenth time, clearly trying his best to knock you to the ground - he succeeded, once; you let yourself get distracted, too caught up in thoughts, but it didn't last long - and you sidestep him just in time for him to ram into the ruined dumpster instead. He looks pissed when he turns back around and something in you sings at the sight. He makes for you again and you dodge again, only to be dragged back towards him by the grip he has on your jacket. Fuck, should've taken that off , whatever, he's too close.

Pain explodes in your side and you're fairly sure he's busted part of your rib, but you just slide your arms out of the sleeves and twist to plant your knee straight into his gut and then slam your heel down onto his much-less-safe toes, and then back up to knee him in the groin. It's nowhere near enough to take him out, but his nose is oozing golden ichor and he groans with every shift of his weight, and you've got him pinned against the wall with your forearm pressing hard into his windpipe. 

"Now, you're gonna listen to me you steaming pile of dog shit," You hiss. "When someone tells you no, it's not a fucking negotiation. It means you fucking leave and find someone with loose enough morals or enough internalized self-hatred that they're willing to subject themselves to your absolutely pitiful fucking excuse of an existence for the thirty-two seconds it'll take for you to get off." 

Kratos doesn't respond, just sneers and spits blood at you. It's a miracle you don't actually try to rip his head from his body, because the thought crosses your mind for a second too long. Instead, you just press harder against his windpipe and enjoy the choked gasp that it draws. 

"You don't stalk people either, the way you did with 'Dite. Don't you know it's better to let them come to you sometimes?" You tsk, ignoring the way he claws uselessly at your arm. Gods may not need to breathe, that's a fact, but they feel pain, and there is no way this isn't absolutely excruciating for him when even you can feel the small bones in his neck cracking and breaking. "And if I hear even a whisper of you pulling shit like this again, then I'm gonna find you, you pigshit. And when I do, I won't hold back even the slightest, and do you know what comes after that?" 

His eyes are full of fear now, and only grow wide with terror as you lean in close enough that he can feel your lips against his ear as you whisper. 

"You are going to wish that you could die." 

When you do release him, he disappears instantly, with a cloud of acrid grey-green smoke curling around your ichor-spattered boots. He's only been gone a second when you slump, the adrenaline fading as quick as Kratos had left. Your side is throbbing now, your knuckles are bruised and broken and gold, there's a pain in your leg that you aren't sure what's causing, your head is screaming even through the high of the fight, your face stings in the crisp-cool air. Every breath makes the pain worse so you stop breathing. The brick wall of the bar is rough against your palms, but it's the only thing around that can keep you upright, so you'll take it. 

"Well," a voice drawls from your left. You'd jump if you had anything left in you, but every ounce of energy is gone, spent teaching Kratos what Aretha Franklin meant when she sang about respect - and really, there was another fantastic singer, you really should visit her sometime soon - so instead your head lolls to the side. You aren't sure what it is that jolts through you when your eyes land on Taehyung, fingers curled carefully around the collar of-

Your jacket. That's your leather jacket. You barely remembers shrugging out of it, but you're glad it's not on the ground, trampled and covered in the gold spatters that decorate the rest of your body. 

"Well?" You echo, wincing at the pain it causes. You've definitely got a busted lip, that's for sure from the way it feels different and swollen, and you're pretty sure there's a head wound, too, because you don't remember there being a golden halo around Taehyung before the fight. 

"Well," He repeats, slinging the jacket - your jacket - over a shoulder. "You should get that looked at." He starts walking, making his way to the entrance of the alleyway. He gets halfway there before he stops and turns and cocks a brow. "Are you coming, or do I get to keep this?" Your jacket waves a little, as if he's wiggling it, and it makes you feel like a stray dog being lured off with treats. 

You're never going to tell anyone that it works.

Taehyung's place is as nondescript as the car he parks outside. It's a plain apartment building on the outside - looks like maybe it was a hotel back in the 1930s, based on the outdated carpeting in the lobby and the grate on the elevator he steps into. Even the hallway is plain and unassuming as he leads you to the end and uses an old, tarnished brass key on an older, more tarnished brass knob. You aren't sure what you expected, you can't even begin to guess what Taehyung is like outside of the dirty alley or the stage where he sings, can't fathom what kind of decor he could possibly have. 

What you step into isn't anything you could have guessed. It looks like he has the entire rest of the floor to himself based on what you can see, but there's also a spiral staircase tucked into a corner, bookshelves built in under each step that are filled to the brim, and a fireman's pole in another corner, so there's at least one more level above this, but something tells you both the staircase and the pole continue past that. There's artwork everywhere, pieces you recognize and pieces you don't, several van Goghs and a couple from Matisse and you think in the corner you spot an actual fucking da Vinci sketch that's supposed to be somewhere in Europe. There's a gramophone beside a top-of-the-line sound system, an entire wall that's just a record collection, books upon books, framed bits of poetry - including an actual hand-written rupi kaur, a signed Maya Angelou print, and a signed cover of ain't i a woman by bell hooks that you would die to know how Taehyung got his hands on. It's a museum's wet dream and yet it retains a lived in atmosphere. There are mugs left on tables, blankets strewn about as if someone just got up from a nap, an easel propped up by a far window with what looks like an impressionist painting of the cityscape, books tossed down half-read with receipts and coupons and candy wrappers and everything but a bookmark tucked between the pages. 

It feels like a home and it makes your heart flutter in your chest at the same time that something in your stomach shrivels up into itself. 

Taehyung walks like he’s meant to be followed, so follow you do. You spy another man - older, you think, but it’s hard to tell, really - sprawled across a couch, blanket splayed across his lap as he watches some kind of dance show on a flatscreen hung above a warm and roaring fireplace, a couple of girls in what looks to be the kitchen, one sitting on the counter while the other stands between her legs and pretends not to notice the former stealing strawberries from her bowl as she taps at her tablet, and there are footsteps creaking above you, hidden behind walls even as Taehyung leads you up the staircase. They all look up when you pass, but only the man gives you a second glance; his eyes are a weight on your back that doesn’t leave until you’re upstairs and following Taehyung into a large, rather nice bathroom. 

It’s vintage as well, but it’s spacious and well-kept, like the rest of the place. Taehyung pats the marble counter by the sink and you bite your tongue against the urge to tell him you aren’t a dog. You don’t move though, instead watching him as he lays your jacket across a brass bar on the wall and then digs around in a cabinet for a minute or two. When he straightens up, he’s got a somewhat dusty off-white box in his hands, and he frowns. 

“Up,” He says. “I need to look at your ankle.” 

You don’t move, but you can tell he doesn’t miss the twitch of your nose at the thought of being commanded like an animal. Like someone who can’t understand. Like-

He sighs. 

“Please, will you sit on the counter, so I can look at your ankle?” You huff, but you do as he says. 

He doesn’t speak as he works, completely silent except for the odd command - “Roll it for me...alright, now flex that...deep breath...stop fidgeting or I’ll only make it worse…” - and the occasional hum under his breath. It seems to be second nature, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and it endears you more than you’d like. His touch is gentle but firm as he lightly squeezes your ankle and wraps it, lifts your pant leg to rub some kind of cream into a somewhat worrisome golden bruise forming on your calf, darts under your shirt to quickly and painlessly set your ribs before wrapping those as well. He doesn’t say anything at all until he’s almost finished with the cuts on your hands, golden ichor long gone and wounds already on their way to healing thanks to some sort of mist he spritzes on them. 

It only stings once, as he’s spraying something over some kind of cut on your thigh where Kratos ripped through the denim there without you noticing. You can’t stop the hiss as the pain hits, though you regret it when he glances up at you. 

“Sorry,” He mumbles under his breath as he dabs lightly at it with his long fingers. 

“It’s fine,” You tell him. “I’m used to it.” Your voice is rough, always, but softer than usual. You don’t know why. You can’t decide if you like it.

The entire time he works, you wait. For him to tell you it wasn’t necessary, that he can fight his own battles, that he’s not surprised a brute like yourself got into a fight, that you’re no more than what the rumours say you are. You’ve got a million different curses and insults ready to spit back at him when he finally speaks.

“Thank you,” is what comes. It shocks the words out of your mouth, and you actually look up from where you’ve been watching him methodically wipe gold away from a scrape on your forearm. His gaze is concentrated on the injury and his lips are pursed and you wish you could figure him out. 

He must take your silence for the confusion it is, because he continues. 

“I mean it,” He says. “I’m usually not someone that lets other people fight for me, but we both know that I couldn’t have taken Kratos. He’s too strong, and he was counting on that. Until you showed up.” You don’t respond. “Is there a reason you left before my set was done? Or why you were sitting in an alley beside what is possibly the most gnarled dumpster I’ve ever seen?”

You don’t answer him, instead focusing on the way his hands feel as they tilt your chin so he can look at the cuts and bruises and scrapes that decorate your face. You focus your gaze just past his shoulder, content to memorize the pattern of his gaudy vintage bathroom wallpaper, and he doesn't press for more. The distracted humming picks up again every time he stops talking, and eases the storm of guilt shame rage pain hurt grief loneliness in your chest. 

"I fight," you eventually say. Your voice is too loud in the quiet of the bathroom, shatters the silence like a sledgehammer, and you hate the way it trembles. Still, Taehyung doesn't look away from where he's carefully wiping gold from your skin, just cocks a brow, and it's as if a dam breaks in your throat. "Like, real fights. Actual competition, with rules and shit, and...sometimes the bad ones, because they tend to fight differently, it's a different kind of fight, y'know, and it's never really fair, because I'm...I'm me, but I hold back, just for fun, y'know, and it's, uh. It's alright usually, I go in, do my thing, I win, I go drink, and it all gets, I dunno, easier, maybe, for a while, like I can think right, but, um.”

You hesitate for a split second and force yourself to focus on the way the alcohol-soaked cotton tickles the cut on your head. 

“Sometimes it's not...sometimes I can't control it as well, the anger, and I kind of just lose it on people, and a while ago this guy, he almost needed his jaw wired shut, but he was kind of a prick anyway, I guess, so whatever, but, uh, today, I...there was this girl and she was doing really well, actually, y'know, managed to get me down to the mat, which is rare and pretty impressive, and I'm pretty proud of her for it now, but then, I just. I just kinda lost it, like, I just kept swinging, I couldn't stop, and then I just...I broke her leg, for no real reason, just because I wanted her to hurt, and I don't...I'm not sure why I even did it, because I'd already won, right, like what was the point of doing any more, it wasn't even helping at that point, y'know, it's not like the buzz kept up any longer because I broke this kid's leg, and I love the fights, they help clear my head for a second, but I never wanted to actually-"

You words stop short, like there are too many of them to say in too short a time, and it's then you realize Taehyung's hands are in his lap and he's looking at you fully. His expression isn't neutral anymore, it's not the carefully crafted mask of a performer, it's real and open and genuine and all you see there is pain . For you. Pain and understanding and compassion you never expected to find anywhere but the deepest corners of your soul. Looking at him looking at you like that makes you feel like you can breathe again.

"You never wanted to hurt anyone." His voice is rough, like maybe there's emotion clogging his throat as well, and you aren't sure what that does to you, but something in you jumps at the thought.

Tears mar your vision as you nod and you curse under your breath before wiping them away. He catches your quivering hand in his and just holds it for a second. His eyes don't leave yours and there are a thousand things you expect him to say but what he says is: 

"I believe you."

And that...it's more than you can take, and you break, right there on his bathroom counter, sobbing into his chest while he just rubs your back and hums and you remember the face of every person you've ever hurt and the look in their eyes as you left some of them for dead. 

You wake up the next morning curled up on the most comfortable chaise lounge in human history, sitting up and shoving the blanket off of you in a rush before you remember where you are, why you're there. A glance around tells you that you aren't alone; there's two guys bent over a table that you think might also be a tablet, conversing quietly and pointing every so often at whatever they're looking at, a girl balanced along the edge of the staircase holding a lyre - which, wow, you haven't seen a lyre in that good condition in a while - and strumming lightly along it before she frowns and shakes her head and restarts whatever melody she's playing, and the same guy sprawled over the couch with a blanket strewn haphazardly over him while he watches a different dance video on the flatscreen. He's the closest and you don't really want to talk to any of these people but you think you might have to because you aren't really sure how Taehyung got you here last night but you know it was quite a drive. You'd just mist over to the bar if you really wanted to, but your ribs hurt like a bitch still thanks to that fucker Kratos. Anything as intense as misting is out of the question for the time being.

The man on the chaise spares you a glance that feels longer than it should, full of a judgement you have no doubt you deserve and yet somehow fires your anger anyway. 

He rolls his eyes before you even say anything and waves a hand towards the kitchen. You snap your mouth closed and shoot him an irritated look, but you storm in that direction anyway. Healing is exhausting, and you want nothing more than some meat to tear into and a cold beer. 

When you get into the kitchen, however, Taehyung is standing there already, as if he’s been expecting you any minute. There’s a plate in front of him, full of food you barely recognize, and he slides it towards you. 

“Eat,” He says. You grit your teeth, unmoving, and he sighs again. “Please sit, and eat. You need the strength to heal properly.” 

You resist for a split second, but there’s a softness to him now. Something you can’t exactly put your finger on, but that you know is different , somehow, and it changes things. It makes you want to listen, to do as he asks, because he is asking . He’s not telling, he’s treating you like an animal. 

It’s a request, not a demand, and that makes all the difference. 

Taehyung is quiet while you eat. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t watch to make sure you’re doing it, but you have no doubt he’s keeping an eye on you. It’s quiet, but not unbearably so; the air is broken by the sounds of the lyre and the television, as well as the soft chattering of the men at the table. It makes it comfortable, makes it soft in a way you’re unaccustomed to being, like the way people talk about lazy Sunday mornings or that voice they get when they see a cute animal.

It feels like home should be, instead of what yours is. 

“So why’s Pretty Boy giving me the death glare?” You eventually ask past a mouthful of food. Taehyung barely looks up, just glancing past you to the guy laying on the couch. You can feel his eyes boring into your spine, but it’s nothing new. 

“Taemin’s just protective,” Taehyung says softly. “Especially considering the stories.”

“The ones about me, you mean.”

A myriad of emotions passes through his eyes when he nods, and you wish you could more easily decipher them. Maybe in time, you will. 

Maybe.

“Those, yes,” He says softly. “But he’ll learn.” He doesn’t say it, but nonetheless, you hear the words as clear as day. Just like I did.  

Someone hums behind you and you glance over to see a woman - the strawberry thief - making her way into the kitchen. She gives Taehyung a look you don’t care enough to figure out, and they have an entire conversation in the span of five minutes. Something about it irks you, and it only gets worse when they start moving around each other, Taehyung handing her things without her asking. 

It’s ridiculous, and you know it, but the air gets heavy in your lungs and your head starts to swim and suddenly you’re suffocating. It’s too much, there’s too much here, and you can’t take it anymore. 

The force with which you shove away the counter would have slammed it into the wall were it not already attached. There are slight cracks in the granite tops, though, and there’s just enough clarity as Taehyung calls your name for you to feel guilty about it. It’s not enough to stop you though; you have to get out, you need to get out, before you do something worse, and the cracks in the granite are proof of that. 

You’re out the door in an instant, your form coalescing painfully back into solid matter as you reach the hallway. Your ribs ache, screaming with the effort of trying to mist away from this place, this home , and you lean against the wall in the hope that it will help steady you. 

The door opens behind you, the creak of the old hinges deafening in the silence of the hall. There’s a commotion behind it, voices overlapping each other and reverberating in your skull until they’re a twisted mockery of your siblings. 

You stumble down the hall, one hand clutching your ribs to keep them as still as possible despite your movement. It’s not lost on you that there are footsteps following you, but you can’t focus on them now. You’re not moving fast, and you need to be, you should be running , but you can’t. Your vision is already clouding slightly at the edges, the sudden spike of adrenaline waning now that you’re out of the apartment. 

Someone says your name and you swing. 

It’s instinct, the way your fist flies through the air; you can’t control it, not this, not when the red is all you can see even as it seeps away and turns lilac. It doesn’t matter anyway. You don’t make contact with anything but the wall, plaster crumbling around your fist and onto the carpeted floor. 

“That was rude,” Taehyung says softly. He doesn’t sound mad, though he should, considering you almost decked him straight in the nose. “I’ll take you back.”

He drapes your jacket over your arm and walks away, toward emergency stairs tucked into the corner instead of the elevator, and you follow. He hums as he goes, and he lets you lead the way down the stairs, keeping pace with your quick steps until both of you step out a side door into an alleyway. 

Out of habit, more than anything, you light a cigarette and put it between your lips. You don’t miss the disgusted scrunch of Taehyung’s nose, but you do ignore it. The smoke is familiar in lungs, comforting, and he doesn’t understand it, won’t ever understand it, but he doesn’t have to. 

“Sorry, Tae,” You say after a few minutes of silence. Taehyung shrugs one shoulder and moves to lean beside you against the stone of the building. 

“Are you okay now?” You nod, taking a deep breath, remembering how Hestia had taught you, so long ago, how her hand felt against your chest, the warmth and love it held. “Then you’re forgiven. And you can call me Calliope, if you want.”

You’re both quiet after that. He doesn’t make fun of you, he doesn’t judge you, he just silently drives you back to Suho’s bar, which is when you remember that he doesn’t know where you live. You’re fine with it; you don’t want to see him in your run down hovel. It’s not much, especially compared to his own apartment, but that makes sense, too. 

What could ever live up to the home of a Muse? Not even a muse, really. The Muse. The Head of the Nine Muses, the one called on most often by those in need, the one that everyone knew, the one that Hephaestus just put statues of in the gardens of Olympus, according to the rumors that Apollo sent you. 

The calm that he brings lasts until you get back to your apartment, nearly ten full minutes after you disappear into the alley beside Suho’s bar. It’s the longest the calm has ever lasted, and the view of the city tinted lavender is one you think you love. 

If you can love. 

Things get clearer, somehow. The weight on your shoulders lessens, makes you feel less like Atlas and more like you, how you were all those years ago in the now-ancient days when things made sense. When people fought for honor and glory and justice more than they fought for oil and death and greed. 

It could be because open mic nights are frequent around the city, and you’re able to figure out his schedule pretty well. You don’t go every night that he sings, just when it gets to be too much, when the scarlet haze starts to bleed into your irises like a flag in front of a bull. It helps, for a while, lets you settle long enough to pull the pieces of you back into a shape that vaguely resembles yourself. 

It could be because the fights happen every night, and Taehyung is no stranger to where to look to find them. He watches every one that he can, when he isn’t singing, and his presence anchors you. Focuses you, so that you can pull your punches just enough, so that there’s less hurting and more fighting. It doesn’t work every time, you still lose yourself in the rage and do more damage than you ever mean to, but it helps enough. And when it doesn’t, he’s there, to slide a hand across your shoulders in that exact same way that Hestia used to, that Apollo might if you let him close enough to know you’re alive, that Artemis would , were she anywhere but where she is. 

It’s a strange feeling. You’re not used to companionship, you don’t know how to have friends. You still say the wrong things and do the wrong things and he still speaks to you like he expects to be listened to, but you both are learning. You apologize more often, and he corrects himself quicker. It’s a slow, fragile thing, this friendship, but it’s there. 

Until the night when it’s not. 

You aren’t sure how it happens. It’s been weeks since you last saw Taehyung; he mentioned some project he was working on, something or another that would have most of his attention along with that of several of the other Muses. You had brushed it off when he said it, some snide remark about how you don’t need him there to win. 

You would take it back if you could. 

Because you were right, of course, you don’t need him there to win; you can do that on your own. And your control has gotten better, stronger, over the last few months, but complacency is what always leads to disaster. 

The guy deserved it, is what you tell yourself as you’re pulled out of the ring. He was a piece of shit anyway, you remind yourself as you call Apollo with shaking hands. He didn’t deserve your mercy, you tell the golden gold after you’ve begged him to help save the man’s life. Artemis would have done the same, you insist to him, long after he’s hung up the phone and left to follow the ambulance to the hospital. 

You don’t go to Suho’s. You can’t bear it, not when he might be there, not when he would read it on your face in a heartbeat. You don’t want to watch the disappointment crumble into something more familiar, something worse, you can’t watch him look at you with the knowledge that your siblings are right, that they’ve always been right, that you’re nothing better than a crazed animal. 

The club is packed full when you get there. The bartender starts to pour you a drink and you just take the bottle, leaving a too-thick wad of bills in return. The bourbon tickles as it goes down but it warms your stomach and distracts you from the haze in your mind, the repetitive beat of they were right they were right they were right they were-

“Whoops, sorry,” someone says, a second before they knock into your shoulder. You’ve been around long enough to know a fake fall, and you scowl as you glance towards them. 

He’s cute. Taller than you, with skin that would hide the marks you so love to create, and hair that looks like it would be soft in your hands. His clothes fit well, and they look like they were chosen for comfort over style despite the way he walks like a model in them, which you always find attractive. 

The smile that slips onto your face is familiar, as is the way you bring your hand up to rest on his hip in an effort to steady him. 

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” You tell him, not being subtle in the way you eye him. He looks soft; you love them soft. “You headed to get a drink?”

“I might be,” He says teasingly, a coy grin forming on his lips. 

“I’ve got something better, if you’re interested.”

His eyes roam along your body, his breath drawing somewhat quicker when he notices the scrapes on your knuckles. “I might be.”

It takes five minutes to get him to a corner quiet enough to talk. Less than three to get your lips on his. One and a half to start sucking a mark into his neck that makes him moan so pretty you can’t help but want to hear it again. 

One of your hands is up his shirt, playing with the pebbled buds and the metal pierced through them, while the other teasingly massages the skin of his hip when he’s torn away from you roughly. 

“What the fuck?” Your voice growls as you look up. The guy is standing there, looking for all the world like he’s ready to run, but he isn’t watching you. 

No, his eyes are on a familiar sight; Taehyung, his hair now a pretty lavender that makes you think of a home you don’t have, even as he doesn’t look at you. 

“Taken,” He growls, releasing the collar of the guy you had every intent to make cry with pleasure. The guy scurries off before you can stop him, though, and you don’t bother to hide your disdain. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” You demand, already lighting a cigarette as you head outside. Taehyung follows, pulling it from between your lips and crushing it in his hands before you have the chance to get your lighter out.

“Me? You looked like you were about to eat him .” He follows you all the way to the street outside and down the sidewalk, pulling each cigarette out of your hands before you can light it. He waits until you’re a decent distance from the crowd outside the club before he stops you, one hand lightly encircling your wrist. 

Your boots scuff against the ground as you stop, not turning to look at him. You’re too afraid to, too worried he’ll see it all on your face and just know that you’ve fucked up, maybe beyond repair. 

“Apollo called me,” is what he says instead. “Said I might want to find you tonight.”

You should’ve known. That little fuck, of course he would rat you out. 

“I didn’t-” 

The words choke in your throat. You want to say you don’t need him. You don’t need him to come running like you’re some scared little girl who can’t control her strength, you don’t need him to piece you back together because you aren’t broken, you don’t need him because you don’t need anyone, you never have. 

“I know you didn’t,” Taehyung says quietly. “I know he deserved it, I know what he did, and I know you didn’t mean to.”

Something inside of you breaks and you find yourself shaking. 

“He hurt her , Tae, I heard it, I heard her telling her friend about it on the phone, I saw her crying, I saw her clothes, okay, he-”

“I know,” Taehyung says, pulling you into a loose hug. “I know you did, it’s okay. He’s going to be okay. He’s not gonna escape his punishment from that, you didn’t send anyone to Hades today. It’s okay.”

The cloud struggles, for what feels like hours. Guilt settles like lead in your stomach, and you wish you weren’t so used to the feeling. The rage returns every time you remember what that girl looked like, what she sounded like on the phone, how you felt when you realized it was your competitor who had done that to her. 

There’s no honor in that. There’s no justice, no glory, in beating an opponent who was never aware they were in the ring, and it makes your blood boil all over again. Taehyung’s voice soothes you, slightly, makes the edges of your vision turn indigo, but it isn’t enough. 

It’s never enough. 

“I have to go,” You say, pulling yourself away from him. “I need- I have to find-”

“A distraction,” He finishes for you, too aware that you can’t find the words you need. “Some mortal that you can bruise and break and bang until you feel less like a monster?”

That’s exactly what you want to do, what you had been about to do with that guy at the club, and it’s only Taehyung’s voice calling your name in that soft, sweet way of his that makes you wonder if that’s not a good plan. 

“I’ll be a distraction, if you need one.” You whip your head around, staring at him, but he doesn’t flinch. “I’m sturdier than the mortals, I can take more. Let me be your distraction.”

“I…” You hesitate. You don’t know why. You shouldn’t even be entertaining this idea, it’s not a good one, but then...when have any of your ideas been good? “I can’t fuck in a house with eight other people.”

“You have an apartment,” He says easily. “Let’s go there.”

It’s a bad idea. You don’t do that, you don’t fuck people at your apartment, you don’t have people in your apartment, it’s your space. It’s a bad idea, it can only end in disaster. 

“Okay.”

Taehyung’s lips are soft against yours, yielding and pliant just the way you’re used to. His hands are big and warm against your ass, even through your jeans, and the feeling gives you the courage to slide your own under the ridiculously patterned button-down he’s wearing. 

He lets you lead the way through the door, kicking it closed behind you with slightly too much force. Your apartment is small, a studio with a bed tucked in the corner for the rare times that you need it. 

You push Taehyung onto it and slide yourself onto his lap, already grinding down onto the hard length you can feel there. He's not quite as enthusiastic, but his fingers are like steel against you, pulling you down with every rut of your hips. 

This, you can do. This, you're familiar with. 

You push on his shoulders, doing your best to get him on his back so you can have better access to the clasp of his jeans, but he resists. You try again, firmer, using a harsh suck against his skin as a distraction, but he still doesn't go. 

Frustrated, you pull back. 

"Not like this," He says. His voice clears some of the fog, and you frown. 

"Do you want to be on top, then? Because I don't mind, I just need it," You tell him. He sighs a little, but he flips the two of you over so he's kneeling between your open legs and your back is cushioned against the mattress. 

"How long has it been since you spent the night with someone who knows who you are?" He asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he sits back on his knees. 

You shift, uncomfortable. "A while. Why does that matter? Just fuck me."

"No," Taehyung says, voice gentle but firm. You cock a brow at him and move to get out from under him, but he stills you with a hand on your thigh. 

"You are a goddess," He tells you, trailing his hands down so he can undo the laces on your steel-toe boots and slide them off. "You have held Victory in your palms and set her free." 

His palms burn through the denim on your thighs, but you welcome it as he slides your jacket over your shoulders to the bed beneath. 

"You are the winner of wars. You are the one who grants battlefield wishes. You are the dead's escort to Hades." He leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek and then down your throat. 

He pulls back as he gets to your collarbone, eyes blown wide with unfamiliar desire, and it makes your breath catch in your throat.

"You," Taehyung tells you, with desire in his eyes and belief in his voice, "Deserve to be treated like the goddess that you are, with the respect you have earned, and the care you deserve." 

As often as you fuck people, it's been a very long time since anyone wanted to fuck you for any reason beyond your appearance and the personality you show them. But this? This look in the muse's eyes as his hands settle on your knees as he waits? 

Taehyung wants to fuck you because you're you. Not despite it, not because he doesn't know . He has seen you at your worst and yet he keeps coming back, keeps showing up as you fall apart. Each time he stays, hands you a basket so you can pick the pieces of yourself up off the ground, holds the tape so you can mash it back together, and is ready to help steady you when you start to crumble again. 

He's here for you , to treat you in a way no one has ever treated you before. He's your friend.

He cares.

You nod, however tentatively, and his lips are on yours in an instant. They're firmer now, less pliable and more controlling, but you don't mind. Not this time. 

Not with Taehyung. 

His hands don't hesitate as he strips you both of your clothes, but you can feel it each time he checks to make sure you're okay. The way that he watches your expression, the tense of your muscles under him, the cadence of your gasps for air between kisses, he reads all of it as clear as if it's a book in front of him. He slows down before you can stop him, his lips drawing back from the kisses he draws across your thighs, and he speeds up as your thoughts start to drift, swiping his tongue and two fingers through your folds to tease and bring your attention back to him. 

His fingers bury themselves in your heat, crooking slightly to brush against that soft part of you that makes the world spin, and it's all too intense. His lips are hardly even touching your skin, just pressing gentle kisses against the skin of your thigh, a gentle complement to the way he glides his fingers in and out of you, slow and steady and delicious, but it's absolutely intoxicating. 

He's talkative, too; he gives you constant praise. He tells you how well you take his fingers, how good you look with his fingers inside you, how absolutely fantastic you taste on his tongue, how he'd live between your thighs if he could. 

It's too much, and you can't be sure why, not when your orgasm is approaching quicker than it ever has, not when your walls clench around him and you soak your sheets, not when he's cleaning your cum off his fingers with his tongue.

"Good," He purrs. "Now you're all warmed up." 

His mouth hits your heat without hesitation or warning, before the aftershocks are even finished, and your hips buck upwards. His arms slide underneath your thighs only to grip them and bring them back down. You can't move much in his grip except to grind your pussy against his mouth, which he seems to enjoy, if the muffled grunts that escape him are any indication.

He doesn't stop until his tongue is buried inside you with one finger drawing lazy circles on your clit and you're cumming again, hands gripping the soft strands of his hair so tight that you would be afraid of pulling it out if you could focus on anything besides the feel of him against you.

He lets you ride the aftershock, this time. Waits until your pants die down slightly, until you're back in your mind. 

"Good?" He asks you. His voice is deeper, rumbles instead of slides, but it breaks through the post-orgasm haze long enough for you to nod. “More?”

“More,” you agree, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him into a heated kiss. You haven’t been this clear-headed in a while. Every sensation is clear and crisp, every sound heightened, everything is simultaneously more while also being exactly what it’s always supposed to have been. 

Taehyung’s cock is everything you could have expected from a muse; thick, long, beautiful, and it fills you in a way that’s indescribable as he slides inside. He groans at the feeling, deep and throaty and beautiful, and begins his thrusts nearly immediately. 

It’s as slow as he was with his fingers; steady and forceful, but unhurried. As if he wants to take his time. As if he wants to savor it. Savor you . 

“Do you have any idea how amazing you are?” He mutters, almost as an afterthought. “What you look like right now, what you look like when you’re fighting, when you’ve won and you’re triumphant? It’s fucking addictive, seeing that confidence in you.”

“Shit, Tae, don’t stop-”

“It’s so fucking intoxicating,” He groans, pace quickening. Your arms wrap around him more fully, nails like claws down his back as you arch your back to get him deeper. “You get this look in your eyes, like you can do anything you fucking want to, and it’s so fucking brilliant, because you can , you can do anything and everything you ever fucking want to do, and no one can stop you.”

A whine you’ll never admit to escapes your throat, and Taehyung drives his cock further into you. 

“Let go, my sweet,” Taehyung purrs in your ear. “Let yourself relax, just this once. For me.”

His hand touches your clit and it’s so much, too much , you’re feeling everything so intensely that it takes a solid minute to realize you’re coming down from an orgasm. Taehyung has stilled inside you, unmoving but groaning as you flutter around him, and you push weakly at his shoulder. 

He slides himself out of you, looking entirely too proud of wet spot underneath you and glistening against his lower stomach. You wobble your way up to rest your elbows underneath you, and it’s like he can sense your words before they come. 

“No,” He says simply. “I don’t you to get me off with your mouth.”

“A hand then? I don’t want you to leave unsatisfied.” 

A frown pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he leans down just enough that your lips are almost touching, a not-there kiss that you can only wish for. 

“In what world is fucking you to the point of Elysium unsatisfying?”

The crowd around you is deafening; some of them are cheering for you, but the majority are rooting for your downfall. Such is the life of a challenging the champion, you suppose. 

You don’t know how Taehyung found this place; maybe Artemis had heard rumors, or maybe he searched for it himself. You can’t bring yourself to care, not when you’ve got someone worth fighting on the other side of the arena. 

The sand crunches beneath your feet. It’s hot, hotter than it should be since you’re still wearing your signature jeans and boots - without the jacket this time. You learned from that mistake. 

Your vision tints pink as you size up your opponent; he’s massive, not one to be easily defeated, and you relish the challenge. It’s been so long since you’ve fought a giant. Excitement thrums under your veins as he turns to you. He scoffs. 

If you had a little less control, you might be flying across the arena already. He clearly has no idea who’s standing across from him. Probably thinks you’re some demigod, come to challenge him for the fleece he isn’t supposed to have. 

He’ll learn. 

Something moves in the distance. It should blend in, considering how dark it is, but instead it draws your eye, and you don’t even question why. You would recognize him anywhere, have recognized him everywhere, and his presence calms you. Makes you remember a few nights ago, falling into bed in a hotel in Rome because the burn was to much and you needed him to help you release it. 

“Try not to be too quick, princess,” The giant across from you huffs. You cock a brow and send a look to your muse, who just rolls his eyes, despite the smile playing across his face. 

Violet rings your vision as you ready your stance. The announcer yells something that’s lost over the noise of the crowd. Taehyung leans forward, elbows on his knees, excitement and pride in his eyes. 

The giant swings. 

#ficswithluv #smutcentralnet #btswriterscollective #ksmutclub #95linenet #taehyung fanfic #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #v fanfic #v smut #v fluff #v angst #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #greek god au #ddaengtan #s: mag

[soudam-appreciation]

Study... date?

Gundam sighed, shrugging his overweight backpack over his shoulder. He had not planned for today to become a social one, though he supposed it was not quite unwelcome. The mortal known as Kazuichi, Tamer of Automatons, had requested his presence here, though for precisely what ritual, Gundam did not know.

Kazuichi leaned back in his chair and rested his legs atop of the table as he inhaled the overwhelming (and honestly, kinda gross) scent of old and new books as he waited for Gundam to hurry the fuck up and get to the library, because he really didn’t have all day. 

He perked up, though, when he saw a small flash of purple and black move by one of the bookshelves he sat next to. Souda stood, waving his hands frantically in an attempt to catch the goth boy’s attention, not wanting to call out and cause more of a scene than the literal highlighter waving his hands sporadically like he was at a concert.

The neon blur tugged at Gundam’s peripheral, and he crossed his arms before him. Facing the boy, he began a usual greeting. “At last, you have been found. Do you not fear this meeting, Fool?” His voice boomed and echoed through the stacks, inciting an annoyed rustle and collective whisper.

Kazuichi’s eyes went wide as he started rapidly shushing him, because if him basically jumping up and down trying to get Gundam to notice him didn’t draw attention to the two, Gundam basically shouting definitely did. Speaking as softly as he could considering how badly his heart rate spiked, he tried to get him to quiet down.

“D-dude! Shut- shut the- Don’t! Stop fuckin’....fuckin’ screaming like that! Jesus! Shudda’...shut the- shut the fuck up! Shhh!” 

Recollection of the location at hand hit Gundam with a hell-strength impact. Clearing his throat, he hurriedly glanced around, mumbling fractured apologies for his forgetfulness. If there was one thing that would make even the Dark Overlord himself bow, it would be intense embarrassment as a direct result of his own foolishness- not that he would even say such a thing. To allow enemies access to his weakness?! Preposterous. He whispered a short apology to Souda as well, for the mortal seemed far more distraught than he. 

Souda groaned softly, rubbing his face with his hands for a few moments before bouncing back almost as fast, a lazy grin plastered across his face. That didn’t stop the drop of malice and embarrassment showing through in his cheerful voice as he pushed out a chair next to the one he was leaning on before to invite Gundam to sit with him. 

There were a lot of books, papers, pens and one lone computer scattered across the table. Souda easily pushed these aside as he sat down to take a sip of his…something. 

Gundam followed suit, dropping his bag on the floor beside him as he took his seat. He was not entirely sure what they were to do on this day, although crawling deep underground was an option he prayed upon. Unzipping his backpack as soundlessly as he could, he retrieved a notepad and slid a simple message to his companion.

What, pray tell, have you summoned me for?

Kazuichi read it over before snatching the notepad from Gundam’s hand, as well as the fancy pen he had (despite there being many writing utensils of his own he could’ve used, he honestly just wanted to be a bit of a dick to his past rival). He scrawled something quickly on it and slid it back nervously, despite there being no teachers nor rules against slipping each other notes. 

ok, well, i asked u 2 come here bc i am fucking failing math and biology and there r these 2 tests cming up i need u 2 help me study for. i thought u’d know a lot abt biology and u seem smart ig so-

He ripped another blank note out to write on more.

-so i thought u could help with, math too. hinata won’t help me he’s mad i spilt monster on his laptop still even though that was a whole day ago :(

The writing was barely legible and Kazuichi seemed to shorten words as best as he could, since he also wrote very large on the small sheet of paper. He slid the second note to Tanaka for him to read.

Squinting, Gundam managed to make out Souda’s print. He sighed, briefly wondering how incompetent Souda actually was, and where to even begin studying. Retrieving his pen, albeit a bit forcefully, he turned to a new page and began his transmission.

Where should we begin? Is there a specific field in which you have little expertise?

As Souda read over the note in the pretty cursive handwriting, he let out a small giggle. He couldn’t help it, reading Gundam’s dumbass Overlord-victorian speak was somehow funnier than hearing it out loud. Snatching the pen and paper back, he started writing.

uh um well i never ever got algebra the little letters always confused me and in biology kind of everything. man i’m not good with that kinda shit like u i’ve seen ur grades you don’t know how 2 whisper when ur flaunting them to sonia lol

Gundham’s ears got hot, and he fidgeted with the end of his scarf. Grabbing his pen, he scribbled out, I do no such thing. I simply share because I am asked, that should be a simple concept to grasp. His scrawl was messier, his haste blurring his senses. Deep breaths stilled his hostility, and he turned to a new page.

So shall we begin with variables, then? You may need to work exceptionally hard to recall these, as no doubt it will be of importance. 

Once again, Kazuichi laughed as he watched Gundam get a little pissed at the Sonia comment. Even when they were slowly getting closer, messing with the guy still yielded hilarious results.

come on man!!!! why r u getting so pissy i’m just teasing u. u know i know that u know we aren’t rivals anymore so calm down!!!!! >:3

anyways uhh ya sure we can start w, variables ig. i don’t remember a lot of this stupid ass math lingo so ur gonna need to remind me some of it.

Variables are those “little letters” you spoke of. If something I mention confuses you, alert me at once. 

Gundam chose to ignore all of Souda’s previous statement, focusing instead on the task at hand. There did not seem a logical reason to become so frustrated when Souda spoke of her. So why did it ignite a hellfire in his chest? 

He shook off the thought, selecting a standard textbook from his oversized backpack and placing it on the table with a thunk. Opening to a page about Variables, the most annoying of unknowns, he slid the book across for Souda’s viewing ease. 

We should begin here, page 28. Do you have a journal for notes?

yeah that’s fine also do u mind me keeping our notes or atleast yours please plz plsssss

Sure enough, the smaller boy was already making a pile of the discarded notes they had forgotten about. Mostly Gundams. It was the only neat thing on the table thus far.

Sighing again, Gundam ceded. He had no use for them, anyway. It caught his attention as slightly strange, but he chose to pay it no mind. Scratching out what information he could on such a small surface, he quickly realized that simply would not work. He slid a mostly-empty notebook from his bag and selected a blank page to share with Souda. It wasn’t as if he really needed the pages in this notebook either, so he added a small note at the top offering the torn-out pages for outside studying.

Souda took the page and studied it, before brightly grinning up at Gundam and quickly nodding. This was fancy shit, definitely not something extremely expensive (he knew Gundam definitely wouldn’t dare share that kind of paper, seeing the small slightly-faded stains of car oil on his hands that he just couldn’t scrub out) but Souda probably wouldn’t be buying these things, especially for every class, without at least a week of ramen dinners to make up for the waste of money working at his Dads mechanic shop.

Souda suddenly realized that ‘fancy shit’ to a slightly broke kid like him was definitely not ‘fancy shit’ to Gundam “I don’t know how to dress casually Ever” Tanaka.

Gundam continued to script line after line, attempting to explain these subjects in terms Souda would understand. The look in Souda’s eyes gnawed at him, such excitement on display over some math notes. He wasn’t certain what rubbed him wrong about it, so he brushed it aside. Reaching the bottom of the page, he printed a small question. 

Do you still understand thus far?

Souda finally grabbed one of his own pens that lay discarded on the table instead of stealing Gundams.

yeah i get it u explain it a lot better than the teachers or chiaki despite ur little demon talk r whatever lol. chiaki use to help me like all the time but she kept falling asleep on me we never got anything done

Reading Souda’s message tempted laughter, and Gundam bit his cheek to silence it. Nodding sagely, he scrawled, As likely as you are to bend truths pertaining to women, this account does seem trustworthy. He knew just as well as anyone how exhausted Chiaki constantly seemed. 

Tugging the newly completed page from its binds, Gundam offered it to Souda as well. 

Souda looked almost offended by the note (he still took it, because of course he did) and hastily scribbled another and shoved it in Gundams chest with a grin.

WOW DICK i’m not gonna go after every girl that falls asleep on me!!! sonia hasn’t fallen asleep on me yet and you know!!!!! >:(((((( 

Gundam stiffened, bandaged hand safely out of sight under the table. If it had been visible, Souda would have a clear view of numb fingers folding against his palm before stretching into claws, over and over. Another deep breath was necessitated by his pounding heart, and he stilled his mind. There was no reason for this feeling. What possible purpose could this rush of adrenaline serve? Certainly nothing pertaining to math. He cleared his throat again, which ended up sounding a bit more like a growl, and took up his pen.

You say “yet”, as if there is even the slightest chance of such an occurrence in the future. This, I do know. A smug smirk crossed his face, daring to settle on his lips.

Souda pouted as he read the note, a somehow adorable sight as he quickly snagged Gundams pen again (once again ignoring his own) and scrawled something on a new note and shoved it back to him. 

nuh-uh! u don’t know shit. unless u can see the future!!! tell me tell me tell me. maybe ur freaky demon shit is real after all ANYWAYS do i end up w miss sonia plz please tell me??!?? :3

Gundam tasted blood as he bit his lip hard. Why was Souda so insistent on her? No, he knew why. She was aesthetically pleasing to someone like him. This was not new information, but it still irked Gundam like hell. He pursed his lips. The last thing he was going to do was tell Souda his pathetic simpering dreams would come true in the end. Or perhaps, the last thing he wanted would be to admit to Souda that he cannot truly see the future? Grumbling, he snatched his pen back and tapped it against his knuckles. Neither option was preferred, though one was a clear admission of weakness…

He settled on a third choice. Of course not. I know precisely who you shall fall for in the end, although I cannot tell you. That is the Law of Causality.

actually it’s the law of cASSuaslity because ur an asshole who the fuck cares why can’t u just tell me!!! if i don’t get with miss sonia or whatever u say i don’t even know if i completely believe ur bonkers shit why can’t u just tell me their name or anything i just!!! want a hint. please 

Kazuichi’s handwriting grew sloppier as he grew more desperate. Why the fuck was Gundam hiding it? It’s not like he’s gonna get suspended for some random ‘law’ or whatever he probably made up. He didn’t even know what the word Causality meant but it sounded exactly like a freaky word Gundam would say.

All I may tell you is that… Gundam paused, wiggling his pen between thumb and forefinger to come up with an excuse. …you have likely already made their acquaintance. All trace of smugness had dropped from his features, now replaced with stale indifference. He locked his worry deep in his chest, buried it. The last thing he needed was Souda to call him out on such a ridiculously big lie.

Souda didn’t know why, but he grinned at that. He grinned at a lot of dumb shit, and Gundam telling him some vague dumbass answer like that was apparently dumb enough to get on his list of Dumb Shit That Made Him Grin. He flicked Gundams note into his ever growing pile and chugged the rest of his drink, his eyes blown wide with the sudden rush of, apparently, sugar. He tapped the textbook again, trying to remind them both to stay on task. His hands were starting to shake too much from the sugar high to make writing any good.

Gundam nodded. They needed to focus on the task at hand.. Which was math. Boring math. Another sigh settled in his chest, and he thought fleetingly on how he would much rather talk about silly magic business. Shaking dramatically dual-toned hair from his eyes, he set to scribbling some more numbers. Stupid, boring numbers. 

Kazuichi watched with interest as Gundam quickly drew out complex strings of numbers and occasional letters. However, his mind quickly drifted as well as his eyes. Higher and higher until he was watching Gundam’s facial expressions shift as he tried to help Souda. How he bit his lip as he hesitated before continuing to keep writing, how his eyes narrowed, Souda half-mindedly thought of how pretty Tanaka’s eyes were, he could get lost in them if he really wanted to, and he did. So he simply tuned out the sound of pen against pencil, rustling of paper and the occasional whisper between others in the library and just stared into his eyes.

Sliding another page across the table, Gundam glanced up at Souda’s face, before they quickly flicked away. On the quickly growing list of things he did Not Want to happen today, was for Souda to catch him staring. Or- he paused. To catch… Souda staring? He didn’t want to look again, even if he was right, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as if he could feel Souda’s gaze. Ears growing red, he scripted a small note back, faltering slightly as nerves made his fingers stiff. 

Do you still understand well enough?

Kazuichi’s gaze didn’t move until he finally noticed Gundam actually wrote words down. He did a double take back at his face before he picked up his pen, his cheeks heating up. Shit, did Gundam catch him looking? His hands trembled slightly from the sugar and caffeine as he scribbled on the paper.

yeah i understand completely ur a good teacher  i already said that didn’t i sorry

He slid the note over, now doing his best to keep his eyes on the table and not on Gundam.

Do not fret, I am pleased you understand. 

Clearing his throat as quietly as he could, he returned to numbers. Gundam really tried to focus, he did. But he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering… Muscle memory served him well, and he continued to write, but his mind’s eye strayed from questioning Souda’s gaze, to wondering why keeping their notes tidy was so important, to the way Souda tapped his fingers on the desk ever so slightly, the sugar and caffeine running rampant through his veins. It soon became impossible to focus, and he started mixing up numbers and crossing them out. He shook his head, hard, mumbling apologies for scrambling up his figures. 

Kazuichi easily picked up Gundams distraction and yanked an empty note from him to write on.

do u wanna stop for today

He slid it over, giving Gundam a small smile as he did. He wasn’t unfamiliar with his brain getting jumbled and melting into mush and before he knew it, the day was over and he hadn’t got shit done. So he didn’t mind giving up for today, starting again tomorrow or next week. He just liked being with Gundam, kinda. As weird as that was. 

Gundam nodded. 

My sincerest apologies, I seem to have lost my senses…

What the hell had gotten into him? This was highly unusual for him. Gundam mumbled another quiet sorry, sliding the incomplete and jumbled page across to Kazuichi just in case he needed it anyway. 

Souda tidied everything up on the desk, sliding his books, computer and the notes into his black backpack. As he stood, he bounced on his heels, the caffeine suddenly taking full effect as he finally got out of the chair and could move around to his heart's desire. He slid his backpack over one of his shoulders and didn’t hesitate to start playing with one of the enamel pins of a vocaloid character that hung from the zipper, needing something to occupy his hands with.

Gundam stood as well, fumbling as he slipped the last notebook into his bag. Offering a hand, he gestured towards the door. He whispered, “Shall we meet again tomorrow, then? I swear I shall do better at my job.” 

Kazuichi laughed softly at that, nodding. His hands fiddled with his jumpsuit pockets as he made his way over to Tanaka, a small bounce in his step. He would definitely blame that and what he did next on the overload of caffeine in his system the next day. He put his hands on Gundams shoulders, slightly dragging him down as he stood on his tippy-toes, kissing him sweetly on the lips before he was already skipping towards the door, waving him bye as he exited, most likely to his dorm on campus.

Blood froze in his veins. Gundam’s heart pounded, throbbing in his ears. His face was beyond red, and his stiffened fingers twitched in surprise. Mouth opening and closing like a fish, he could not even will his feet to carry him after the boy. What… What just… happened? His mind felt as slow and sluggish as if it was buffering through a torrented movie file. 

Finally gathering enough control of his own limbs, he pulled himself through the door. He wanted desperately to give chase, to pull Souda into his arms and kiss him back, but he knew there was no possible way he would keep his courage. So he settled, simply deciding upon returning to his own abode. He would have to speak to Souda at their meeting tomorrow. Just thinking about it gave him… butterflies? Oh dear, what an unpleasant sensation.

. . .

Thank you @kazudam for writing with me! This was so much fun, and something I’ve always wanted to do :’) 

#gundham tanaka #kazuichi souda #kazuichi x gundham #gundham x kazuichi #soudam #daily soudam #kazudam as souda #intentional-moss as gundham #mod 🌱

[spiritmaiden23]

Pros and Cons of Having Tiny Goddess GF

Pros

CUTE GF?! HAVE YOU SEEN HOW CUTE AND CHEERY SHE IS?! Who’s devoted as fuck!! She will, on god, make sure you’re happy and loved and supported

Expect lots and lots of skinship. She’s a lovebug just filled with love for s/o honestly!! She wants to hold hands, cuddling, trying to play as big spoon despite being tiny af, have them pet her head, touch her cheeks, hugs, plenty of kisses anywhere like forehead and junk etc etc. She just wants to be close with them!!

Tiny hands... hold... she tiny hands :plead emoji: 

Will happily die for you. You’d think it’s the other way around but no, she will happily use her goddess powers and knight training to protect you. Also will always defend you against bullies so that’s a plus! 

She... soft? She soft. Soft hours 24/7

Play with her hair, it’s also just as soft!! 

Can lift you with her monster strength... or you can lift her bc she small! It works both ways!! 

She will say I love you so many times and also through small acts of kind gestures that shows her love for s/o. Once she gets past her shyness she will def say “Hello, I am going out for the day, also I love you.” 

She really loves holding hands tho ;v; she will try to playfully trick you with holding hands with all sorts of excuses!

Let her serenade you to sleep! 

She’s someone who you can spend comfortable silence with

Use her lap as a pillow while she reads her book and plays with your hair!

Miscommunication is never a problem with her, since she will speak up so that trope won’t pop up despite it being popular in every romance ever. 

Best wifey??? Best wifey! 

Playful flirtings! 

Will push you... to do your best!

And off cliffs too.

TEAMWORK MAKES THE DREAM WORK! While fine with doing things on her own, rarely will she let anyone fight on their own. She’s always got your back! Ride or die!! 

Cons

Well... it takes her a while to realize “Oh Shoot! I may love them” because while she’s aware of all sorts of love. As typical of shoujo heroine, she’s... dense to both her own feelings and feelings of others aka look at how Groose acts around her yet she acts with confusion as well when Link is pretty embarrassed at their close proximity and again, she tilts her head in confusion for his reaction. 

SHE!! TENDS TO GIVE VERY OBVIOUS SIGNALS THAT SHE LIKES SOMEONE THO, the sad thing is that she doesn’t even realize it herself until much, much later. She leans a little closer to the person she likes,  does everything in her power to make sure they’re happy through small gestures going out of her way of doing, flirty but like subtle! It can give mixed signals because you can ask “wait do you like me?” and she’d be like “do i wha”

She will always get kidnapped. Always. No matter what verse, due to her goddess powers and how powerful she is (and being the guardian of the triforce does not help at all in main verse). Great for dark rituals involving goddess soul, not so much where she can potentially die bc like she needs that soul to live so like.... good luck with keeping a close eye on this troublemaker because she does tend to go off on her own due to her confidence in skills and wanting to protect everyone she loves. 

That said, she, the hypocrite she is tends to shoulder everything and tries to do everything with her own two tiny hands. 

Responsible to a fault. She puts duty, people she loves, and everything else above her own needs.

Unpacked emotional baggage to deal with... again, doesn’t matter what verse. But to keep this post short I can’t get into like full details.

A bit of a worry wart, busybody and too much of a hard worker. It’d be cash money if someone were to tell her to calm the hell down. Also a little bit bossy but she means well for the most part!  

She does not die early, unlike ALTTP Zellie, but again it’s still possible because Goddess Soul good for that sweet, sweet dark magic shit. 

She will want 100000000 kids, she loves kids and wants a fam of her own. Might be a good thing for those wanting the same not so much for those different 

Early morning bird rarely will there be morning cuddles since she likes to start the day or sleeping in as a matter of fact because she will wake you up :(((

Will push you off cliffs. 

#I SAW ADRIEL DO THIS AND I REMEMBER DOING THIS FOR ALTTP ZELLIE SO I WAS LIKE OH WORM?! #anyway the gist of what's to come if you were to ship with me #at least she's not crytpid where she disappears out of nowhere like alttp zel #but she will nonetheless go off on her own to do her own thing no matter how dangerous it may be #i am just got back from drinking with pals so a little tipsy excuse any errors #once i get home from work tomorrow i will fix this ;-; #dash games. #about. #| piece of heart: headcanon. #THIS GOT LONGER THAN I INTENDED BUT LIKE sky zel brainworms never forget....

[crazy-bi-btch]

You Hurt Me ( Sweet Pea X Reader)

Summary: Y/N feels like the connection she and her boyfriend had has somehow disappeared just like he is from her life. She has to decide if she’s better off invisible or finally disappear 

Warnings: Angst?!? Some smut of course!!! Soft pea

Word count: 3.6k

A/n: thank you so much for being patient guys!? This took me a while bc I’ve been really busy! Also ima try to finish all my request before Monday since I start school soon! But I hope you like this one!? Request per @saltyturtlejudgepurse (some grammar and punctuation errors)

You were mad. Confused. Frustrated. This was the 2nd time pea had canceled on your plans. The first time was a decent excuse.

You waited patiently at pops in your usual booth. Pea had told you to meet up at 6 pm their so you guys could eat before he went back to work the serpents. He did seem pretty busy with them recently.You had planned a little something special for him, you had bought that cute lingerie set from VS and well you had realized how long it was since Pea and you were intimate. So you decided it was a great idea to wear it under your short tan skirt and white blouse.

So you sat there, at 6 pm, and waited 20 minutes then 30 minutes. You texted him furiously.

Y/N: Where r u???

Pea: Babe I’m sorry! Reschedule, got caught up longer than we anticipated

You left him on reading, tears ready to run down your flustered cheeks. You got up and walked out into the chilly night and drove home.

The second time he tried to reschedule was meant to be at his trailer. You were jumping up in joy when he told you it would be at his home. You had dressed in a maroon lace and pulled on a casual black wrap-around dress. You look yourself in the mirror, “I look hot as fuck!” I laughed to myself as I grabbed my keys and made my way to pea’s trailer. On the way there you felt distracted the heat between your legs growing as the thoughts of Pea’s hands on your body, his lips that you craved. Thank god you were 2 minutes away. As you make your way up the stairs you knocked twice with no answer. You huffed agitated and called Pea.

He’s probably asleep

Ring ring ring

“Hello?”

“ babe! Hey, what’s up?” You could hear his questioning voice. It made your blood boil.

“ What’s up? I’m outside your door? Where are you!” I yelled furious that he forgot.

“ holy- it was today? Oh, shit baby, I’m so sorry the boys invited me along to some drinks since we had a rough couple of -“ you were extremely angry, stomping your way to your car as you acted as you listened to his nervous ramble.

“ Sweet Pea GO FUCK YOURSELF?!” You screamed into the phone and hung up. You threw your phone at the passenger seat, sobs choking you up. You had been craving sweet pea’s affection and just support. You wanted your boyfriend back. Your phone was blowing up as you drove back home, of course of Pea. You decided to turn your phone off, you need to be alone for a bit and process everything, to make clear decisions.

You tried remembering the last time you kissed him. The thought of his lips on yours almost felt faint and like a ghost. The last time he hugged you close and you nuzzled into his chest. Your heart ached as you realized, “ how did it get this bad?”

the slight touch of his hands on your arm as he passed by you in the hallways at school

The soothing sound of his voice as he told you he would “ see you later”

The forehead kisses as he left you.

~

That night Y/N cried herself to sleep as she realized that maybe her happy ever after with Sweet Pea would end. His lifestyle has changed to the point it has affected their relationship and Pea didn’t even realize it. He was so preoccupied with serpent business that he put his only support system aside. As the sun rises Y/N woke up to the miserable feeling of having to see Sweet Pea at school. Her eyes red, swollen, and tired. No matter how much concealer she layered you could see the sadness wearing her out. You walked into school hoodie up, headphones in, you just wanted to get to 1st period without having question being thrown at me. You didn’t want to speak to Pea or even look at him. You had made your decision. If he wasn’t going to be there for you anymore, what was the point then? You were preparing yourself to end it. Suddenly you were yanked to the side, knocking your headphones out.

You met Toni’s confused expression, “ hey? What happened you’ve been MIA all day!”

“ my phone died.” I lied

“ Your phone.. Died? What is this the 19th century, you always carry your portable charger.” She stated matter-a-factly. You wanted to spill your emotions and feelings to her. Toni realized something was wrong once her friend sighed and looked at the ground.

“ What aren’t you telling me?” she implied, I couldn’t look at her or I would sob all over her and I didn’t need that attention right now. “ Please.” She whispered her hand on my arm.

“ I’m sorry.” I mumbled and walked past her leaving her concerned.

Just as I made my way up the stairs to my class I saw him. He stood tall and proud, right next to the entrance of my classroom door. His face seemed tight almost pissed. His arms crossed, the red flannel tight around his arms. His eyes wandered through the sea of students of Riverdale high.

“ Hey Y/N.” Reggie spooked me, I clutched onto my chest and Reggie stood their chuckling.

“ shit reg.” I cursed putting my attention on him, Reggie and I sit next to each other in the the 1st period. Recently since Sweat Pea and Jug had serpent business that meant I didn’t have someone to walk me to class, and since me and reg got along he decided to look after me.

“ Why are you waiting here? Let's get to class.” He ushered me but my eyes searched for Sweet pea who is still there waiting. Reggie followed my gaze and saw him.

“ Um.. did something happen?” He mumbled and walked back closer to me, my eyes filled up in tears as I remembered what happened.

Reggie pulled me into a hug, “ Hey don’t cry…” He cooed, I nodded softly but settled into his chest. Just like I use to with sweet pea. The bell rang as it signaled class has started. Students ran to and fro trying to avoid a tardy. The bell made me pry away from him. I was ready to do the hardest decision of my life. Reggie turned around to see me pass the classroom and past Pea who was obviously not looking to well since I tried to pass as quickly as possible.

But I was too slow.

“ Hey Y/n!” I heard him yelling , making me flinch and walk faster. As I tried getting away from him my eyes squinted as my thoughts ran quick just as my feet. Shoving who whoever was in my way. Then for the first time in a while, I felt a strong grip on my arm right above my elbow pulling me back, I recognized his hand immediately, his rings digging into my hoodie.

“ Why are you avoiding me?” He groaned angrily trying to look into my eyes but I refused looking at him.

“ Let me go.” I spat pry my arm away with no relief. It only made him even more mad. With his strength he pulled me up close, forcing me to look at him, both of his hands around my upper arms. I squealed as his sudden movement startled me.

“ Look at me.” He mumbled annoyed, I easily fell for his command, their i was looking into his dark eyes, the force and touch was enough for my body which had craved him for a while.

“ What the fuck is wrong-”

“ What the fuck is wrong? You want to know? Now? Go. to. Hell.” I snarled in his face, and began attempting to squirm away from him. My blood boiled, face flushed. While sweet pea felt hurt and insulted, and furious.

He shook me in anger, “ Y/N if you don’t tell me know-”

“ LET ME GO. YOU DON’T WANT ME I DON’T EITHER, ITS OVER!” I screamed in his face slapping his chest, those words gave him enough to let you go, he stood frozen with a frown on his face. I huffed rubbing my arms, and glanced at him. It was enough to make my anger disappear.

“ What?” He croaked, I fidgeted with my fingers and convinced myself to repeat myself to keep my ground. I deserved better right? But I missed him, I wanted him to hold me again. To kiss me. I couldn’t deal with this.

“ Pea I-” I started but when I saw his sad eyes and just seeing him, it made me feel like I had it all, my world was pea. Soft sobs came from me as I watched him process. “ I missed you- I NEEDED YOU, I WANTED MY BOYFRIEND!” I accused voice cracking fingers deep into his chest in frustration. His expression said everything, guilt.

“ So you can’t ask me don’t you dare ask me what is wrong with me, because-” I wiped my eyes, my vision became blurry by the minute. “ I never see you, I never can touch you anymore, how can I love someone who isn’t their?” This was the first time I saw Pea cry. It was breathtaking to say the least. His hands going through his hair trying to hide his face from me.

“ I’m sorry… shit I knew it… I fucking knew it, I was going to fuck this up!” He cried punching the lockers next to me in fury, making me flinch and sob, I wanted to hold him tell him to forget everything. I wanted to forgive him. But it hurt to much to forget.

Pea dropped to his knees and hugged my legs, crying he begged, “ Please… I’m sorry I fucked up…. I love you don’t leave me, your the best thing that happened to me.” I held in my tears and touched his head on last time.

“ I’m sorry.” I whispered as I unwrapped his arms from me, and walked away from a crying Pea.

~

It had been officially a week since I broke up with Pea, and it felt like forever. Toni had stopped by everyday to make sure I was okay. Also to convince me to rethink my decision on ending it with Pea. She had advised me that breaking up with Cheryl only made her realized how much she actually needed and loved her, and she said the makeup sex was amazing. Which made me laugh of course.

Pea wasn’t doing so well, he had completely shut down on everyone. Blamed jughead and the serpents for his misery, but of course FP sat with him told him the real reasons why. It somewhat helped but still it was hard to sleep and eat. He drank a lot and mostly alone in his room zoning out. Fangs apparently is tired of hearing his friend cry at night when he thinks he’s asleep. 

Deep down I was doing horrible too but you kept yourself busy. I caught up on reading and studying, shopping by myself. I decided to return the lingerie that I bought but it was still painful to even open the nice bag it came in.

“ Please take him back.” Toni pleaded as she was ready to leave. I looked up at her, actually pondering. She hugged me before opening the door, “ Just think about it.” with that she was gone. I slumped into my couch, watching as the sun set through the screen door. I decided to put on a movie to keep my mind focused on the movie and nothing else. It seemed like the universe was sending sign in the weirdest way, having to pick a movie right after a break up - worst decision. I went with the notebook. Halfway through the movie I heard knocking at the door. I paused it to get to the peephole.

“ Y/N!” Sweet pea pounded on the door. I gasped as I felt the door shake. Was he drunk? Was he here to yell at me? So many thoughts ran as I stared at the only thing keeping us apart.

“ Open up please!” He begged with a tremble in his voice, it sent a pain in my heart. Maybe Toni was right. I needed Pea, just as much as I needed him. “ baby.” He whimpered against the door. I set my forehead on the door eyes closed, deep down I prayed he would leave so I didn’t feel this guilt. He sounded vulnerable and broken, and I couldn’t take it.

“ I miss you… I still love you.” He sobbed as he kept knocking on my door. The stains on my cheeks said it all, I love him and god he seems so distraught from my actions. Suddenly the knocking was over and the presence on the other side seemed nonexistent. My breath was stuck in my throat as I realized, he left.

My hands instantly whipped open my door and their he was sitting on the ground where it seemed he was leaning against my door. My hands flew to my mouth in order to control myself. My heart beat increasing by the second.

Pea was on his feet instantly staring at his tired and emotional ex-girlfriend. All of a sudden he couldn’t speak. His thoughts running to fast for him to comprehend or say. His breathing heavy and panting.

I saw the dark under eyes ,and sickly pale skin in his use to be tan skin, his knuckles scarred in scabs from punching in a rage. Hair sticking to his forehead and his puffy eyes looking for any sign of forgiveness.

“ I-” He started to say eyes slightly squinted, my hand dropped down and looked pea dead in the eyes, filled with love and want.

“ I made a mistake.” I whimpered softly, his eyes went wide. “ I love you and it’s killing me Pea. Please don’t ever leave me.” I confessed as I yanked pea’s frozen body towards the entrance of the house. Our bodies inches away. Breath hitting each other’s face as we stared at each other. Admiring our flaws which seemed like a piece of art they could watch all day everyday.

“ Forgive me.” He breathed hands inching its way up my arms slowly leaving a trail of goosebumps, and up to cup my cheek. My eyes closed and leaned into his touch, I needed this for so long, his touch and love. “ Love me like you used to love me.” I sighed.

Pea’s heart broke as he heard her say those words. He was so selfish for letting this get so out of hand. He loved her so much yet he ignored the fact that love was also shown in intimacy and affection.

“ I promise I will do better I will-” My mouth immediately on his, a whimper escaping me as I felt the similar taste of him, the taste I've been craving since the day he became distant. Our bodies constantly colliding, my hands deep into his hair taking in the feeling of dried up gel under my nails and finger pads. Pea’s hands wrapped around my torso like I would disappear any moment and he wanted to make sure I wouldn’t go anywhere. The thought popped into your head ‘ You should take control since I mean you did get your heart broken’. It was risky but I knew it was needed. My hands moved down to unwrap his hands from me, which Pea groaned about into the heated make-out session. Grabbing both his wrist in each hand and placing them against the wall behind him. It shook Pea to the core that he broke the kiss.

“ What-” He started eye wide, lips bright red from the assault.

“ My rules tonight.” I whispered before giggling and running upstairs to my room waiting to hear the patter of Sweet Pea’s steps.

our embrace once again colliding as his strong arms wrapped around me and unwrapped in anticipation to rip my clothes off. My eyes closed in bliss as I felt his aggression through his movements. His lips like honey on my neck, making me moan and groan, fingers prying instantly at his jacket and shirt. I pushed him off and straight towards the bed were he plopped down with a huff. I quickly crawled over him pinning his hands above him.

He groaned loudly in annoyance, ”baby!” with the unknown courage hidden in me I spoke in a seductive voice.

” you heard me, I'm in control, ” I tsked going to the drawer and pulling out the handcuffs he got me, he used them in me once but I think it's his turn to try them out. He whined as I clipped them around his wrists, and to the dashboard.

My eyes looking deep into his as I crawled down hands slipping my shirt off to show my bare chest, pulling the loose sweatpants off leaving me sitting right above his jean covered erection. The cuffs clanked as he groaned and hissed at the teasing.

“ I swear to god.” He huffs out somewhat out of breath already. I smirked softly enjoy his embarrassed and frustrated state. Wiggling my hips against earning a whine just to rile him up more. Deep down I needed this, badly. Suddenly the burning feeling in my thong was enough to have my lips and tongue on his and hands fondling with his belt to liberate him.

” please. I will do anything.” he grunted almost in pleasurable pain as my palm dragged up against his member.

” anything ” I mumbled against his lips, his face shook as if to say yes. I yanked down the remaining clothing and let my hand around him earning a sigh and growl.

” But you don't deserve it.” I whispered then something in him clicked into beast mode because his hands yanked and clanked his hips rutting upwards looking for any friction. I sat upward hands on his heaving chest watching in disbelief, who knew I would have the baddest boy of riverdale wrapped around my finger begging for me?

” beg.”

”never!” he spat in anger, my hand inched its way to my thong and straight to where I craved it.

” what are you doing…” he trailed off eyes wide.

” well since you’re tied up, not willing to follow the rules I got to take matters into my own hands.”

My eyes closing as my fingers rubbed the right place whimpers and cries pouring out leaving Pea in a horrible state.

” OKAY OKAY PLEASE PLEASE LET ME FUCK YOU, BABY, PLEASE.” he cried out once again his hips buckled. Our mouths once again together and letting my hand guiding him in me as I pushed aside my red thong. His hips instantly shoved up sending an electrical wave through me almost knocking me out.

” oh, my PEA!” I cried out fingers scratching his chest as his face scrunched in concentration as he thrusted upwards. I went ahead and clicked the latch that kept the cuffs locked sending Pea in a frenzy. He threw the cuffs somewhere and wrapped his arms around me his upper body meeting mine our lips clashing as I wrapping my legs around his back hitting the spot instantly deep in me. I gasped against him as my hips met his.

“ PEA fuck fuck, harder please.” I cried in pleaser, his hot breath against my neck.

“ now look who’s begging.” He chuckled darkly his hand wrapping around my hair yanking it back softly leaving more access to my neck. “ shit baby I can’t believe I left you so lonely, god I forgot how this felt.”

“ shut up and fuck me!” I groaned, he hastily switched our position, my back on the mattress and the pillows around me.

” I'm so close please ahh” I cried out fisting the sheets as Pea began his quick and bruising pace.

“ Pea touch me.” I guided his hand to bundle of nerves that pleaded to be touched by someone beside myself.

God Pea loved seeing you guide him to touch your most sensitive area, the way you’re face scrunched up in pleasure his name falling out of your lips in a prayer. His thumb quick to flick and rub you right.

Your back arching and a scream erupting followed by the pumping feeling of your walls around Pea signaled him you were so close.

“ Fuck baby, cmon.”

“ I’m- oh my mmmm” incoherencies left my lips as my legs twitched, hands fisting till my knuckles turned white, and eyes closed shut. A load loan left Sweet Pea as he buried his face in my neck.

I laid their trying to catch my breath. My eyes finally opening to see Pea still in me. It almost didn’t feel real. That he was here.

“ I missed you so much.” I whimpered as silent tears fell, instantly getting Pea’s attention, his tender hands around my face.

“ Aw baby don’t cry, I’m so sorry, I never meant to hurt you. I love you.” His brown dopey eyes comforting me. I nodded in agreement and held him close.

“ you know we need to do that more often you are crazy hot when you’re in charge.” He mumbled against my hair.

I laughed in amusement,” You just do that to me.”

“ Yeah you fucking tease.” He sassed back.

#sweet pea smut #riverdale smut #sweet pea #riverdale #toni topaz #southside serpents

[cinnaminsvga]

fox rain | three

→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. namjoon) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: none unless you count overly graphic descriptions of how stupid namjoon is (oh and like... ant gambling rings??) → words: 15.7K → a/n: this is late by a month and my whole life is a joke. i hope this makes you laugh bc i made namjoon extra dumb for y’all (for no extra charge. suck it, chipotle.) also: check bio for other chapter links for now!

— • masterlist | prev | three | next • —

“This can’t be my fucking life. Can it?” you say to your own reflection, curtains of despair dripping from every inch of your visage. Your reflection stares back, the same dead eyes twitching imperceptibly from the lack of caffeine in your system. At this point, you wouldn’t be sane enough to be surprised if your parallel self would reply, perhaps with some scathing remark about how you were slowly losing your grip on your life. Not that it would be unwarranted, anyway.

After Hoseok’s explosion the other day, your weekend doesn’t exactly feel as exciting as it usually is. Of course, your mood is still a vast improvement from last week when you were out of commission for most it after your mental breakdown. Although, it doesn’t erase the fact that you’re still knee deep in shit and that you have no idea how you’re going to face Hoseok and Jimin the following Monday.

Damn. You could really use some coffee.

The day seems to be in much better spirits than you, and it would be a waste not to let the universe’s good mood try to make you feel better as well. There is a coffee shop just a block away, and maybe you could take a walk in the sunshine afterwards to help relax the dread consistently knocking at the back of your mind. It’s a little bit optimistic, but it’ll have to do.

Shrugging on a thin cardigan over some other semi-decent clothes, you step out of your stuffy apartment with a spring in your step. You didn’t bother with any of your usual morning ritual, seeing as how you don’t plan on meeting with anyone you know from university anyway. So what if your landlady Mrs. Park sees the bird’s nest on top of your head? Who is she going to tell? Her gang of old auntie friends all hate you already for wearing a “TRANS RIGHTS” shirt in front of them, so it’s not like you’re vying for their acceptance.

Other than your less than friendly neighborhood aunties, there are better old people to hang around anyway. Nearby the coffee shop, there is a senior home where you used to volunteer during your spare time until your other commitments forced you to give up your spot to some other benevolent soul. Since you have been meaning to visit the grandmas and grandpas there when you got some free time, you suppose it would be nice to talk to kind ol’ Ms. Kim today and listen to her recount her many youthful adventures (which is, more often than not, a euphemism for her various sexcapades in the 70s.)

The senior home is closer to your home than the coffee shop, so you choose to stop and gaze at the plain-looking white building with its neatly trimmed bushes and white picket fence. It looks out of place in the neighborhood, with its very suburban and Americana design, but you know it is only because the owner of the establishment had gotten her inspiration from Forrest Gump. She has a crush on young Tom Hanks, and you honestly can’t blame her for it; that man… he is a Man, with a capital M.

You’re in the middle of debating whether you should buy your coffee first before visiting the seniors when you hear a distant shout coming from within the house. Alarmed, you take a step back, almost falling on your ass and onto the sidewalk. You pause, tilting your head to try and peak over the fence and through the large windows that showed the reception area within. You recognize Hana, the receptionist, sitting by her desk in her usual green scrubs, her head bowed over a book as if the sound had not fazed her in the slightest.

“Am I crazy? Am I starting to hear things?” You wonder aloud, still staring at the innocent-looking home. Has the universe had enough with your lacklustre existence that it has caused you to hear nonsense? Is this only the beginning of your slow descent into madness?

You don’t have to fret over your sanity for too long because moments later, the shout repeats itself. Like the previous one, this one sounds just as pained and anguished, though you aren’t sure if it was a male or female who had screamed. For all you knew, the person might have either stubbed their toe or gotten a knife stabbed through their chest; it’s not like you spend time distinguishing the subtle nuances of tormented screams. However, you are more certain now that it had come from within the home, even though Hana has yet to react to the chilling noise. She flips to the next page, tired eyes squinting at the small text.

You are stuck at an impasse: do you go inside the home despite the possible danger of entering a secret cannabilist society of which your acquaintance has been initiated to, or do you turn around and go home where it is 100% more likely for you to survive the next 24 hours?

The choice becomes apparent to you, however, when a tall, lanky boy bursts out of one of the doors behind the receptionist, with his arms piled to the ceiling with dinner plates on the cusp of making their way to the floor. Even through the window and behind a fence, you can tell that he is in dire need of help, which Hana does not seem likely to extend. The mess of legs makes a beautiful display of himself, his lower limbs flapping about aimlessly as his body contorts to try and keep himself and the plates balanced.

Finally, after what feels like hours of torture watching the poor volunteer make a fool of himself, he manages to steady himself, his legs crossed together like he’s trying to hold in his piss. Carefully, he squats down, placing the plates on the floor in front of the receptionist desk. For a moment, you feel as though you should be applauding, for whatever reason.

Now without dishes obscuring his face, you can make out the identity of the flailing giraffe man. He turns, fingers combing through his distinctly colored hair––

Oh god. It’s him. You gotta get out of there, fast, before he recognizes you. Maybe if you run quickly enough, then maybe he won’t notice you when he looks out the window around.

“Ha,” the universe laughs, clapping their asscheeks to the rhythm of Ludacris’ Move Bitch Get Out Da Way™️ with a smirk. “Cute of you to think your life isn’t basically a 20-year long trainwreck in motion.”

Inevitably he turns around, his eyes immediately locking on your face despite being half-concealed by the fence. He looks confused for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish until he lights up, recognition flooding his features. Even though you cannot hear him clearly, you just know that he said something stupid, judging by the way Hana has finally looked up from her book to stare at him weirdly.

Please don’t come out and greet me. Please just let me wave at you awkwardly and for you to stay where you are. Please don’t go out and talk to me––

Your prayers go unanswered once more as he sidesteps the wall of plates, his hip just barely grazing it and almost causing it to tumble down. The pile sways precariously from left to right, miraculously staying put as he rushes out to greet you. You can only imagine the mess he’d have to clean up if it did, shards of cheap porcelain left behind in his awkward, fumbling wake.

Luckily (or unluckily for you), he makes it out of the senior home in one piece. He crosses the short path to the fence in two inhumanly long strides, slamming the fence door open with a wide swing. It smacks loudly against the railing, the hinges making a pained groan as it looks to be at the inch of its life––literally. You vaguely remember replacing the screws on it just before you left over six months ago… Surely you hadn’t done such a shoddy job? Although, you know that simply can’t be true. After all, you’re dealing with none other than destruction incarnate himself, Kim––

“Y/N!” Namjoon greets happily, his dimples deeper than you remember. You swallow heavily, trying your best not to sweat under his overly enthusiastic gaze. God, you should’ve gone straight to the coffee shop when you had the chance.

Nothing like facing disaster head-on, as they say. “Hey,” you reply half-heartedly, though the walking inflatable tube man doesn’t seem to mind your lacklustre mood. He grasps your hands for a shake, swinging your entire body up and down with the care of a man who does not know his own strength. You, his unfortunate victim, are left to suffer through his artery-bursting grip.

“Oh god, you have no idea how glad I am to see you! Not that I’m not normally happy to see you at university, but––” He speaks so quickly that it’s hard to keep track of the specific contents of his sentences, so you can only hope that your unenthused nods will be enough to placate the bumbling buffoon. You resign yourself to a fate similar to the bobbleheads on the dashboards of those white suburban soccer moms.

“Wait, hold on.” What on earth..? You are full on gaping at the piece of work on top of his head, not even pretending to be polite as you try to process what is in front of you. “What the hell happened to your hair?”

You know from old Facebook photos that Namjoon has natural black locks, though you can’t say that his wacky hairstyles were also inborn. Ever since you have known him, he has always dyed his hair a sandy brown color, complimenting his tan skin. Now, however…

“You mean the weird blue streaks?” Namjoon says, rubbing a few strands thoughtfully. His hair is a walking disaster, and this is coming from someone who has seen what Kim Seokjin has done to his clients. (There’s a reason his Yelp reviews are terrible… He deserves negative stars, if you’re being honest.)

“Did you lose a dare or something?”

“Uh… Kind of?” He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I had meant to change my hair color to something more exciting, so I asked the kids at the daycare and they suggested blue. Problem is, the seniors said they preferred my brown hair but I already promised the kids so… Here we fucking are,” he says in one breath, appearing as though what he said was obvious.

“So your solution was to compromise… by coloring half your hair blue, like some botched version of Death the Kid?”

“Exactly!” He beams, glad that you understand him perfectly.

Oh my god… He’s… No words are coming to you right now, but you get the picture.

The thing about Kim Namjoon is… he’s not… bad. Or dumb, for that matter.

Okay, not the best compliment out there, but it’s true. You’ve known for as long as you’ve been a university student, and your first meeting is certainly one for the books. You wouldn’t exactly consider him a “friend,” and an acquaintance is a bit of a stretch on most days, but he’s a nice guy. He’s eccentric in the most positive way, and not at all in the same chaotic and evil way that Seokjin is (for which you are thankful for.) It has always been a bit tricky to get close with him, as his head is always so far up in his work that it almost feels like he’s being reclusive on purpose.

If you ignore the fact that he has that odd propensity to volunteer himself in any job on the face of the earth (with him being unqualified 9 times out of 10), it is easy to see why people think so highly of him.

He is a scholarship student with a 4.0 GPA, is the youngest candidate to ever receive the university president’s yearly public commendation, and has already released two reputable mixtapes with high praise from critics nationwide. He’s nothing if not a prodigy, and he’s amassed a hefty following for his accomplishments. As a music major yourself, it’s hard not to be a little starstruck with him if you’re being honest.

Most of all, you remember the first song that you had ever heard from him: Moonchild. You still can’t quite believe he let you hear one of his many masterpieces when the two of you had just been total strangers. The lyrics had been so heartfelt, so intimate, that you felt as if you were intruding on his personal space or something. But he had let you listen, let you take a peek at what goes on inside that nebulous brain of his. When he does things like that, it makes it easy to understand why people might think your love poem might be about him. He’s just so… easy to admire.

The poem isn’t about him, but. It could have been, in some other life. (Or maybe it is.)

(Was.)

(Will?)

Regardless, you still have to convince him otherwise. You just simply aren’t ready for that type of development, much less with him. Despite all his good sides.

Thus, Kim Namjoon leaves you at a standstill. Why do you feel so fucking weird about harboring this idol crush on him? How can he be so dumb and so smart at the same time? He has blue fucking hair for crying out loud! He’s causing you cognitive dissonance just by existing, and it’s giving your meagre amount of brain cells a workout.

Oh shit, have you been ignoring him? You were totally zoning out this entire time, haven’t you?

Somewhere around the time you were having your mini mental breakdown, Namjoon’s mouth had stopped moving, giving you an expectant look. Oh shit. He probably asked you something. Embarrassed and unwilling to give away that you had not processed even a single word out of his mouth, you nod and give him an approximation of what you assume is a friendly smile.

For a second, you think that you might have gotten away with it when Namjoon’s face breaks out into an enormous grin. He grabs you by the shoulder and envelops you in an chokehold-like embrace. You let out a wheeze, clawing at his biceps with your remaining strength to try and prevent your untimely death due to asphyxiation. “Namjoon..?”

He lets out a shriek at a higher octave than you thought a man of his size was capable of. Somewhere out there, a dog probably perks up at the supersonic sound. “Y/N, I knew I could count on you! Thank you so much for agreeing to help me with the elders for Zombie Tea Time!”

Now that caught your attention. You pause in your squirming to fix him with a confused expression. “I’m… I’m sorry? What did you say?”

His smile never falters. He presses his cheek against yours, rubbing it happily with a hum. In any other scenario, you might have fainted from how adorable he was being, but seeing as how all your blood is still trapped in your upper extremities from his vice hug, it is difficult enough trying to remember how to stay alive.

“Every Saturday, the senior home hosts this event called Zombie Tea Time where the old people all get to have their faces painted with fake blood and all the volunteers have to pretend to be innocent civilians trying to get away from them!”

The more Namjoon speaks, the more you feel your sanity dripping out of your ass like diarrhea. “Ex. Excuse me? Say that again?”

“Yeah, it’s a new thing the volunteers are trying out this month,” Namjoon says, finally (finally) releasing you from his hug. You don’t know if your flushed cheeks are from embarrassment or a stroke. “Like I said, we’re a bit shorthanded today, so I’ve had to wash the plates from breakfast AND pretend to get eaten by senile zombies. It’s… a lot.”

“Oh, I can tell.” You grimace, patting him on the shoulder empathetically. You freeze. “Wait. So that’s why you were screaming a while ago?”

“Huh?” Namjoon pauses, before his face does something funny where it looks like he’s either going to sneeze or take a shit. Thankfully he does neither, but instead reaches his hand around his back like he has an itch he needs to scratch. He makes a pained yelp, plucking something out from his asscheeks and pulling out what appears to be––

You stare at the object in his palm. “Are those… dentures?”

“Hmm…” Namjoon stares at it, too tired to be disgusted. He just nods his head sagely. “Must’ve been when I was too slow to dodge Mister Lee’s lunge. I was beginning to wonder why my ass felt like it was being eaten out.”

“Please, never say that sentence to me ever again.”

“Yea,” he agrees, sighing faintly. He pockets the teeth much to your horror, patting it gently like he hadn’t just placed a pair of dentures in his fucking scrubs. He dusts off his hands, his lips pursed so that his dimples stand prominently on display. You barely contain yourself from sinking your finger right into their hypnotizing abysses.

He looks at you hopefully. “So… Uh. You said you’ll help me?”

Oh right. You fucking said you’d help him fend off a hoard of virulent old people in face paint.

You look to the right, where the coffee shop is just within sight. Sweet, sweet caffeine, tantalizing you with its saccharine presence, dangling its wretchedly addictive power over your head. If you breathe deeply enough, you think you can smell the coffee beans from here.

You turn back to Namjoon, and you can physically feel the weight of his hopeful gaze on your shoulders. Your defenses have never crumbled so quickly in your life. Fuck him and his stupidly handsome ass.

You sigh, resigning your fate to eternally being whipped for a pair of pretty long legs and size B man titties. “Let’s fucking do this, I guess.” Easier said than done, but you already have one foot in elephant shit, so might as well submerge your whole body as well.

You follow Namjoon closely, having to take two extra steps for every one step that he takes. He crosses the reception area quickly, sending energetic finger guns at Hana which unsurprisingly goes unrequited. You take the more inconspicuous route and wave shyly at her, intimidated by her even after you have long since stopped working here. She levels you with one of her infamous hundred yard stares, lips turned downwards as she appraises you.

“You’ve decided to come back?” she asks, leaning back on her chair with a huff.

Namjoon is in the midst of trying to once again carry all the plates in his Play-Doh arms, so you’re a bit distracted when you shake your head in response. “Uh. N-no, Namjoon just asked me to help with the dishes, that’s all.”

“That’s a shame,” Hana says, no trace of disappointment in her voice whatsoever. She returns to her book, buzzing open the double doors to let the two of you pass. She flicks her hand lazily at the commotion happening behind her. “Better hurry back in there. The seniors are getting antsy.”

The doors open automatically, and you almost topple over when you are immediately bombarded with the terrifying symphony of old people hollering obscenities at frantic volunteers trying desperately to get away from their gnarled clutches. The hoard hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, and you fear to wonder what type of horrors that you will have to face once you step through those doors. You absolutely refuse to die on this hill, not when you haven’t even had your first kiss yet.

“I don’t think we’ll die,” Namjoon says, as if he can read your mind. You look at him skeptically.

“You think?”

He clears his throat. “I can’t promise we’ll come out of this unscathed, though.”

He takes a tentative step forward, the pile of dishes wobbling dangerously on their perch. You are quick to steady the leaning tower of Disa(ster), managing to transfer half of it into your own arms. You grunt, adjusting your stance so that you do not accidentally lose your grip. “Dude. How the hell did you get all those plates out here in the first place?”

Namjoon stands up straighter, the weight significantly easier for him to manage now. He smiles cherubically back at you, eyes crinkling cutely. “Oh, I was literally on survival mode and trying to stop lil Mrs. Sun from gnawing my leg off. The elders can smell fear you see, so they were definitely going to climb on top of me like World War Z and probably kill me.” He pauses, deep in thought. “Although, I think I dropped a plate or two while I was escaping, so watch your step!”

He says all of that with the same eagerness as man who is about to do something crazy, like jump out of a plane or walk a tightrope over a 100 ft canyon. Though, you have to admit that this entire scenario feels like it is on the same calibre.

“Is it me, or are the old people here 10 times crazier than I remember when I volunteered here?”

“You used to work here?” Namjoon says, amazed. “Oh, I didn’t know that! I only started a week ago when some other person resigned due to mental health issues or something.”

“You sure that this place isn’t the cause of their mental decline?” You say it like a joke, though you mean it seriously. Maybe the universe had been looking out for you when decided to get out of this place.

“Hmm… Maybe. Although, we only received this shipment of old people fairly recently.”

Pause. Rewind. “S-shipment?” you repeat, staring at him wildly.

Like the lovable airhead that he is, Namjoon fails to notice your astonishment and instead takes the first brave step forward through the double doors. He tilts his head towards the hallway, gesturing for you to follow him. The plates rattle dangerously from his movements. “C’mon, we gotta get these plates cleaned before the lunch crew comes to take over their shifts!”

Walking to the kitchen is easier than you thought, especially after you take into account the fact that all the old people completely ignored you and chose to only attack Namjoon, for whatever reason. You like to think that it is because the seniors still remember you back when you were still volunteering here and that they hold some semblance of endearment for you, but Namjoon begs to differ. In fact, he screams out his hypothesis as to why you have been left unharmed, all while two older women climb his back like demented crabs.

“Y/N! I think they can’t attack you because you’re in civilian clothes! They only attack scrubs!” Namjoon says, swatting away one of the women off his back with a surprisingly coordinated headbutt. She shrieks as she falls, landing on all four legs like a cat would do. She hisses lowly at you, before scuttling off to somewhere unseen.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” you wince, watching Namjoon unsuccessfully trying to spin quick enough to dislodge the remaining senior.

Namjoon perks up when he catches a glimpse of his attacker’s face, giggling and appearing as if he isn’t currently being assailed by a senior citizen. “Oh, Ms. Kim! I didn’t see you there. I love the zombie make-up you got going. Who helped you?” He looks at you, as if imploring you to compliment her as well.

“Uh. Yes. You’re looking very… yellow.”

Ms. Kim snarls, baring her teeth. “It’s the jaundice,” she says.

Not wanting to stand in that hallway any longer, you carefully place the plates back on the floor before you gently unclamp the old lady’s talons from Namjoon’s poor biceps. You wince, feeling the length of her nails and knowing that Namjoon is going to have some nasty scars.

You tell him so, but he only shakes his head. “Nah? I think they’d be pretty neat! Battle scars are cool right?”

You grimace at him. “If that’s… what you think, then sure.”

After grabbing your plates and hurrying after him before the elders make note of Namjoon’s survival, the two of you share a sigh of relief as you both slowly start piling them into the dishwasher. The task is menial and repetitive, and despite what Namjoon’s earlier chattiness might have suggested, he is quiet while he works. The silence is not as awkward as you feared, and honestly the peace is a welcome respite after all the chaos that you had to endure in such a short period of time. Although, silence has never been a good friend to your overworked mind, as it allowed you to stew inside your own head for much too long––and you have found in your 20 years of existence that it is probably for the best that you are not left without external stimulation for too long.

But here you are, forced to do exactly that. You would have engaged in some conversation with Namjoon to stop yourself from getting in over your head, but you are afraid of what sort of embarrassing topics might spew out of your mouth if you do. Heaven forbid that you start geeking out on him about your unhealthy obsession of collecting miniature glass horse figurines––that is a secret best kept between yourself and the tentacle monster under your bed.

You begin reflecting on the events from the past two weeks, replaying them second by agonizing second and ruminating on the state that your pitiful young adult life has become. The more you allow these memories to simmer, the more you slowly realize the weight of the accumulated stress that has long since made you hunch over like a goblin.

Hoseok and Jimin’s argument comes to the forefront of your mind, the unexpected heat coming from both of them confusing you to no end. You still don’t know the source of their ire towards one another, but what baffles you the most is how you could have missed it in the first place. Sure, you had thought they were at least more than acquaintances; one does not simply challenge a near stranger to a dance off in the middle of a library three times a week, for more than two months and counting. Friends might have been a stretch, though you can’t say you’re familiar with how their schedules look like outside your tutoring sessions together.

The question is though… should you interfere? Normally, you would have stayed far away from anyone else’s drama––you just aren’t the type of person to stick their noses in other people’s business. Yet somehow, you feel as if your poem was the catalyst to this violent chain reaction, that you have inadvertently caused the foundation of a precarious building to explode and bring the whole thing crashing down. To think that your silly love poem for a boy who hardly knows that you exist has become the center of so many people’s lives… the entire thing is giving you a headache.

Speaking of headaches… you should probably confront Namjoon about the poem as well. It is probably best that you plan your approach better this time, seeing as how your two previous attempts have been anything but stellar. Namjoon can’t be that difficult to convince, right? And even if he does see right through you, he doesn’t seem like the type of person who would laugh cruelly at you in the event that he figures out that you are the author. Not like Seokjin, at least. Luckily no one is like Seokjin, the fucking rat bastard that he is.

(In the distance, Seokjin has the sudden animalistic urge to slip anthrax in your milk tea the next time he sees you.)

You glance at Namjoon from the corner of your eye, definitely not ogling the way his arms flex as he loads the final couple of plates. The breath catches in your throat when you realize that some time while you were busy swimming in your junkyard of a brain, he had rolled up his sleeves up to his forearms, displaying his god-like veins for the eyes of the deplorable (you) to feast upon.

Your mouth feels dry, even though other parts of you feel more moist than you remember. Oh god, now is not the time to remember how hot this fucking nerd is.

Despite the fact that your biological clock is screaming “HORNY HOUR” at your monkey brain, Namjoon continues to be thankfully unaware of your internal panic. He closes the dishwasher door shut, clicking it on with a relieved sigh. He gives you a megawatt smile and makes your heart leap into a somersault, probably knocking around some vital organs along the way.

“Thanks so much for the help, Y/N! Couldn’t have done it without you!” he cheers, clapping you roughly on the shoulder. You wheeze under the impact, waving away his concern despite feeling like your lungs have probably slipped out of your asshole.

“It’s no problem, Namjoon…” you sigh, gazing sadly as Namjoon begins to do a final sweep of the kitchen before inevitably going to sign off for the day. You know your window of opportunity has already closed, and if you had not spent so much time staring at his beautiful man tiddies, you are sure you could have been a little more productive with him. Curse him and his damn chest.

But now, at least you’ll have more time to think of how to approach him and bring up the poem when you aren’t, like, seriously decaffeinated and on the cusp of a heart attack. You are about to bid him farewell with your tail between your legs when his hands cup your cheeks, catching you off guard.

You splutter incomprehensibly, arms flapping about like a fish out of water. “Wha––?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention! After my hours here at the senior home, I have the afternoon shift at the daycare center near our university and I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?”

If Namjoon’s cool, large hands holding your face like a delicate flower had caught you off guard, then his sudden invitation only exacerbated the furious blush blooming across your neck like a rash.

So what do you say?

“Meep,” is what you say, like the verbose poet that you are. Y/N, renowned campus poet, has the vocabulary of a five year old.

“Is that a yes?” Namjoon smiles, letting go off you in favor of looping his gangly arms around your waist. Another unflattering noise escapes your throat at his proximity and his firmness. “That’s so great! The kids love seeing new faces, and I bet they’d love to have a pretty girl around instead of plain ol’ me all the time!”

You gape at him. Did he just say…

“P-pretty?”

“Yea, sure!” Namjoon says, his stupid grin still on his stupidly handsome face. He does not appear to be embarrassed at all by his brazenness, which is starting to make you think he is either a well-seasoned flirt or just plain oblivious to the implications of his own words. Knowing him, you wouldn’t put it past him that the latter might be the reason.

Compliments and unintentional flirting aside, you really did not feel up to another harrowing experience with Namjoon at one of his other volunteering stunts. You are but a woman in clown shoes, and even the most seasoned clowns must have their rest.

“Listen, Namjoon… I don’t think I can go with you. I have to go, uh,” you pause, your hamster brain working a mile a minute. “Water… my dog? No, I mean… feed my plant.” You cringe, mentally slapping yourself.

Namjoon, the sneaky bastard, hits you with his strongest and most potent puppy dog eyes in his arsenal. It was super effective! “Please, Y/N? I won’t take too much of your time! Just play with the kids for two hours and I promise to leave you alone!”

C’mon, Y/N. Focus. Are you the type of woman to break down her defenses for the wilful fancies of any man? You’re made of stronger stuff than this. Surely you can look him in the eye and tell him straight to his face that you would prefer to go home and rest on this beautiful Saturday than go frolicking with a bunch of snot-nosed children––

“Oh, sure. Why the hell not?” you say, like the dumb fucking idiot that you are.

Namjoon’s dimples deepen even further. You glare menacingly at them, knowing full well that they were entirely the cause of your weakness.

“Thank you so much, Y/N! The kids will really appreciate your presence! C’mon, we haven’t got time to lose!”

Namjoon does not even give you the time to fully comprehend your own pitiful existence before he nearly tugs your arm out of its socket as he maneuvers you to the local daycare just a few minutes away from the senior home. You don’t get to say your farewells to any of the seniors or your old work colleagues, but it might be for the best… You will need all the sanity left in your body to survive the rest of the day with Namjoon.

On the bright side, that means you’ll have the chance to talk to him about the poem, though you’re still hesitant to do so with how badly your previous stunts had ended up. But then again, when else would you get another good opportunity to talk to your crush acquaintance about this? You suppose you’ll just have to wait and see what happens next, and hope for the best.

You have been at the daycare for almost three hours now, and there are still no signs of you ever bringing up the poem. You might as well sign your last will and testament with the macaroni art supplies currently decorating your body, making you look like a morbid pasta dish monster from hell. You hope to god that the sticky stuff all over your skin is just cheese… White, rubbery scented cheese…

“Ain’t this fun?” Namjoon calls out from somewhere, presumably under the mass of ten or so toddlers all climbing him like a tree. You are caught in a state of déjà vu as the children start feasting upon any exposed areas of skin that their kid-sized incisors can find.

You just wanted to talk about the fucking poem for fuck’s sake! Instead, you have to deal with thirty 2-foot children and one 6-foot manchild during one of your only free days in a week.

A miniature demon tugs your sleeve, forcing you to tear your eyes away from Namjoon’s slow demise. You bend down to the little gremlin’s height, mouth twitching upwards in what you hope is a somewhat decent smile. Judging by the kid’s unimpressed face, you doubt it.

“Yes?”

“Miss Y/N? Can you tell your boyfriend that Jake peed in the ballpit again? Aera slipped on the puddle and now she’s crying and disturbing the younger kids.”

Record scratch, freeze frame. Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that. Out of all the things the kid had said, you are sure that his implication that you were Namjoon’s girlfriend should not have been on the top of your list of priorities, and yet here you are, your cheeks as flushed as a baboon’s ass.

“He’s not––We’re not––” you stammer, waving your hands as you try to explain to this unenthused six year old that what she said was entirely impossible. “Namjoon is just a friend!”

You turn to look for the man in question, desperate for him to back you up when you realize he is no longer there. Confused, you leave the huffing child in search for him. You leave the main playroom and search the nearby nurseries, the kitchen, the bathroom… all of them with no Namjoon in sight. Just so you can cover all your bases, you decide to check one of the supply closets too, not really expecting to find anything except––

“Namjoon? What the fu––fudge?” You quickly correct yourself, noticing that not only is Kim Namjoon inside the cramped broom closet, but he is also surrounded by five other children huddled around what appears to be a series of tupperwares connected together by plastic straws.

Namjoon hastens a glance at you, before refocusing his attention back onto what he deems to be more important. He nudges his shoulder against the smallest of the bunch, stage whispering into her ear. “Jihyo, did you bet the three lollipops on Ant #3?”

Jihyo shakes her head, looking mildly offended. “Oppa, do you think I’m dumb? I bet all of my chocolate bars on Ant #6.”

Namjoon whistles lowly, impressed. “All-in? You’re one smart lady.”

You clear your throat. “Namjoon.”

Namjoon has the audacity to hold a finger up to silence you. “Give me a sec… Okay, Seungcheol. You said ten hard candies for Ant #2?”

“Namjoon. Are you seriously running a gambling ring in a daycare?”

He peers up at you, smiling sheepishly. “I’m, uh… Teaching them about capitalism.” He deposits the candy bets into his pocket before starting the timer on his phone. The children begin to cheer raucously, little fists pumping up as they watch their bets race towards a slice of cake.

“I can’t believe this,” you groan, wanting nothing more than the earth to swallow you whole.

Eventually, Namjoon exits the closet, gently closing the door. The shouts of the children become muted immediately. When you gaze inquisitively at him, all he does is shrug his shoulders. “What? Secret clubs allow people to explore their interests.”

At this point, you don’t really want to argue anymore. And so, the hectic day goes by, full of running after the children and occasionally having to reel Namjoon in when he does something bordering on negligence. The parents slowly start filtering in by five in the afternoon, most of whom pat Namjoon affectionately on the back and thanking him for his stellar daycare service.

“Oh, Namjoon! My little Jihyo absolutely adores you! She hardly wants to leave whenever I come to pick her up.” Jihyo’s mother smiles, slipping a small tip into Namjoon’s waiting palm. The little shit pockets it, bowing graciously at her.

“All in a day’s work, madame. I just love children, you know?” he says, sighing dramatically.

From behind her mother, Jihyo gorges herself on her prize winnings, shoving a whole packet of M&M’s into her mouth. She swallows them quickly when her mother turns to bring her home.

“I hate this,” you say to yourself, smiling through the pain.

“Oh, before I forget!” Jihyo’s mother dashes back inside, startling you. She approaches you, grasping your hands in hers and shaking it wildly until you can hear your joints pop out of their sockets. “Your name is Y/N right? Thank you for taking care of Namjoon, too. It’s so nice to see that he’s finally snagged a girl as pretty as you.”

It is a testament to how dead inside you truly are by how nonplussed you are by their unfounded accusation. At this point, they could congratulate you on your recent engagement to Namjoon and you probably wouldn’t bat an eye.

“Thanks.” All in a day’s work of being a madman’s little bitch for the day.

After the last child is taken away, your Saturday finally ends. There had been no poem discussion and no progress made; only your respect from one of your long-time crushes being whittled away like the soaps on those ASMR channels until you are left with useless cubes of Irish Spring scented granules.

On your way home, you pass by Seokjin sitting languidly on the bench outside the coffee shop that you had originally intended to go to this morning. The closed sign greets you impetuously, and your wounds are salted further by the sheer presence of the most annoying man on the planet.

Seokjin sips on his venti iced Americano, Gucci sunglasses tipped downward on his nose. An odd, high pitched windshield wiper sound escapes his lips, and you belatedly realize that he must be his version of laughter. “Y/N. So nice to see you. I’m guessing that you just came out of a… fishy affair?”

You grind your teeth, flexing forward with the intent of hitting the rat bastard. Fish crackers fall out of your hair in clumps from your movement. “I’ll eat your toes if you say another word about this.”

You say that, but you know that there will be photos of you out on Facebook by the time your head meets your pillow for the night, as you hear the telltale sound of a camera shutter go off as you limp sadly back home.

The following Monday, you resolve to talk to Namjoon during your History of Music class together.

Now normally, you would never subject yourself to sitting near Namjoon in class. No, it is not because of your debilitating crush, nor his eccentric personality, nor something unexpected like insanely toxic body odor (which he does not have, by the way. He always smells alarmingly like cotton candy.) In fact, nobody likes to sit near Namjoon, made apparent by the two row radius of empty chairs around him. As much as everyone adores and idolizes him for his talent, no one can stand his propensity to overachieve like the infuriating know-it-all that he is. His hand is perpetually up in the air, begging to be picked for recitation, always with something profound to say.

“Sir, I don’t think your notes are correct. From my research, that type of music would not have existed until the 1600s––”

“Namjoon,” your professor seethes, Powerpoint clicker clutched tightly in his fists. His left eyebrow twitches concerningly as he tries to calm his breathing. “I would prefer it greatly if you do not question the actual expert in this area, is that okay with you?”

Yeah. He is definitely not someone you’d want to sit beside.

Though, he really makes it hard not to want to be around him. Despite all the imperfect parts of his personality, Namjoon always looks like the cover model of what a perfect college boyfriend should dress like. Terrible dyejob aside, his hair is slicked back in a fashionable way, revealing his beautiful forehead for all of humanity to behold. He is wearing a fitted graphic tee under a denim jacket, with loose brown slacks that look good on his endlessly long legs. To top it off, his signature wire-frame glasses sit daintily on his nose, making him appear as smart as he is.

You are suddenly reminded of the true scale of your crush on him as sweat begins to build on your neck and down your backside. How the hell are you going to approach him now that you are perfectly aware of how good he looks? It is people like Kim Namjoon that remind you of this universal truth: attractive people only exist to cause the less fortunate to forget how to use their basic motor skills.

Focus. Remember how much of a crackhead he was last Saturday? Okay, retain that information. Remember how fucking stupid he is, and this will be much easier on your heart and your loins.

Taking a deep breath, you make your way to where he is seated, right at the front of the class. It is a long way down the auditorium to where he is, and you can feel the stares of a few of your classmates as you make the treacherous journey right into the proverbial lion’s maw. You do your best to ignore them, quietly sliding up next to him and waiting for him to notice your presence.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he is jotting something frantically on a notebook, a mess of words in more languages than you can speak decorating every available space on the smooth white pages. At the top of the paper, you can see what might be a tentative title for a song, perhaps? You can’t be too entirely sure, as Namjoon is part of so many clubs and organizations that he might as well be writing next week’s lunch menu for the cafeteria.

(Highly doubtful as Namjoon has a reputation for allowing inflammable things to catch on fire, but you wouldn’t put it past him to at least try and apply for a culinary position.)

It seems that Namjoon is too immersed in his writing to greet you himself, so you have to be the one to steel yourself and strike a conversation with him instead.

“Uh. Hey… Namjoon?” Smooth like butter. Seokjin would be proud.

Namjoon doesn’t reply. He keeps scribbling along, humming something indistinct under his breath.

You clear your throat. “Namjoon?”

No response. Again, “Hello?” You wave a hand in front of his face. His blinking slows for a second, but he continues to ignore you.

Starting to get pissed off, you huff quietly to yourself before bringing your palm backwards and slapping him upside the head. “HEY PANINI HEAD! YOU FUCKING IN THERE OR WHAT?”

That manages to bring him out of his headspace, thankfully. “Huzzat?” Namjoon jumps, cradling the back of his neck gingerly as he stares at you, confused. Recognition filters through his eyes as he realizes belatedly what had just happened. He blushes slightly. “Oops.”

“Oops is right. Were you really going to ignore me for the rest of the class if I hadn’t slapped you?”

Namjoon shrugs, grinning in that cute goofy way that he does. “Sorry. ‘M not used to people sitting beside me, is all. Glad to have a friend in this class though! Have you always been in this class?”

“Yea, but I usually sit in the back.”

Namjoon nods, turning back to his notebook. “Sorry for ignoring you. I really didn’t mean it. When I’m in the middle of writing, it’s kind of hard to get me out of my own brain. Plus, this draft is due in two weeks and I’ve scrapped three pages worth of lyrics already… I’m kind of in a panic right now.”

You peek over his arm, trying your best to decipher some of his words. Your interest is piqued, always having wanted to see his draft notebook ever since that first time he showed you Moonchild almost a year ago. “Lungs have capsized… I am drowning in my own body… Wow, those are some dark stuff.”

“You think so?” Namjoon squints at his own messy handwriting. “I got inspired by the fish in the aquarium I volunteer in. I’m actually excited to go back there, because I want to play it for the fish and see if they like it.”

“Isn’t it better to play it at the daycare of senior home so you can actually get… human feedback?”

Namjoon gasps, hand to his heart, offended. “How dare you assume that fish can’t give quality feedback!”

“Right,” you cough, raising your hands in defeat. How dare you, indeed. “Sorry.”

Namjoon sniffs, closing his notebook just as the professor walks in to start the class. “You better be. The fishies get really offended when people say stuff like that.”

The professor begins the moment he sets down his things, so you know you won’t have time to bring up the poem, not when Namjoon is already starting to fall into his overachieving know-it-all student persona. You tap him lightly on the shoulder, gaining his attention.

“Hey, I have to ask you something later after class. Will you stay behind for a few moments?”

“Sure,” Namjoon replies cheerily, flipping on his laptop to start taking down notes. He stops in his tracks before gazing warily at you. “Hold on. If this is about the fishies again…”

You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes, so you sigh instead. “No, Namjoon. This isn’t about the fishies.”

Appeased, Namjoon returns to listening attentively to the professor drone on about dead musicians and their impact on musical culture. You hardly take any notes, still nervous about talking to Namjoon about the poem. What would be the best way to approach the subject, you wonder? Your previous attempts with Seokjin and Hoseok had featured a lot of yelling and arguing, and you would prefer not to leave a bad impression on Namjoon of all people. Additionally, you don’t want to know what arguing with Namjoon would entail, because you have a strong feeling that any debate with him will only leave you second guessing your entire existence with how good he is at flipping the subject. Or, you could always kick him in the knees, but that would be like overpowering a baby––you’d be a monster for taking advantage of him.

The short one hour lecture flies by quicker than you would like. To your surprise, Namjoon only interrupts the professor twice, so you suppose that’s a win for everyone else.

“Alright class. Please remember that the research paper regarding 17th century music is due on the Friday before your break,” your professor says. He points a stern look at all of you, and maybe you’re imagining it, but somehow you feel like he pauses just a second longer when he passes his gaze over you. “And please, try not to send your paper to the entire student body to air your secret little crushes like a bunch of lovestruck idiots.”

Your ears turn an unflattering shade of red as most of the students chuckle at his little joke, all of them probably not knowing that the lovestruck idiot was just a few seats away.

“C’mon, Namjoon.” You sigh, shrugging on your backpack as you wait for him to finish packing up. Namjoon watches you curiously, brows furrowed.

“You seem dejected. Are you having trouble with class? Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“N-not… not really,” you say, shaking your head. “Can we talk about this outside? People for the next class are starting to come in.”

Namjoon follows you dutifully from behind, and you can hear him bid his farewells to a few giggling freshmen as the two of you exit the lecture hall. They coo openly in his presence, with one of them bold enough to compliment his fairly generous bosom, her fingers twitching as if she is only one push away from grabbing them by the fistful.

You walk towards the small cafe near the entrance of the building, grabbing one of the empty chairs and gesturing for Namjoon to sit across from you. He does as you say, confusion still gracing his handsome features.

“So, will you tell me why you’ve called me out here now?” Namjoon asks. Before you can respond, however, he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a half squished sandwich. He offers you the less crushed half, like the gentleman that he is, but you find it hard to accept when you feel like your stomach is turning inside out with nerves.

“Umm… How do I say this…” You groan, leg bouncing so incessantly that the poor table begins to shake. Namjoon doesn’t even try to stop his other sandwich half from sliding over, instead giving you a concerned glance.

Fuck it. Better to rip the band-aid off in one swoop, right?

“Y/N––?”

“Namjoon, are you aware that people think someone wrote a stupid love poem about you?”

His previously open mouth clamps shut, then. He stares at you in confusion, a dollop of mayonnaise hanging off his jutting chin. “What?”

Panicking slightly, you’re quick to continue your train of thought, probably to your own detriment. “NOT that the poem is about you, by the way. Well, it could be? No? I DIDN’T WRITE IT!” Pause for heavy breathing. “A-anyway, that’s not the point… I just wanted to ask if you were… umm… aware of it. Yeah. That’s it.”

Ohhhh my god. You stupid idiot. Fuck fuck fuck fuck you fucking stupid piece of shit ass tit fuck what other swear words are there oh yeah FUCK!!!

In the midst of your personal mental beatdown, you fail to see Namjoon’s genuine look of confusion, his head tilted to the side as he watches your face turn red. He chews on his sandwich thoughtfully. “Uh? No? I’m not aware? I really have no idea what you are talking about, Y/N.”

You finally stop swearing at yourself. “Wait, really?”

Namjoon nods his head. “Really. What poem are you talking about?”

“Please tell me you’re joking. I don’t really like being teased; I get enough of that from Seokjin.”

“No, I’m serious!” Namjoon raises his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t joke about something that is clearly giving you distress.”

“It’s not causing me distress!” You screech back, voice cracking from your tone going up a pitch. You clear your throat. “Um. Wait. So that means you haven’t heard about the huge rumor going around about a love poem being about you?”

He shrugs his shoulders, lips pursed. “Not a clue. Am I supposed to?”

Huh. You stare at the imbecile before you, his previously handsome looks starting to look less appealing by the minute. Is this shithead for real? Did you really spend hours worrying over how you would approach him about the poem, only to find out that he has no clue what you’re talking about? Like, how is it even possible for him not to know? You can’t even spend a minute doing anything without someone bringing up that stupid mistake of a poem. How the hell did you ever have a crush on him?

“Pardon? Did you say crush something?”

“Oh shit,” you curse, slapping a palm to your mouth. Did you fucking say that out loud?  

“Sorry,” Namjoon swallows thickly, a large bite of his sandwich visibly going down his gullet. “I was chewing too loudly so I didn’t hear you properly.”

You heave a sigh of relief. Okay, maybe being an idiot has its benefits.

“It’s fine. It wasn’t anything important,” you say, already arranging your things to get up and leave. If Namjoon is oblivious to all the poem shenanigans that have been circling campus, then who are you to inform him? All you can hope now is that he remains ignorant of the poem at all, and chalk it up as a success in your book. It’s not like he’s going to be curious to find out more anyway––

“Wait! Don’t go! You’ve piqued my interest now. I wanna know what you were talking about,” Namjoon pipes up, leaning his lanky body sidewards so as to block you from leaving. You halt in your movements, surprised by his sudden inquiry.

Sweat starts to form in the middle of your back at his earnest curiosity. “I––it’s nothing, Namjoon. I was just messing with you. Don’t worry about it.” You laugh nervously.

“I don’t think you were?” Namjoon rubs his chin thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t have been so adamant to call me out here just to be joking.”

“Listen, I really have to go. I have another class soon and I wanna grab lunch before I––”

“You said something about a poem.” He remains undeterred, pulling out his phone. “And it’s about me? Well, not about me, if that’s what you’re saying…”

“Hold up!” You snatch his phone out of his hands, holding it behind you to keep it from his reach. Even though you know his inquisitiveness is not his fault, it doesn’t stop you from wanting to punch him square in his cute little nose. Hell, you don’t recall wanting to fight anyone as much as you do right now.

(Seokjin sneezes somewhere in the distance, feeling offended for whatever reason. “Y/N should only be punching me,” he thinks to himself as he dumps way too much purple dye on this poor lady’s head.)

“Why are you being so weird right now? Give me back my phone!” He pouts at you, not at all knowing that your resolve is already quickly crumbling before him.

“I…” You gulp, foot tapping restlessly as you try to think of what to do. “Okay. Fine, I’ll show you the poem. Just… don’t read too deeply into it, okay? It’s just a stupid thing that got too many people excited over nothing.”

“Sure,” Namjoon nods his head, acquiescing quickly. “I don’t really like paying attention to much of the rumors and trends that happen on campus. I just want to see what this poem is all about.”

“Just… don’t let it get to your head,” you mutter, returning his phone to him. You direct him to the university confessions group page, watching as his fingers fumbled with his keyboard. Eventually, he gets to the post (pinned to the top, forever mocking you for your stupidity) and reads the short piece in record time.

There is a pause where neither of you speak. You know he has finished reading it from the way he has started to scroll down to the comments, though he quickly jumps back to the top when you glare at him to stop. He leans back into his chair, closing his phone and stares at you expressionlessly.

You click your nails across the coffee shop table as you observe him suspiciously, his lack of response making you more nervous. “Well?”

The left side of his mouth quirks up––but not in a way that might suggest glee or satisfaction––and he stays frozen like that for a bit. You have the sudden urge to wave your hand in front of him to check if he’s fine, and being the type of person to submit to your urges, you do as you please.

Thankfully, he snaps out of it, blinking quickly as if he’s forgotten that you were there. He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Oh, yeah. The poem, uh… How do I put it…”

“What?” What on earth could he have a problem with? Does he genuinely think the poem might be about him? “If you’re starting to think that the poem may be about you––”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Namjoon opens his phone again, peering at the poem questioningly. “I was just going to say that this poem is a lot less impressive than you were hyping it up to be.”

Excuse me??????? He did not fucking just say that.

“You did not just fucking say that,” you verbalize, glowering at him. You can feel the fumes start to steam out of your ears, but Namjoon remains oblivious (as per usual) to your emotions. He just hums, shrugging his shoulders with his nose upturned in the air, as if he had just smelled something horrible.

“It’s just… the meter is all messed up… Like, I’m all about free verse or whatever, but I can tell the author is trying waaaay too hard to keep whatever rhythm they had going on in the first verse.” He scrolls through the poem some more, before stopping somewhere in the middle. He shows you one of your favorite verses with a look of something akin to disdain. “And what’s up with all the moon references? That theme is so overused.”

“YOUR MIXTAPE LITERALLY HAS A SONG CALLED MOONCHILD! THAT’S WHY PEOPLE THINK THE POEM IS ABOUT YOU!” You explode, spittle flying everywhere from the force of your shout. A group of freshmen sitting nearby jump up in surprise, though most of the older, more dead-eyed college students do not even bat an eye at your spectacle. This university is full of cuckoos, is what they are probably thinking.

The biggest cuckoo of them all looks at you defensively, frowning somewhat irritably. Namjoon continues, “Yeah, but I used the moon in my song in a classy way! I would be offended if someone would write this poem for me after being inspired by my song.”

Is it possible for blood to boil inside your veins? Because you’re really starting to feel heat trail up your back up to your neck, causing you to see nothing but red and the tantalizing vision of your hands around his neck. Easy, Y/N. You can’t afford anger management therapy; you have a tuition to pay.

In all seriousness though, you cannot take this any longer. You have suffered long enough while having to follow Namjoon around like a bitch for two days, and if karma still wants to use the strap on you, then she’s going to have to do it some other day because you cannot physically stand being around Namjoon for another ten seconds if you can help it. And this is coming from someone who is around Kim Seokjin at least twice a week, so it is obvious that your patience and sanity is truly at its limit.

“I’m done.” You are barely able to keep yourself from slamming your head against the table. Instead, you stand up hastily, chair legs screeching against the tiled floor. You shoulder your bag quickly, waving at him without even turning to face him. The sooner you get away from him, the better. “You can think what you want. Just live your life, man. I’m done.”

“Okay? Well, have a nice day, Y/N!” Namjoon calls out a cheery goodbye, though his tone obviously still sounds confused even as you walk further and further away from him, a trainwreck of a human being. You resolve to yourself to call Hana the next morning to ask her to slip some opened sweets into his jean pocket so the ants at the daycare might climb out of their shelter to bite him in the balls.

How did you ever have a crush on that bastard? I guess that mystery will have to remain… unsolved.

Unluckily, your mood does not improve after lunch, nor do you calm down after your next class either. In fact, you are still steaming when you arrive to your tutoring session with Hoseok, so much so that you have completely forgotten to be worried about him after the events of last Friday.

(Record scratch, freeze frame. Pause. What the hell happened last Friday again? Your overworked brain cells can only handle one stressful event at a time, so you suppose that problem with Hoseok and Jimin will have to be solved another day.)

Hoseok, the caring boy that he is, also forgets to retain his moodiness from Friday’s argument when he spots you looking like you were about to pop a blood vessel at any moment.

Hoseok sits hesitantly in front of you, even placing his textbooks gently onto the table as if any sudden sounds might cause you to self-combust and splatter your guts all over the library floor. The only thing really keeping you from doing exactly that is because you wouldn’t want poor Jungkook the library assistant to have to clean up your mess.

“Umm… Hey, Y/N. You okay? You look kind of… red.” Hoseok says carefully, smile twitching on his face.

The suddenness at which you slam your hands on the table causes not only Hoseok, but also Jungkook who is three whole bookshelves away, to jump up in surprise. The former makes a terrified scream to accompany his leap into the air, staring at your frantically with his fists held up in defense.

“AHH? Y/N, what’s going on––”

“SHUT UP!” You point a finger menacingly at him, making him shriek once more. Your jaw is clenched, teeth grinding audibly. “YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT, HOSEOK? I’LL WRITE THE NICEST POEM IN THE ENTIRE WORLD FOR YOU, OKAY? YOU DESERVE IT! FUCK WHAT ANYONE ELSE THINKS! I’M A GOOD WRITER AND NOTHING KIM NAMJOON SAYS WILL CHANGE THAT!”

Hoseok’s mouth opens, agape. He doesn’t know how to respond, not quite understanding what you were saying in the first place. A lot of angry words spilled from your lips in such a short amount of time, and Hoseok was more impressed with your flow than anything. Were you a rapper, by any chance?

Unaware of Hoseok’s musings, you huff loudly to yourself, slamming open your lecture notes and shoving them aggressively towards him. “ALSO, I TOOK THE LIBERTY OF WRITING A REVIEWER FOR YOUR MIDTERM! PLEASE READ THROUGH THEM IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS!”

“Umm… Thanks?” Hoseok says, not really sure which part of your loud declarations he is specifically thanking you for. He sneaks a glance at the front desk, thankful that it is only meek little Jungkook in charge today and not the cranky older librarian who already has a personal vendetta against you and your tutoring group for being public nuisances (not that she was unjustly pointing fingers, of course).

Your mental collapse aside, the rest of his tutoring session goes smoothly, with Hoseok still walking on eggshells around you just in case you might feel like exploding again. You know, for fun or something. Although, he does end up asking if he can leave a few minutes early, saying something about a paper due at the end of the week. The excuse doesn’t make you bat an eye until Jimin arrives for his own session, his grin faltering when he sees his hyung not there to greet him with their usual dance battle in the library.

“Ah… Guess Hoseok-hyung really is still mad over what happened…” Jimin sighs, slumping into his chair. He thumbs his textbook thoughtfully, tongue sticking out like a puppy.

“I’m sure it’ll blow over soon,” you say hopefully, though your heart isn’t quite in it either. Coughing awkwardly, you pluck his textbook out of his hands, desperate to talk about something else other than your crumbling interpersonal relationships. You pause at the page, however, before staring incredulously back at Jimin.

“Jimin.”

“Hmm?” Jimin is still listless, head pillowed by his arms on the table. “What?”

“This is a book on differential calculus. I’m supposed to teach you about writing academic essays.”

“Oh yeah,” Jimin sighs, closing his eyes. “I stole that book from some freshman on the way here. The English textbook I usually bring is with Taehyung right now.”

You pause. Actually, now that you think about it… “Jimin, do you actually even go to this university? What the hell is your major, even?”

“Wha-?” Jimin yawns, fanning his mouth with his hand. He blinks sleepily at you with a big, doofy grin. “Sorry, I played MapleStory for hours last night and I haven’t gotten much sleep. Can I just sleep during this session? I’ll still pay you or whatever…” he trails off, stretching like a cat under a patch of sunlight. Before you know it, the soft sound of Jimin’s snoring fills the silence.

Thankfully, Monday ends without much more commotion. You may have come out of this experience a little bit more broken inside, but hey! That’s what character development is all about, babey. You are just glad that Tuesdays are usually your quietest days, as you only have two classes to worry about. It is also one of the days when you have Creative Writing with Sera, who usually manages to rope you in to get greasy fast food after class. Despite the traumatic experience that particular class has indirectly inflicted upon you, your usual zeal and excitement does not diminish in the slightest. After all, writing will always be your first love, so there isn’t any way some silly poem mishap will make you detest it.

Hopefully nothing else will go wrong, because you aren’t so sure your sanity can take much more of a pounding.

(Fwip. Do you hear that? That’s the sound of karma putting on her strap.)

“Alright class, see you guys on Thursday. Don’t forget that we have a quiz at the beginning of class on Thursday, so please don’t be late.” Professor Puth says, his eyelids blinking out of sync. You hate to be someone who assumes what other people do during their off days as it is none of your business, though the perpetual cloud of marijuana that clings around him can only do so much to mask what his recreational activities might be.

“Dude, I think Prof Puth is finding Nirvana soon,” Sera says loudly, earning the giggles of a few classmates nearby.

“I’d be surprised if he could even find the exit of this building,” you snort, just as the man in question trips over air and nearly faceplants on the ground. Like the model students that you are, you both pretend to be busy doing something else, leaving some other poor soul to help your professor.

Two girls that you vaguely remember from somewhere approach Professor Puth. They are quick to help him straighten up, if his groaning and gasping are anything to go by. He thanks them gruffly and waves them off, but the girls seem adamant to stay put.

“Professor, I have a question…” One of the girls asks, nervously tugging on her ponytail. Her friend giggles surreptitiously beside her, urging her to continue. Their odd demeanor causes signals to go off in your brain, telling you to stop and listen. You tug on Sera’s hand, halting her from leaving.

“Wait. I wanna hear what they’re gonna ask,” you mutter, ignoring Sera’s complaints about being hungry. She can wait for her McNuggets for another five minutes, no matter how much she pretends that she’s starving. You had seen her eat two whole burritos before coming into class today.

Professor Puth raises his brow. “Yes? What do you need?”

“We were just wondering if you could… tell us anything about the identity of the author from that poem?” The girl manages to get all of it out in a rush, cheeks flushed as her friend nods fervently beside her.

“Yea, Prof! We’ve been dying to know! The suspense is killing us, knowing that the mystery author is in one of your classes!” The other girl continues, glittery excitement practically exuding out of her in waves.

Professor Puth sighs, leaning heavily on his desk. He appears about as done as you feel. “Listen… You can badger me all you want, but there’s no way I can tell you. Privacy laws prevent us from sharing information like that without prior consent, even though that student in question might have accidentally sent her assignment to the entire school.” You might be imagining it, but you think Professor Puth points you with a knowing look. You gulp, hastily bowing your head and pretending to fiddle with your phone.

“Aww, Prof! It’s been days and the university hasn’t shut up about it! Surely one of the theories on who the author and muse are must be true, right? You can tell us that, at least.”

You can’t bear to keep listening any longer, though Sera has started to become more interested in the conversation as it progressed. “Wait, wait… I wanna hear the Prof’s opinion,” she says, grinning despite your nails digging crescents into her arm as you try to pull her away.

“No can do! Remember, I have your freshman Halloween pictures saved on a harddrive, and you wouldn’t want me to accidentally send that to the entire student body as well, would you?”

That manages to snap her out of it. Quickly, the two of you leave the lecture hall and away from possible discovery by your poem-frenzied classmates. You are also relieved to be able to breathe in fresh air once more, after being stuck in that class surrounded by liberal art students for two hours. You always do feel a little bit more relaxed after class with Puth, although that might just be from all the secondhand drug use.

Perhaps the fumes really did dull your reflexes, as it takes a while before you realize that Sera has been nudging your shoulder.

When you finally glanced at her, there is a sneaky grin on her face: never a good sign. “So,” she begins, a singsong quality in her voice

After having been her friend for long enough, you have become adept at telling what Sera is going to say next. Call it intuition or whatever, but you like to think of it is a self-defense mechanism. As much as she is your friend, she does love digging into your personal life like it is the cover story of some shitty tabloid. You have to prepare yourself to be interrogated.

“You’re going to ask about the poem, aren’t you?”

Sera rolls her eyes, like you shouldn’t have even asked. “Duh, of course I am. What else would I want to talk about?”

You shrug your shoulders, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you could have asked ‘Hey, Y/N! How’s your mom been? Have you been eating and drinking well?’ You know, like a normal person.”

“Well, firstable, your mom is literally my friend on Facebook and I saw her go out to that bougie high tea place with Jennie’s mom the other day, so I know she’s fine,” Sera says as the two of you round a corner, heading closer to the parking lot where her car is. “And secondable, you don’t fucking drink water, because you like pretending to be a dehydrated piece of jerky.”

“I just like drinking apple juice, okay? Water is weird,” you say defensively, kicking a pebble as you walk.

“Nah, you’re weird,” Sera counters, ever the creative debater. She remains undeterred, however. “So. Any updates on the poem situation or am I going to have tickle the details out of you?”

You groan, pushing her away from your sensitive sides. “Please don’t… I have no upper body strength and I won’t be able to push you off!”

“That’s the point.” Sera laughs, pinching your cheek. She snatches her hand away, only narrowly escapes getting bitten by you. “Why don’t we skip my torture methods then and go straight to the juicy bits? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you!”

“What if nothing has happened since I last saw you?” You grumble, miffed that she really isn’t letting it go. You just want to have one relaxing day, is that too much to ask?

Apparently, it is. Relaxation is a rare commodity these days. Sera snorts, patting you condescendingly on the back. “Nonsense. You’ve got that post-mental breakdown glow around you. You look absolutely radiant with stress!”

The conversations pauses for a bit when you make it to the parking lot. You don’t have to walk too far, as her car is parked relatively close to the exit, which is just another display of how lucky Sera often is in comparison to you. While your unfortunate plebeian ass is busy drowning in shit, Sera is off somewhere aboard a yacht, getting a massage from some Instagram thot.

She hops into the driver’s seat, waiting for you to put your seatbelt on before backing out with one hand on the wheel. “McDonalds?” she asks, though it is pretty much a given that is where you are going. The last time you both tried diverging from your usual hang out spot, you got intense food poisoning from eating at Chipotle. Sera came out completely fine though, that lucky bitch.

She continues her questions on the drive there, and you relent by telling her most of what has happened to you over the past few days. You gloss over the argument between Hoseok and Jimin, not really wanting their spat to suddenly go viral on Facebook as well. Everything else, however––

“Wait, so you talked to Kim Namjoon? The Kim Namjoon? The Namjoon that you had an embarrassing crush on during our first year?” Sera laughs maniacally, almost driving off into the wrong lane. Luckily, you are quick to latch onto the wheel, saving the two of you from becoming roadkill.

“Watch where you’re going!”

“No, but Y/N! That’s literally so fucking funny!” Sera’s laughter has simmered to a giggle, despite the fact that she is still trying (and failing) to furtively glance your way when you hit a stoplight. “Is he like how you remember? God, do you remember how you were after you first met him? All starstruck because your senpai showed you a draft of his single? ‘Oh, Sera! He has the most amaaaazing flow! I’m going to suck his di––’”

“Shut up!” You whine, slapping her in embarrassment. “Believe me, that crush has died, along with any respect I may have had for him. Men are scum, and I’m going to only date girls from now on.”

“Fine by me! More dick to suck for me, I guess.” Sera teases, whistling innocently. Bold of her to assume that there is any innocent or pure bone in her body; you’ve seen her thirst tweets and no amount of holy water can cure the disease that your vision must have sustained.

“I just want the rumors to die down… It would make my life way more bearable.” You murmur to yourself, sliding down your seat.

Sera is silent for a while. The McDonalds is just within sight, so Sera waits until she has finished parking before she turns to face you fully, uncanny sincerity in her expression. It unnerves you how serious she is, not when you know that this is the same girl who would snort sugar packets if you bet her $5. She places her hands on your shoulder, fixing you with a meaningful look.

“Listen, Y/N. I know all of this is tough right now, but I’m sure it’s going to be alright, okay? The rumor is going to die down soon enough, and everything will be back to normal. Stay strong for now.” Her voice is soothing, sympathy dripping from every word. As mortifying as it is to admit, the tears flow down your cheek effortlessly; perhaps it is the consequence of having to bear this burden on your own for so long without anyone actually telling you that it’s going to be alright.

“Thanks… I think I needed that,” you say after a while, sniffling just a bit. Sera grins fondly at you, wiping your tears.

“No need to thank me. I may be a chaotic shithead, but I’m also your friend.” She unbuckles her seatbelt, gesturing for you to do the same. “C’mon, let’s go in. I’ll even share my nuggets with you.”

Despite her best efforts at comfort, you still feel a little bummed. You allow yourself to wallow in your self-pity for a bit, as McDonalds is a prime location to feel shitty about your life choices anyway. The heart attack inducing food, the barely hygienic facilities, the minimum wage high school employees… Nothing else screamed “I’d rather be dead but it could also be worse” quite like Mickey D’s often did.

You wait by one of the booths while Sera goes off to order for the both of you, leaving you with her phone and other belongings. She promises to let you eat four out of the twenty nugget pieces, which is asking a lot considering who you are dealing with. Sera could probably eat sixty nuggets if she so desired, but only stops herself so she can be physically well enough to continue being a thot. Chasing men all day requires physical fitness, or so she says.

When you go to place her things on the other side of the booth, you notice that Sera had accidentally left her phone unlocked. You can see that she had been previously looking at one of those popular forum sites for your university, where most of her repertoire of gossip is usually sourced from. You aren’t usually the type to frequent those types of pages, with good reason too. That exact forum is the reason of your current stress, where your most private thoughts and feelings were revealed for all to see. Any sort of positive opinion you might have had for that site was immediately dashed the moment that cursed poem was released into the wild.

It kind of pisses you off that Sera still uses that forum despite knowing how much anxiety it has caused you, but then again, there is only so much you can expect from her. Her appetite for drama and chaos is her way of life, her only other hobby aside from writing. You also vaguely recall her saying that she gathers inspiration for her short stories from some of the more outrageous posts made by your fellow schoolmates.

In the end, curiosity gets the best of you as you stare at the open webpage, tantalizing despite the murkiness that lies within. Oh, lighten up. It’s just a confessions page… Besides, you also kind of want to see what people are saying about your poem, and whether the commotion might have died even slightly over time. (Unlikely, but you remain hopeful.)

“Let’s see,” you murmur to yourself, sneaking glances at the counter to see if Sera is close to ordering. She appears to still be next in line to order, so that might give you enough time to read a few of the comments on the post. It doesn’t take you long to find the original post either, since Sera seems to have been perusing the same thing just beforehand.

“Typical Sera...  Sympathetic in the streets, a nosey bitch in the sheets.” You snort, scrolling quickly through the comment section. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, except for a few overenthusiastic responses from a couple of people who have bombarded the forum so much that it takes you a few moments to navigate past their thread. You catch a few words here and there, mostly the names of the seven possible muses and not so much the names of any of the possible authors. Honestly, you are more than happy with these turn of events, perfectly content as long as your identity never sees the day where it becomes associated with that disaster piece.

You sort the comments by popularity, wanting to know what everyone’s biggest guesses are. You want to remain hopeful, but as the results start to load, the wave of nausea that suddenly hits you may have been the first warning signal that you should probably stop before you read something that you will regret.

posted by u/SeokjinGod [3d ago]:

[+103, -4] i’m really hoping that kim seokjin is the muse of the poem!! has anyone seen the ads for the new play he’s staring in? he totally looks like the lead actor in a romantic comedy ^^

➾ [+54, -69] psh. that idiot, the muse? PLEASE anyone who has ever worked for kim seokjin KNOWS that it’s physically impossible to form a human connection with that man

➾ [+2, -1] lol seconded

posted by u/namuwuchild [1d ago]:

[+88, -3] WAIT why am i not seeing kim namjoon’s name more often T_T he deserves more love!! stream moonchild or else i’ll bite your ankles

➾ [+1, -6] lol i miss when namjoon used to do actual hiphop… fucking hippie dippie go fuck a tree and some crabs while you’re at it

You sneak a look over your shoulder. Sera is at the front of the line, reciting her orders while the harried employee has to quickly punch in the inordinate amount of food items. Okay… While no one’s looking, time to downvote a couple of these and maybe report some of these assholes… No way in hell are you letting anyone think Moonlight Sonata is about either of those Kim idiots. You would honestly rather out yourself than let anyone think they are worthy of such public displays of love and humiliation.

You are just about to close Sera’s phone and vow never to set foot on social media ever again when the next post catches your eye––the first one where you actually see your name. In fact, your name is generously sprinkled a number of times in this one specific thread.

“Wait a second…” You squint at the top of the thread, reading out the username of the original poster. Is that… Is that your name?!

“User Y/NKook… Oh my god!” You shriek loudly, almost dropping the phone from your sweaty palms. It must be the same person who had organized that merchandise booth in the cafeteria the other week! The number of upvotes on the post isn’t making you feel any better.

posted by u/Y/NKook [3h ago]:

[+98, -5] idk why you noobs are even trying… intellectuals KNOW that y/nkook is real and i won’t take no for an answer… give me my childhood friends to lovers fic RIGHT NOW because this slowburn has been going on for years now and i can’t stand it!!!

➾ [+11, -0] omg op do you know them personally?? how’d you know that they were childhood friends?? i go to the same drama class as y/n and jungkook but they never sit together… are you sure it’s them??

➾ [+20, -1] of course!! they’re even neighbors… besides, haven’t you heard what his nickname is? his friends call him moon eyes for a reason! they say that y/n is the one who gave him that name ^^

You feel your eye twitch, disbelief flooding your senses. Why is this weirdo shipping you with Jungkook? You guys haven’t even spoken properly since elementary school… How does this dude know who you are? Are you being stalked? You whirl your head around, scanning the restaurant for any suspicious people who may or may not be following you. Is this what celebrities feel like when they get shipped with their friends? You feel a sudden surge of respect for them, unable to grasp the situation that you are in. God, you really hope Jungkook hasn’t read any of these.

You go to switch Sera’s phone off, feeling less accomplished than ever before. Maybe it is best to save yourself the anxiety of seeing your world fall apart and try to delude yourself into thinking that the past two weeks have never happened at all. However, there is a certain appeal to reading things that you know you should not, like watching a car crash and unable to look away. The urge to keep scrolling and gaze upon your own personal hell is hard to stop when you have already gained momentum.

“One last post, then I’m done…” You are hard set on that promise, not wanting your apprehension to destroy your peaceful afternoon completely. The next post on the forum greets you with a high upvote number, sending a lick of fear to run down your spine at what you might find. Please don’t be about Y/NKook, you pray helplessly. Little did you know, there are worse things to worry about other than being shipped with your friends.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [1h ago]:

[+154, -5] hey guys i’m back again with another update! so i’ve managed to shorten the list a bit since last time i posted, and i’m 100% certain that kim seokjin is not the muse! sorry, gamers… our prince is in another castle it seems. worry not, though! that only helps our search better and shortens the list. on the other hand, the authors list has also been edited! turns out that neither jodi nor melody is the author, as they both submitted poems about something else. if you are interested to see the updated lists for both muse and author, please head to my profile and look for the original post titled “Mystery Moon Author & Their Mystery Muse” :-)

You have never clicked on a profile as quickly as you did in that moment. Not even a notification from UberEats could make you move that fast.

Lo and behold, the post that started it all is right at the top of the user’s profile, with the significantly shorter list that they had promised. Sweat begins to build on your temples when you realize that the authors list has decreased to seven names, with your name still obstinately sitting at the end of the lines. When will your suffering end?

There is still something that doesn’t sit right with you, however. As you peruse this user’s profile some more, you feel as if there is something weird about it that you can’t quite place. You never did like using this forum, so maybe you are just not used to the layout of the website? What is it about this user’s profile that is making your stomach coil with nerves?

Wait a second… Why is there an edit button beside their profile picture?

“Y/N! I’m back! Sorry for taking so long; I think I ordered too much again. You’re fine with BBQ sauce on your nuggs, right? That’s all I asked for––” Sera had been happily chirping away, sliding into the bench across from you before finally noticing your stoney face. She pats her face, rubbing her cheeks in confusion. “What? Do I have something on me?”

“How fucking dare you!” You hiss, slamming her phone on the table. Unfortunately, you had accidentally locked the phone in your anger, showing only a black screen.

Sera flinches backwards, bewildered. Her eyes flick to the screen and then to you. “Huh? I thought you liked BBQ sauce on your nuggs? I mean, I can ask for sweet and sour sauce if you want…”

“Unlock your phone right now and explain to me why you have triceratops’ profile logged in.”

Your words begin to click in Sera’s mind. Her face grows pale, her body unconsciously sliding further into the booth to hide from your glare. “U-uh… Haha, what on earth are you talking about..?”

“Don’t even try to lie, Sera. I saw everything, and I honestly don’t know if I’m madder that you betrayed me or that I was stupid enough to believe that you were my friend.”

Sera splutters incomprehensibly at first, waving her arms in panic as she tries to save her ass. “I––! You––! It wasn’t like I––”

You lean forward, peering at her coldly. “Oh yeah? What wasn’t it like? It wasn’t like we were friends?”

“No, of course not! I mean,” she backtracks, tongue-tied. “We are friends! It’s just… I made that post before I knew you were the author and I originally sent the poem to just a couple of people because I was so impressed, and I just wanted to––”

“Hold on,” you interrupt, holding up a finger. She squeaks, staring at you fearfully as you slowly get up to your feet. You cry out, “You were also the one who released my fucking poem to the world?!”

“Anna ou––” Sera whimpers, slapping her palm to her mouth. She lowers it, whispering ruefully. “I… didn’t mean to say that…”

“Oh, so you were meaning to lie to me even more?” You seethe, ready to burst into flames.

The poor McDonalds employee who had come to deliver your order to your table seems too frightened to approach the two of you, her arms shaking both with fear and the weight of five orders of 20 piece chicken nuggets. “Uh, is this a bad time?” The girl asks, eyes darting away from your heated glare.

Instead of answering, you grab the tray from her hands and dump the contents on the table. Sera squawks pitifully when a few of the nuggets fall to the ground, though she absolutely yells when you start chucking them at her head like tiny oily cannonballs.

“What the fuck––Dude stop!” Sera has her arms up in defense, shielding her face from your fiery attack. The sound of you ripping open a BBQ sauce packet has her straightening up, however. “No, not the BBQ sauce! Anything but that!”

“Give me one reason why I should show you mercy.” Your hand is poised to pour the sticky sauce all over her white Valentino bag, ready at a moment’s notice.

“Please, Y/N! I’m really sorry!” Sera jumps out of the booth, and goes on her knees. She clasps her hands together, shaking them frantically. “I really didn’t know it was you at first!”

“Well then, why didn’t you fucking take the post down the moment you did know it was me? I thought you were my friend!” You clench your fist around the BBQ sauce packet, causing some of it to spill onto her bag. She makes a desperate noise.

“I just… I like the attention?” She knows this is the wrong answer, judging by your unimpressed expression. She sighs heavily, head bowed in shame. “Look, I’ll fix this, alright? I genuinely didn’t do this wanting to hurt you… I just got so caught up in the clout that I didn’t really think about what would happen if you found out!”

“‘If’ I found out, huh…” You echo, more disappointed than angry now. You slump back into your chair, taking care to grab the napkins and cleaning the sticky mess on your skin as best as you can. “You really were going to continue doing this for as long as it took, huh?”

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.” Her voice is soft, repentant. It doesn’t do much for your sympathy, however.

“Fuck you, honestly. If you really are sorry, you’ll fix this mess as soon as possible.”

You reach for your bag, your movements jostling a few more nuggets to tumble to the floor. You don’t bother saying goodbye, not wanting to see if Sera is doing her Crying Face Emoji impression to try and soften you up. Not this time. This time… you don’t think your feelings can recover after this.

You have read enough stories about heartbreak and longing, but you don’t think any of them top the experience of losing a friend you realize you never even had.

The next morning, there is a new post on the forum from user triceratops.

posted by u/triceratops 👤 [0s ago]:

[+0, -0] Hello, friends. I think I’ve found the author.

It’s Lee Sera.

#networkbangtan #armiesnet #btsguild #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts #bts imagines #bts crack #bts fluff #kim namjoon #namjoon scenarios #namjoon imagines #namjoon fluff #namjoon crack #bangtan #bts fanfic #UGHHGJDHGJ im so slow at writing... its the depretion #hopefully this is good.... maybe who knows #IM GONNA EAT A GRILLED CHEESE NOW

[pokemonswshbutionlyplayedsword]

AW your insecurities hcs were so sad but I love them. Low key relate to Gordie, he’s a sweetie... But anyway based off that, can I get an HC for how Opal helps the other gym leaders with their insecurities? She’s a badass old lady who I feel like would hate to hear all these lovely gym leaders are upset.

Yes, anon, you can. And yes, anon, Opal is a badass old lady who loves her fellow gym leaders.

For Milo, she kind of picked up on his insecurities after a battle where whenever he spoke, his face got red and his voice got quieter. After the battle, she talked to him about it, and assured him that it made no difference to her or the other gym leaders. He’d been called out for it before, but she pretty much said “fuck the haters” and sent him home happy as a clam.

For Nessa, she lets her know that she grew up in a time when all of Galar thought women should avoid pokemon battles. She told Nessa stories of how she beat the hell out of anyone who questioned her and went on her way. She told Nessa about her hopes that one day all those people will be gone and everyone will be able to agree that women can be powerful trainers.

For Kabu, Opal wasn’t really sure what to say to him. Being in a completely different place with no chance of fitting in wasn’t something she’d experienced in the past, so she didn’t have much to say to him. She did offer him a big hug and told him that she didn’t care what region he was from and that he was a good enough trainer that people who didn’t like him could mind their own business. She also told him that none of the gym leaders had ever even mentioned it, like he was worried about.

For Allister, she reassured him that she didn’t see him as a child. She told him she knew what it was like to be underestimated, and told him to savor the satisfaction of proving them wrong. She told him that he was a strong trainer and everybody knew that. If anything, his age only made his achievements more impressive. She also mentioned that his ghost typing made him unique and special and that she admired his fearlessness.

For Bea, she tells her that Arceus has made someone for everybody. She said that Bea was a beautiful young woman who’s greatness was only enhanced by her strength. Any man that didn’t want to be with a strong woman wasn’t worth her time, anyway. She shouldn’t worry about boys because the right one will come along in due time, and when he does, Bea will know.

For herself, well, fuck them haters. She does what she wants, and no one can stop her.

For Gordie, she always tells him that he has a right to use whatever type he wants. She also tries to get him to see his mom’s side of the argument. She doesn’t offer clear solutions, but she does offer helpful advice. Thanks to her, he’s one step closer to mending his relationship. Also, she says she likes his hair both down and when he styles it. Could use some more pink, tho :/

For Melony, she tells her that she is a great mother, and that just because Gordie and her are fighting, that doesn’t mean she’s a bad mother or he’s a bad son. She tries to talk some sense into her about it, but also understands why she’s so upset. Melony should remember that Gordie still loves her. Also, she’s a thicc queen and doesn’t need to worry about her body bc she’s so strong and independent.

For Piers, she took one look at this bundle of punk rock nerves and was like “oh no baby come sit down.” She reminds him that his body is just fine. He doesn’t need to be muscular to be a gym leader. He’d probably also wipe the floor with the other gym leaders in a foot race (he’s almost as fast as an Obstagoon, like holy shit) or in gymnastics (he does it for fitness a couple times a week). She tells him that he is a real gym leader and that she knows he’s serious about his job. He does a great job and it doesn’t matter how many fans he has. He’s one of the strongest trainers in Galar. She comforts him when he stresses about Marnie or is upset thinking about his parents. She tells him it’s not his fault they left. She admires his boldness for choosing such a controversial type, and reminds him that he is the first and only dark type gym leader, so he’s definitely worth noting in the history books.

For Raihan, she tries to give him tips on how to ween off his phone and social media a little. Whether he listens or not is up to him. She knows it scares him, so she makes sure to tell him that it’s okay. Also his legs look fine he just needs to work on them more.

For Leon, she tells him about how much Hop loves him and looks up to him. No matter where he goes, Hop is always talking about how cool and great his brother is. Also, she tries to give him wardrobe advice, but Leon does not want to dye his shorts pink, so...

#pokemon swsh #pokemon milo #pokemon nessa #pokemon kabu #pokemon bea #pokemon allister #pokemon gordie #pokemon melony #pokemon opal #pokemon piers #pokemon raihan #pokemon leon #ask #anon

[maaaaaatryoshka0325]

Tourniquet - Han Jisung Gang AU Part 1

Description: you’re a college student working part time at a maid cafe when you get involved with another student, who happens to be part of a gang

Authors note: I kept the maid cafe idea Bc it’s cute ok

(Part2) (Part3) (Part4) (Part5) (Part6) (Part7) (Part8)

Running. That’s all I  could do as the darkness crept in. The last little bit of light was taken, ripped from me from my own hands as I cried out for them to stop. My chest hurt. I’m bleeding and there’s no one here to save me. I can’t keep going, it hurts. 

I stare up at the starry night, my chest heaving as I can feel what seems to be the last of my breaths leaving my body, and fuck, it hurts. Everything hurts. My heart feels heavy, and my body feels like it’s going to betray me. And what did I do so wrong? Why me? I hear voices. They’re getting closer and fuck, I can’t move. I can’t get my body to listen to me as I lay in a field of flowers that tickle my skin and try to comfort me. They followed me, they’re going to find me and finish off what they started, and I don’t have the strength to resist.

“Poor thing.” I hear a familiar voice as the darkness creeps in.

I close my eyes as I finally accept it, the darkness consuming me until I’m nothing left.

School was always something you took seriously, especially college. But right now, as you laid sprawled out, face down in a mess of papers, you couldn’t say it was true 100% of the time. You were currently being over dramatic over a creative writing paper. You had absolutely no motivation to move that overly priced pen that wrote like magic over that thin, perfectly white crispy paper you had beside you.

On top of school, you were working. Not that you were complaining, it was a simple job. You worked part time at a maid cafe that was always buzzing with people, so you made bank in tips. But work + school = I give up on life.

You finally decided to drag yourself up and slammed a piece of paper down on your desk, dragging the pen out slowly and beginning to write whatever your brain could function at the moment. It was a shame you weren’t allowed to write it in pencil, so the whole “oops I keep breaking the point” trick wouldn’t make you feel better about procrastinating. (Like, stop procrastinating mate! LMAO 😭😂)

You wracked your brain until it hurt and your alarm went off, signaling you had to hop your happy ass off to school and hope the paper you had a week to write but decided to wait till the day of to write it will get a passing grade. When did you become this lazy and unmotivated?

You walked to school, as it wasn’t far from your apartment. You decided to get an apartment off campus to avoid all of the annoying frat parties and all of the drama that went with it. You hated being woken up, so being close to frats and sororities wasn’t a good idea.

You walked into the courtyard of the school, mind not completely there. Your headphones were in as you raised your head and saw a group of guys sitting in the courtyard.

They were always there before and after class, usually messing around. You knew two of them from your Korean class, Chan and Hyunjin. Chan was your typical friendly guy and a Hyunjin was a heart throb.

You walked passed them, your eyes on the ground before you felt eyes on you. You raised your eyes and made eye contact with one. He had large, dark eyes, brown hair, and a pretty face. His eyes were on you as you passed and you looked down to avoid anymore eye contact. He smirked and hopped down from his spot on the cement wall.

You handed in your creative writing paper and sighed in relief as the piece was taken from your hands. You had so much time to do it, yet you stressed yourself out last minute. Why couldn’t you have done it right away like you used too? Instead, you wait until last minute to do everything and then stress about it instead of doing it right away and not having a care in the world.

You sighed in relief again as you left your creative writings class and went to your Korean class, where you all just took notes. You were leaning your head on your hand when you felt another pair of eyes on you. You looked up and made eye contact with Hyunjin, who was sitting beside Chan. His eyes bore into yours as you awkwardly looked away and down at your notes. His eyes were still on you and made you swallow hard. What the Hell did he want? Why was he staring at you so intensely? It made you feel self conscious and uncomfortable as you quickly wrote your notes down.

After class you went to rush out the door, when you turned and looked at Hyunjin.

“Next time take a picture, it lasts longer.” You hissed.

Chan started laughing and Hyunjin stared at you for a moment before smirking at you. You walked out of the room and almost walked directly into someone. You looked up and saw the guy from earlie, his large eyes were on you as you felt your whole body freeze.

He was wearing a leather jacket, a black shirt, a chain, black jeans, and black boots. Despite his rough appearance, his eyes were soft and doe like, with a hint of intimidation. 

“Sorry.” You said lowly as you hurried away from the class.

He watched you go, a smile on his face. Chan walked out laughing at Hyunjin, who also looked amused.

“What happened?” Jisung asked.

“Hyunjin was looking at that girl and she noticed. She didn’t swoon like the others, she told him to take a picture because it lasts longer.” Chan cackled.

“Shut up.” Hyunjin mumbled, amusement in his tone.

Jisung laughed and grabbed his shoulder.

“Wow, you’ve never been rejected. How does it feel?” He asked.

“You tell me, you’re always rejected.” Hyunjin said with a smirk.

You quickly changed into your work uniform and headed out the door. You walked a few blocks until you came to the maid cafe. You felt better now that you were at work, loving your job. You walked and in and your boss greeted you with a smile.

“Hey Y/N, how’s school?” She asked.

“Same old same old.” You sighed.

“I understand, but it’ll be rewarding when you finish.” She said.

“I know, it sucks for now but I’ll be happy later.” You said with a smile.

You put your apron on and started your shift, as a few tables came in. One of your regulars came in and he greeted you.

“Hey Mr. Park, how are you?” You asked with a pleasant smile.

“I’m great honey! How are you? How’s school?” He asked.

“It’s going well!” You said, taking his order and running food for a few other tables.

You brought Mr. Park his food when another table came in.

“Welcome.” You greeted with a big smile.

Your heart stopped when you saw Doe Eyes, Chan, and another guy, who looked extremely intimidating despite his short height. His eyes lit up when he saw you and you beckoned them to a table. You handed them menu’s and got them their drink orders.

“You go to (college name) don’t you?” The intimidating one asked.

“I do.” You responded while taking their orders.

“Hmmm. What major?” Doe Eyes asked.

“Psychology.” You said.

His eyes lit up as he smiled at you.

“Really? Any specific kind of psychologist you want to be?” He asked.

“Forensic.” You replied.

“That’s interesting.” He said, his big eyes glowing. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.” You said, grabbing their menu’s.

“I’m Jisung, you know Chan, and this is Changbin.” He said with a wide smile.

You smiled and nodded as you put their orders in and ran other tables. After dropping off their food, you handed Jisung and the other two their food.

“Oooo this looks good.” Chan said with a smile.

As they ate, you kept catching Jisung’s eye. His large eyes didn’t make you feel uncomfortable or self conscious as Hyunjin’s did. Instead, you couldn't help but smile.

After they finished, Jisung handed you his card and you ran the payment and handed it back to him. He reached his hand out and his fingers brushed over yours, a smile on his face.

“Thank you.” He said.

“Thank you guys.” You said, looking at all three.

The guys sat and talked for a bit, before walking out right before your shift ended. You cleaned up a bit and waved goodbye to your boss before walking out the door. The took your hair out and ruffled it a bit before walking down the stairs and almost colliding into Jisung’s chest.

“Oh, did you just get done?” He asked.

“Uh, yeah.” You answered.

“Hmm, do you walk alone?” He asked.

“Depends. Are you going to kidnap me?” You asked, raising a brow.

He laughed and so did the other two.

“No really, do you walk home alone?” He asked.

“I do.” You responded.

“Why don’t we walk you home then? It’s dangerous out here at night.” He said.

The other two nodded in agreement and you awkwardly agreed.

“So what major’s are you guys in?” You asked as the four of you walked.

“We’re all in business.” Jisung said.

“That’s interesting, are all of your friends in business?” You asked.

“Nah, Woojin and Seungmin are in medical and Jeongins in computer technology.” He said with a big smile.

“Oh, that’s cool.” You said, looking up at him.

His eyes held galaxies in them as he smiled down at you.

You all approached your apartment and you bowed to them. 

“Thank you for walking me home, I really appreciate it.” You said.

“No problem.” Chan said with a smile.

Changbin gave a polite smile, and Jisung smiled at you before turning away.

“Now we know where to kidnap her from.” He said, looking back at you and laughing.

“Yah!” You yelled and they all laughed before waving goodbye to you.

“The nerve.” You mumbled, but laughed a bit.

You plopped down on your bed and sighed. School and work were a lot, and you didn’t have friends or a social life really. You looked up at the ceiling for a bit before you decided to clean up and get ready for bed, your mind wandering to Jisung and his big eyes 

#straykids #stray kids #straykidznet #kpop #kpop imagines #skz han #stray kids han #jisung sk #stray kids jisung #han jisung #gang au

[handern]

85 Q Tag

Rules: Answer the questions, then tag 20 people

Tagged by: @escapeintoavideogame THANKS I LOVE THESE

last

1. drink - woter. we’re staying hydrated in 2019

2. phone call - K. to tell her I was at her place, but she didn’t pick up that bihh

3. text message - Happy new year from a cool dude with an ass as soft as a pillow who could probably fill in a complain for sexual harassment against half the digging crew we worked with three years ago bc we were amazed by how soft his ass is

4. song you listened to - When you’re Evil - Aurelio Voltaire

5. time you cried - uuuuhhhhh I had so many breakdowns lately I don’t remember

ever

6. dated someone twice? - lol

7. kissed someone and regretted it - AHAHAHAH

8. been cheated on - lmao

9. lost someone special - ??

10. been depressed - It’s been my life since I was 7 years old

11. gotten drunk and thrown up - last time I threw up I was like 11 or something I have guts of steel

fave colours

12. purplish-red

13. teal

14. grey

in the last year have you…

15. made new friends - my whole damn class for some reasons??

16. fallen out of love - LOOOOOOOOOOL

17. laughed until you cried - I’m very easy to kill of laughter

18. found out someone was talking about you -  uh not really?

19. met someone who changed you - like I’m going to wait to meet someone to start changing

20. found out who your friends are - these questions sound very neurotypical for some reasons?

21. kissed someone on your facebook friends list - neurotypical or really for normies

general

22. how many of your facebook friends do you know irl - why the fuck would I ad strangers on facebook it’s not 2012 anymore

23. do you have any pets - I wish qwq

24. do you want to change your name - oh god yeah but only if no one knew I changed it you know

25. what did you do for your last birthday - Cried a lot alone in my room, got lost on the highway, came back home alone to cry more

26. what time did you wake up today - 9am or smth

27. what were you doing at midnight last night - IT WAS NEW YEAR BIHHHHH so like we were screaming Don’t Stop Me Now while drinking apple cider

28. what is something you can’t wait for- being mentally stable, financially stable, adopting a cat, I have a garden with plants in it

30. what are you listening to right now - Pendant que les Champs Brûlent - Niagara

31. have you ever talked to a person named tom - there’s one in my class but his name is like Tom Lou and I don’t know how to call him bc everyone calls him Tom Lou but apparently his name is just Tom but french people aren’t used to someone being called Tom and so we don’t know how to call him

32. something that gets on your nerves - human beings are still a thing

33. most visited website -  lmao tumblr is the hellhole I’ll die in

34. hair color - that’s an excellent question. it’s hhhh kind of blonde, kind of brown, kind of ginger but like, all melted together

35. long or short hair - short short short

36. do you have a crush on someone - LMAOOOOOOO

37. what do you like about yourself -  I’m a fucking delight and I’m amazing babey

38. want any piercings? - YES BUT I’M A COWARD AND THEY SEEM SO UNPRACTICAL

39. blood type - I forgot

40. nicknames - I ain’t sayin I hate all of them

41. relationship status - why the hell would I want one

42. zodiac - libra

43. pronouns - they/them

44. fave tv shows - Doctor Who, STNG and that’s about it

45. tattoos - got one, want 1000 more but no money

46. right or left handed - right handed

47. ever had surgery - yeah lmao bc people think it’s ok and normal to have a 8 years old have plastic surgery smh

48. piercings - nope

49. sport -  Rowing, fencing, climbing

50. vacation - SEA SHORE AND BOAT

51. trainers - what the fuck is that one are you running out of ideas bruh

more general

52. eating - I don’t eat between meals I’m not a fucking savage

53. drinking - woter

54. i’m about to watch - AHAHAHaHAHhAHHhhhahhHAHhAHhHAHAH like I can watch series

55. waiting for - death

56. want - a drawing tablet with a screen you can draw on

57. get married - orc war chiefs don’t know about that kind of concepts, neither do dragons

58. career - high wizard

which is better

59. hugs or kisses -  equally efficient in diseases transmission

60. lips or eyes - eyes are tastier

61. shorter or taller - tall people should get their legs chopped off for daring to be taller than me

62. older or younger - the young is inexperienced and falls more easily into deadly traps but the older will die sooner and runs slower

63. nice arms or stomach - real strength comes from the heart

64. hookup or relationship - both are government propaganda

65. troublemaker or hesitant - depends on how many zombies are following me

have you ever

66. kissed a stranger - why do you have to be so gross I am but a humble chicken

67. drank hard liquor - oh ja absinthe up this bitch

68. lost glasses - I got perfect vision babey die mad about it

69. turned someone down - as I said I’m a fucking delight but you have to understand that I am also a constant disappointment

70. sex on first date - which calendar are you using that you are hesitating on the date

71. broken someone’s heart -  lmao yeah because it makes me fucking awkward and anxious when people have a crush on me I run away never to return again, I hate this oh god there are so many of them still lurking, getting closer, waiting for an opening

72. had your heart broken - hard to break that which has been buried so long ago that it has been forgotten, lying forever into the depth, surrounded by the most powerful curses and spells. Fear for the day it shall emerge once more, immortal and eternal, bringing only doom and destruction with it

73. been arrested - not yet

74. cried when someone died - ??? of course?????????

75. fallen for a friend - wild

do you believe in

76. yourself - I’m not even a real being what do you think

77. miracles - I believe that chickens do exist

78. love at first sight - where hast thine logic and mind wandereth childe for thou hast hearsted the lies ofth the governemnt and believethed themst wholly like a dumbass

79. santa claus - we had tea together the other day

80. kiss on a first date - are you asking me if I believe in kisses and dates? because both are fake, a social construct and government propaganda wakey wakey

81. angels - my best friend has 19 eyes, three halos, five pairs of wings and only speaks in latin yes

other

82. best friend’s name - Gwenn (if you’re reading this gwenn close all your 19 eyes and also fuck you)

83. eye color - green with bits of grey and brown

84. fave movie - uuuugnh pirates of the craribib

85. fave actor - DOUG JONES DOUG JONES DOUG JONES

I’m not tagging anyone because my friends are weakass bitches who never do these u__________u

#babbles blabbles #love ya weakass bitches

[karasunocurry]

Atsukashiyama Ibun Paris report

So I’m home and I feel like I’m in a post-convention depression more that I’ve felt after recent cons xD I was kind of sad that I wasn’t at Japan Expo Paris, I didn’t actually know beforehand they’d be there ^^; and I couldn’t take days off or afford to go either way, but I’d been looking forward to the musical for an entire week (including losing sleep over it, oops). I went to Paris on Friday and met up with Edo and did some shopping for items we needed (or didn’t need but I have a backscratcher that acts as extendable Ishikirimaru prop now xD). Later met up with Mai & Katy and then had a late but well-deserved dinner at a Japanese restaurant.

Saturday I attended the fanmeet near the Louvre. It was warm and we tried to stay in the shade of the trees. Some people came in cosplay (brave! but not smart xD) and it was fun to see all the itabags gathering. I didn’t talk to that many people but it was great meeting @sohmariku and talking about Japan and subbing. There was a lot of things going on in terms of ‘what we can do for the boys’, like signing a flag, writing short messages for Kitazono Ryo and even recording video messages (which I fucked up- and once I make a mistake I’m done for xD). Took a break early in the evening because I was tired and started getting a really bad headache, but met up with a group of people for dinner, and then went to bed. For some reason, woke up way too early every day but *shrug* it must be a jiji thing.

Sunday- performance day

Aaand then it was Sunday. I’d also decided to write letters on a whim but I only ended up writing two (for Sakiyama & Ryuji) and a get well soon card for Ryo.  I went to the venue around 10, to meet up with Edo and Katy again and check how everything would be organized. It appeared that goods would only be sold 45 minutes before the show. Uhm. I didn’t think too much of it at that point, but luckily Edo was very much set on getting in early for merch, so I was also pretty much in front of the line of one of the entrances.  Good thing too, because the goods stand was too small and too slow to allow many people to actually get their stuff. I managed to buy bromides, the pamphlet and a penlight - decided against the DVD bc I can get it cheaper online - and after I went to the toilet, they already announced that not many more people would be able to buy goods. I went in and took my seat and was later joined by Senta, who’d never watched the musical before so it was fun to afterwards hear what she thought of it and explain some more about the connection between the swords and their former masters. I wasn’t very much at the front but had a good view on the entire stage. At first the full cast and the producer (and writer?) took the stage to explain the Kitazono Ryo’s medical condition - he’d been diagnosed with retinal detachment and was advised not to act on stage, but he could do his lines and vocals. They then called him on stage, and you could tell by his posture and face that this was a very difficult thing to do. Ryo cried through his words and could hardly speak, it was so very sad to see him like this, apologizing for not being able to be on stage. He got a big round of applause and took a spot behind the audience from where he’d act out his lines. [spoilers ahead]

The musical started off differently, with Mikazuki doing a dance - immediately making the link to Tsuwamonodomo stronger - while the ‘human’ story played out behind him. They also added that smithing song between Mikazuki and Kogitsunemaru. There were some obvious changes to the musical, but mostly subltle changes in conversations and little things added here and there. The overall flow of the story remains the same, of course, but the musical has evolved through time and you can tell that there’s improvement in all aspects (although it was always great haha). The presence of Kogi on stage was not a big problem for the course of the story, since his interaction is mostly limited to speaking to others, aside from the song he shared with Mikazuki and ofc in the group scenes, there is an empty spot, but even so his character was there. It was still sad to see everyone looking at that empty spot, but I’m just glad that at least he was allowed to and able to perform by speaking.

I love the scenes with Benkei and Iwatooshi - let’s be honest, Iwatooshi is the new guy at the citadel in this piece and he’s so fucking strong, bless him. Just like his former master, he’s a good man with a strong sense of duty and good intuition. And his doubt and resolve are played out very well. Araki Kentaro is also great as Yoshitsune, in every performance he’s been able to express the duality between human Yoshitsune and possessed Yoshitsune very well. 

I also think everyone grew in their respective characters and the singing was also better than before. Everyone’s performance was outstanding. Mikazuki’s elegance, Iwatooshi’s strength, Ishikirimaru’s protectiveness, Kashuu’s vigor, Imanotsurugi’s enery and Kogi’s empathy, it was all there. I just love how these characters influence each other. At the end, the fighting got more intense than it was before, adding some dramatic despair that I don’t think I felt before during that scene, and I don’t think anyone would ever complain about Daichi’s bare back :) The Idol Live part was all new!! Surprisingly, I wasn’t expecting that and as people later pointed out, it was nowhere hinted at either - no idol outfit bromides for us yet, but I’d love to get those!.I love the new outfits, they were very nicely coordinated, the original character colours were used very well, and the jackets with connecting lines look so fabulous <3  The songs were also very good! Very upbeat and catchy and boi the dance moves!! I was really impressed and as Ishikirimaru fan I’ve been eyeing Sakiyama most of the time - hard to ignore his tight pants and smooth moves xD I have a vague feeling they also gave him more center stage time? His popularity has climbed since the first Atsukashiyama run so I guess they might take that into consideration? It made me happy to see that they looked like they were having a lot of fun, despite everything, that they were giving their all in a foreign country, and by the amount of pen lights and different colours, everyone had fans and I hope they felt our love~

They also kept up with the misogi tradition where someone has to say a line in repsonse to a given situation. Mikazuki got picked and instead of giving us a line, he had to flash his back, this kinky mofo. Mario ma boy you  know what you’re about don’t you. <3 At the end they all presented themselves in French (v cute baww), aaand it ended with otokomichi as usual but that entire song/act is just A+++, it’s such a motivating song. Everyone looked happy. They got a lot of applause, a standing ovation WELL DESERVED and in the end, all pen lights turned yellow to wave at Ryo as he left his spot. I hope he got some strenth and courage from it, and felt less burdened. I went out... Edo and Katy went to the evening performance too. I was thinking of just hanging around or maybe going to the hotel but - France had just won the world cup and Paris had exploded into a chaotic soccer mess that I wanted no part of - so I bought a rank 2 ticket and went in again. (yolo is a thing, this might well be the only time to ever see a toumyu live) Things about seeing it twice:  - Ryozono had regained his composure. I think that the successful afternoon performance and the fan’s reactions had made him feel at least less worried. He apologized this time with a strong and confident voice. Bless him. - There was a scene where Ishi wanted to draw Kashuu’s portrait (ref to Mihotose), but he forgot his pen xD He glossed it over real smooth. GJ Sakiyama <3 - It was misogi time for Ishikirimaru!! I may have screamed. I wish I’d remembered exactly what he said but it was about hugging, I think my brain just melted hence the bad memory. ^^;;;

- For the idol performance we took different seats at the side to see the actors from closer by.<3  - Sadly there were a lot of empty seats for the evening performance. It would’ve been hard to get home when the musical was over so I understand but I also think they should have done a better job at promoting the entire event. It’s alway been hard to get information, most of it  had been translated by fans from the official Japanese site. People came from all over Europe and more people would come if you’d done proper promotion beforehand. Uhm... I think that’s it. It was great. I had an amazing time with the people I was with and talked to and I wish I’d been there today as well to talk about it even more but HMU ok.

Can I just say I’m into hell even deeper now? That I fucking love Tsubasa? But also Daichi? But also Mario? Actually EVERYONE??? I’m really really really happy I decided to go, best decision, kill me now (but I’m already dead), I haven’t been able to think of anything else and I’m definitely not ready to go to work tomorrow. I hope this does still open doors to more (tourabu) musicals and/or stage plays to come to Europe. It’s very niche but it’s still a growing fandom. I’m more motivated again to do some subbing to spread the love for the stages/musicals that I like and hope people will join us in this hell and start supporting the boys and their work.

<3

more random stuff on twitter

#musical touken ranbu in paris #atsukashiyama ibun paris #toumyu paris #toumyu atsukashiyama ibun #report #musical touken ranbu #toumyu