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eutaerpe · 4 years

Text

the escapades (m)

pairing — jimin x reader

genre/warnings— smut (oral, fingering, orgasm denial) & college!au, fratboy!jimin, brief e2l, brief ewb, acr universe

summary — the one where there’s a lot of unresolved sexual tension, until there isn’t.

notes — 8.3k words of the happiness before the storm i couldn’t write. i realised halfway through this there’s a slight plotwise change in comparison to what i wrote in acr so. yeah. sorry. kudos to you if you find it lol

The first time it happens, you’re pretending to be someone you’re not.

You’re sitting near the end of the table, crossing your legs and playing with the hem of your dress, your lips twisted into a frown. The real reason lying behind the simple decision of having a single, almost infinite table of guests doesn’t, in the slightest, cross your mind; why your idiotic brother would see this as a delightful idea really is above you, but you suppose the valuable genes in the family runs all in your DNA.

You’re playing with the table decorations while waiting for the guests to come, and it’s so fucking boring you regret telling Seulgi no, babe, what the fuck - you even shook your head and decided to sound extra mad at the idea - I won’t sneak in weed.

Too bad for you, she had answered, a cute pout on her lips, I’ll give you an hour before you’re bored out of your mind.

The truth hangs above your head, with a sheepish grin: you just needed ten minutes to be absolutely, drastically bored.

In hindsight, sneaking in weed wouldn’t have been the worst idea: your mother is talking to the in laws, gesticulating excitedly at the idea of kids right after marriage. What the fuck, you text Seulgi, at home trying to get out of bed, my brother has been married for an hour and there’s already baby talk going on at the table.

Seulgi

[12.49]

With the baby talk comes the dick talk

You

[12.49]

Oh no the dick talk

Seulgi

[12.50]

man how can you survive your relatives talking about nonexistent boyfriends without my weed, damn???

You

[12.50]

option a: I’ll tell them I’m dating you

Seulgi

[12.50]

we kissed ONE time

You

[12.50]

option b: I’ll tell them I’m in a relationship with Jeon jungkook

Seulgi

[12.50]

bitch we both know you’re not in a relationship with the hottest guy on campus. he has dimples and long hair and piercings. my sources can even confirm he has a big dick. what do U Have

You

[12.51]

i was talking about my vibrator but go off lmao

anyway I’ve had that D ;)

Seulgi

[12.51]

you’re officially cancelled

when did this happen? I can’t believe you’re telling me over text!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You

[12.51]

last semester!!!!! why do you think I’ve named my vib after him!!!!!!

Seulgi

[12.52]

because you’re lusting after him like the rest of us mortals!!!!!!!!!!

You

[12.52]

I’ve upgraded since then. I’ve leveled up. I’ve seen things People Can’t Even Imagine

Seulgi

[12.52]

just say he got u off and go

You

[12.52]

anyway option c: I scare them away by saying controversial things. Id est: I don’t believe in love. I am choosing my partner solely judging their abilities to finger me under a table when people are around. I am secretly lusting after my brother’s wife. I am trying to get impregnated like in The Sims 2 aka I am waiting for that alien dick.

Seulgi

[12.52]

hate to break it to you babe but that’s literally who you are

You

[12.52]

I literally compliment joohyun’s boobs once and this is the treatment I get

Seulgi

[12.52]

are we not gonna talk about your alien dick kink

You

[12.52]

no kink shaming in this house lady

option d: I listen to their complaints and run

Seulgi

[12.53]

option dick

man sorry I meant option d

You

[12.53]

you didn’t

Seulgi

[12.54]

ur right I didn’t

Option e, also known as I’ll entertain the other guests so I don’t have to talk to you, presents itself in the form of one very hot, very ripped young man sporting the most expensive shirt in the room. You’re only human when you admit to yourself, mental sigh, that he ticked all the let’s get y/n horny requirements in less than fifteen seconds.

You can’t believe Joohyun has kept him hidden for so long from you. Such betrayal ends when your brother, Kim fucking Seokjin, hugs him tight and brushes with utter affection the nape of his neck, gracing him with a warm smile and a heartfelt laugh.

You can’t believe Seokjin has kept him hidden for so long from you.

Well. Scratch that. You can.

Suddenly, the ticked requirements disappear and a giant neon sentence with a very cheap background music impose themselves in your head. WHAT A TURN OFF! they read, the neon red words mocking you; you steal a glance at your brother’s acquaintance one more time - one last time - before slipping your phone in your hands and dedicating yourself one more time at your Instagram feed, scrolling through the most recent pics.

(You stumble upon an extremely rare Jungkook selfie, and you hate to admit you spend the following thirty seconds admiring him before tapping twice on the quality content you’ve signed up for when you joined the social)

You suppose that, even though your brother’s friends with fuckboy tendencies are signed off your let’s get to know each other better ;) list, it doesn’t mean the same goes for them.

So, when the dark-haired young man with a jawline sharper than Seulgi’s retorts after her third beer sits next to you, you reckon you shouldn’t be that surprised.

He acts all casual, you notice while discreetly looking at him; he’s busy taking off his jacket and flexing his muscles, all of this while pretending not to notice you, and you find it immensely cute.

Ah, fuckboys.

“Fuck,” he rasps, lips twisted in a crooked smile, “I didn’t think it would be this hot today.”

“Yeah, sorry, the heat is on me.”

He chuckles in disbelief at your words, eyes turning into crescents.

“Right, there’s always the girl stealing the bride’s spotlight at weddings.”

“Oh! That’s me,” you nod enthusiastically, “That’s one hundred percent me.”

“Groom or bride?” He asks, pointing at the couple with his chin.

“What do you think?”

He looks at you funny, pressing his back on the seat, pondering in silence. Cute.

“Bride. One of Bae’s sorority sisters, maybe? You seem too young to be her age, though.”

“Damn,” you exhale, crossing your arms under your chest, “I can’t believe you got it all wrong. The expectations were low, but I’m still disappointed.”

He ducks his head, still smiling. “Then it’s the groom. How do you know Seokjin?”

Your eyes twinkle with excitement at your next words, but honestly, who can blame you? You’re having fun with this lost, cute chick.

“What’s your take, officer?”

He erupts into a laugh, and you drink in his handsome features; fuck you, Seokjin, for being friends with fuckboys only.

“Alright,” he punches the bridge of his nose, scanning the room, which is slowly filling with other guests. “I’m his friend, and I know all of his friends, which can only mean one thing: option a, you’re one of his ex-girlfriends; option b, you’re one of his secret hook-ups; option c, you’re an old friend from high school.”

“Oooh,” you beam, unrealistically intrigued, “You really suck at guessing, don’t you?”

He laughs, passing a hand through his dark locks, messing his perfectly styled hair. “Ok, fair. Which one was the closest, then?”

“Option d, of course.” You nod, relaxing your features into a sheepish grin, “I’m his much more beautiful and smarter sister.”

You exam his face, now twisting into some sort of what the fuck, such betrayal look, and you take in, for the last time – really the last, this time – his attractive, sculptured face, his full lips, the smoothness of his skin. It’s awful and unfair knowing you two won’t cross paths ever again in your lives, but at least you had some fun messing with him before things could worsen.

“I’ll be sitting in the middle of the table, with my family, if you want to avoid me.”

You wink at him for good measure, and you swear to god he blushes.

Half a wine bottle and two flutes of prosecco down, you realise you underestimated your resident fuckboy.

It happens when you’re grabbing your napkin and channelling your dreamy, happy looks towards the newlyweds, dancing in the middle of the room, their eyes gravitating only towards the love of their lives.

You sigh, pouting for the smallest of fractions, when you feel someone sitting at your side.

“You know,” Fuckboy begins, and you picture him licking his lips as he pauses, “Now I get why he never told us anything more than: I’m not an only child.”

“I know,” you exhale, turning to face him, “Seokwon is the real catch of our family. We’re really protective of him.”

“He’s married. With kids.”

“I was there when the twins opened their eyes, thank you.”

“We thought you were either a small kid or a forty years old woman.”

“Wait,” you tilt your head, “How did you know about us then? And who’s we?”

“We dug into his stuff and he caved in, admitting he had a brother and a sister.” Fuckboy looks at you, eyes dark but reflecting the dim lights of the function room, “Us. The frat guys.”

“Right, the fuckboys.”

He looks taken aback by your statement, bewildered, and you take advantage of his reaction to stand up and head away from him. It’s his words that stop you from doing so, though.

“You don’t know us—”

“—except I do know your pledges and your brothers.”

“But you don’t know me.”

“Maybe,” you shrug, “I prefer to steer away from my brother’s friends, though.”

“Right,” he says, tightening his lips in a hard line, almost hurt, “So, who am I to interfere with your judgmental thinking?” He clicks his tongue, then, a resolute exhale slipping past his lips, smothered by his own tingling despair.

The words hurt.

You don’t know what exactly pinched your senses hard, if the tone or the wallowing sadness swimming in his expression, but, as he stands up and leaves, you’re left facing the cold, hard truth.

The words hurt, you hurt, and you feel guilty.

You say nothing, glancing in the direction of the first alcoholic beverage around, and you fill yourself a glass.

Had it been someone else – had it been another sentence, another less sickening scenario, you would’ve felt proud, righteous. You’re, instead, on the other side of the feelings spectrum, all filled with crippling guilt and a nauseous, pervasive feeling you can’t quite name and pin down.

The guests are dancing around you, moving hand in hand to the rhythm of the pop love song now playing; the ballroom is packed when you let your impulsive side make a choice, eyes following the guy’s composed figure. You can drastically feel the sweat, and the heat the people are radiating, when you stand up and move towards him, the only smiling boy passing his glass from a hand to the other.

You’re close enough to tap his wrist and brush your fingers, which you do; it elicits a gasp from him, all soft, not scathing around the edges yet able to bite you, anyway. It’s the guilt, you remind yourself, looking for a sign of some sort of inclination to accept your apologies between the crease of his brows and tight jaw, and everywhere in between.

It’s sickening—this boy didn’t exist four fucking hours ago. It didn’t even cross your wildest dreams, someone like him. His shape – his silhouette – has left a print in your mind, and no matter how hard you try focusing on something else, someone else, your mind keeps going back to the shape itself.

But you’re a coward, so, while he lets you intertwine your fingers, you admit, voice loud: “I wanna dance.”

He handles you properly, kindly, before pushing you in the crowd and brushing your hips with his hands, all rings and jewellery adorning them.

He blinks twice, biting the insides of his mouth, but he manages,

“Who says I wanna dance?”

Which is a bit stupid, or hypocritic if you might, because he’s swaying you to the rhythm of a ballad the pop love song turned into. You break into the smallest of smiles.

“I want to apologize.”

He scoffs. “I don’t know you,” he says, funnily enough, “But that seems almost unlikely, coming from you.”

“Yeah, you got me there, officer. I was, uhm,” you stare blatantly at his neck, and you suppress the desire to stroke your fingers’ pads on his soft skin, “I was out of line. I’m sorry. You were right, I don’t know you. I do know your frat brothers, my own brother, but that doesn’t mean I know you.”

He hums, moving for a small fraction of instants his thumbs on your hips and it’s enough for your breath to catch into your own throat. He nods, which could mean anything, from I accept your apology to go fuck yourself, this is bullshit. You prefer the former option, if you’re being honest, which is the answer you settle for in your head, hazed and absolutely hazed and madly hazed because of his small physical contact.

To put this into the simplest terms, Seulgi’s words, you don’t like this.

“I like dancing,” his eyes tower you and gaze at the other people dancing; you wonder if he’s thinking about them, who they are to you, what role they played in Seokjin’s life, if they’ll show up to your wedding, too. These thoughts popped into your mind unannounced, before, at the table, before the not-really-fuckboy sat next to you and made you feel guilty. Such absurdity; yet here you are, in his arms. Oh god, what would Seulgi think of you if she saw you?

“Good to know, I’m awful at shoulder-hips coordination.”

“Shoulder-hips coordination?” he inquiries, lips parted.

“Uh, body rolls?”

“Oh,” he chuckles, “I see, you mean classy grinding.”

“I don’t do classy grinding, sorry,” you retort, head tilted to a side.

His smile his amused. “Too bad, shoulder-hips coordination is a nice trait to exhibit sometimes.”

“I prefer hips coordination. Well, hips rotation.”

“Hips rotation?”

“Riding? Is the term somehow unfamiliar to you?”

He flushes, biting back a grin and fixing his gaze somewhere in the crowd. How cute.

“Not at all, it’s nice to meet a hips rotation enthusiast here, though.”

“Statistics say at least a member in each family is a riding enthusiast, did you know?”

“Shit, talk dirty to me,” he licks his lips, pointing at Jin with his chin, “Didn’t peg him for a rider, though. Not at all.”

“I’m starting to think you’re not a STEM major, are you? You’re lacking basic intuition, my friend.”

“Is this your attempt of discovering my major?” – he eyes you, a flick of amusement burning in his orbs – “You’re not very smooth, you know?”

“I have my moments.”

He snorts, placing both hands on the small of your back. You’re at height level with the base of his neck, and it’s fun how your mind betrays you in such moments, providing mental images of your nose brushing against his skin, and you nuzzling in the crook of his neck. Such taunting, invasive pictures. Fuck off, you reprimand your own mind, fuck off.

“I’m Jimin.”

“Jimin,” you taste the name on your tongue, hitting the back of your front teeth. “Jin never talked about you. I’m Y/N.”

“Jin never talked about you either.”

“Of course he never did, I’m prettier than he is.”

His little dimples make an appearance. “You know, you could really steal the bride’s spotlight.”

“That was my ultimate goal all along, even though I prefer the dark side.”

“I,” he licks his lips, and you don’t know why you’re following the gesture, “I meant to say you’re beautiful.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyebrows raising, “Are you a charmer?”

“I mean,” he begins, sheepish smile on display, “I never kiss and tell.”

“Touching.” He smirks. “How sweet of you.”

“You know what else is sweet?”

“Please,” you beg, meeting his eyes, “Don’t say my pussy.”

“Please,” he repeats, same mocking tone, “The possibilities are endless. Your mouth,” he scoots closer, words whispered on the shell of your ear, “Your mouth around my dick,” he almost nibbles your ear, “Your mouth screaming my name.”

“My pussy,” you add, trying not to lose your mind.

“I would never call sweet something I’ve not tasted.”

He raises a brow.

“Are you offering? You’re not very smooth, you know?”

He ignores the last question, tightening his grip. “In the middle of your brother’s wedding? Seokjin’s wedding? I’m not a dick, even though you sitting on my face would be a sight to see.”

“Right?” your voice doesn’t falter for a second, “That’s what I always say”

“Nice to see how we’ve got much in common. But I was thinking of something else, actually—” His face is once again inches away from yours, ear to mouth, hot breath fanning over you bare neck. “I wanna finger you.”

Oh.

“Under the table. Right behind you. Wanna make you whimper.”

It’s almost like being tongue-tied, fumbling for words, body flushing, but you gather somewhere the strength to form an actual sentence, which makes him smirk devilishly.

“I can be very quiet.”

He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “Bet you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut.”

“When I win,” you say, lying your words on an unrealistically high vote of confidence, even for yourself, “What do I get?”

He licks his lips, slow, savouring the moment. “You get to ride my face.”

“Not your dick?”

“I’m not a fuckboy, baby.”

A comeback of some kind is already on your tongue, but – there’s a kiss somewhere in the following seconds, all wet and tingling and perhaps filled with too many lip bites, but he can’t really blame you when you’ve been brushing your thighs together for the past minute, heat pooling down your belly. It’s enough for you to silently pledge for more, and for him to tease, because he takes a step back, smirk in place and lips reddened, and guides you towards his seat at the end of the table with a hand on the small of your back.

Downhill begins as soon as you sit down, legs barely parted, a minimum space not fitting for his plans, apparently, because the crease between Jimin’s eyebrows grows when he nudges them apart with his hand, the cold metal of his rings cooling down your flushed state. You want to gasp at the sudden intrusion, but the sound is swallowed entirely by his hot mouth on yours, distracting once again, incredibly soft and alluring. This kiss is slow, this time, like he’s taking his time tasting you and learning about the hums he draws out of you, the shyness of your previously biting tongue, and how fast you get lost in the kiss itself. You press a chaste kiss on his mouth, before creaking a space between you.

“I’m starting to think you’re all bark and no bite”

He doesn’t answer, but stares into your eyes with his hooded gaze, and he manages to sneak a hand furtively under your dress not breaking the contact. His skin is warm, but you’re warmer, and his destination is even hotter. He cocks his head, fingers brushing against the soaked, sticking material you used to call panties up until fifteen minutes ago, and he must notice—his eyes grow wider, his jaw tightens and his hand gains courage.

Fuck. This should be embarrassing, getting worked up over dirty innuendos and a kiss or two, but you’re instead feeling flushed and more. More sensitive. More open to the idea of him ruining you, even though that’s not what he’s offering. Or— is he?

The question lies unanswered when his digits rub with a sparkled intensity over both your clothed sex and your inner thighs. It’s a continuous, mellifluous melody, his fingers dancing between the two until he settles on your panties only, and that’s when you almost let out a soft moan; you don’t, he raises his brow, challenging, but you don’t, and instead glance around to notice if someone has his eyes on the both of you, sitting in the furthest region of the fucking smart, endless table.

He raises the stake, flushed: Jimin pushes your panties on one side, petting with his index your exposed self, and you suck in a breath. He continues to do so, face still, closing the distance between you two.

You don’t question the sudden kiss, instead you angle your face and close your eyes and let him press his lips on you. This feels like being drunk, or high, stretching underneath a sky dripping with stars. You cup his face with your hands, his lips so terribly soft and inviting, the smallest of smiles meeting your own chapped and curved upwards lips.

It’s when you’re merely inches away from him that he thumbs at your clit, sensitive and tingling, circling with utmost peace and no speed whatsoever. You pout at little, you realize, which makes him melt either cause of your cute frown -oh, how the tables have turned- or simply because he’s the devil himself, pressing a finger against your entrance and delving it into your heat.

“Cute,” he purrs, kissing you, “Is this okay?”

The crude, hot, nerve-wracking fingering has begun, which makes you, quickly enough, putty in his hands and ablaze with ardour for this man whose rasping voice could kill you.

“Yeah,” you breathe on his mouth, eyelids drooping closed, “Yeah, all good.”

You hum to yourself as he starts pressing kisses on your jaw and your neck, a trail of treacherous flames lighting up your skin, and you have the audacity to sigh under his ministrations, a tiny, strained sound not quite a mewl.

If he hears, he doesn’t show it. You’re biting your own lip when he enters a second finger, filling your searing emptiness.

“Want three?” he asks, voice husky and as desperate as you are under his touch. He adds it when you nod, the squelch louder than before, and you moan, rocking your hips against his fingers.

“Shh, baby,” he coos, placing his other hand on your hips, slowing your movements, “Be a good girl.”

He fucks you deep, fast, fingers clashing against the silky dress you’re wearing and sweat sparkling on his forehead. He swallows another moans of yours, sucking your bottom lip and tugging it between his teeth. You’re close. You’re so close, and it’s only been a couple minutes. You can’t hear anything that isn’t your wet pussy clenching around his fingers, his rhythm ruthless and burning.

“Too bad you’re not coming on my fingers, today,” he says before kissing your neck and emptying your dripping pussy, then proceeding to taste and lick his own fingers in his mouth. He lets them out with a small pop, and it’s the most terrifying sight you’ve ever had in front of your almost watering eyes. “I’m sorry I won the bet, though, your pussy is the sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”

That’s the high and dry story of how you first met Jimin.

The second time it happens, it’s under completely different circumstances, and, substantially, against your every predictions, it really happens. It takes place, like a once in a lifetime event: there’s an orgasm involved, not due to the very charming and never disappointing Jeon jungkook the robotic version, and instead it involves a rather attractive asshole with a persistent smirk plastered on his face.

Except it’s a lot more complicated than what it sounds, and most of it is Seulgi’s fault.

Your roommate had pouted all evening, because that’s what semi adults do when they’re denied a companion for the night.

“I just wanna get wasted. It’s been one hell of a month, and you know how I get when I’m stressed.”

“I can suggest you a vibrator and a bottle of vodka. Do you settle for that, your honor?”

“The more you talk like this,” all self-absorbed and assertive and cautiously, like when talking to a kid, she begins, hands in her long, mahogany hair, “the more I just wanna push you up against the wall.”

“Sounds to me you just wanna get laid.”

“Maybe I do,” she huffs, hands on her hips, the light of your abat-jour highlighting her golden skin. “Maybe I don’t. What I know is that I wanna get wasted. Come with me, pretty please?”

“Look,” you raise your eyes from the book you’ve been holding, stretching a leg onto the unmade bed of yours, “I just wanna get this fucking paper done. I need,” you grip the phone on the bed table, checking for the white, large numbers on your lock screen, “an hour. An hour and half to edit it and I’m all yours.”

“This paper is due on Thursday, though.”

“Yeah, but I have a reputation to uphold in the family. Have to be the most beautiful and successful.”

“You’re full of shit,” are her last words, muttered with a smile as she grabs her jacket.

“Hey,” you call, stretching your neck towards her, “I don’t care if it’s two am and you’re already wasted. Call me and I’ll come to you with a whole bottle of vodka to make it up to you. Hell, I’ll even kiss you goodnight.”

“I don’t wanna make out with you, you freak.”

“You didn’t say that last time, baby!”

Seulgi

[2.13]

wassup bitch

make out with meeeeeeeeeeeeee

[location shared]

com n get me littl nuggrt

Not Sober Seulgi is probably the worst Seulgi you have ever dealt with. You let out a sigh, eyeing the frat dorm all lit up and vibrating to the trashy trap music the insiders are jamming to.

Of course, when it comes to Not Sober Seulgi, there’s boys involved. Frat boys involved. At first, you don’t pay attention to the details, the signs, surrounding you like blinding traffic lights signalling stop stop stop, all red and striking. The thought doesn’t cross your mind, the dots connecting in some hidden part of your brain not making your insides short circuit—instead you’re knocking on the door, then banging on the very wooden entrance until a face shows up; the dorm is dimly lit, and the face is partially lightened by a soft, hued red and, that, too, Future You pinpoints, should have been a sign.

It’s useless, anyway, because you hear the insider talk and you’re burning instantly, like after touching a steaming, hot cup of coffee, except that bitter coffee is still good coffee. Smug Jimin plus bitter you isn’t really sweet, nor a match made in heaven. It’s chaotic, a caustic explosion, and you both know it, judging from the sharp smile he offers you, after blinking lazily at your figure.

“This is a mixer party only,” his soothing voice welcomes you, “Do you have an invite?”

You press your tongue on your teeth, mouth carefully closed.

“Yeah, from Hell, I’ve come to take a fallen angel.”

“Sorry to break it to you, oh-kind-lady, but we didn’t give any invite to poor, damned souls.”

“Too bad I don’t give a fuck about your policies, then,” you move towards the small space between the door and Jimin’s body, but he interferes, placing himself right between the two. “Look, I don’t give a single fuck about this party.”

“Yeah, it sure looks like it.”

You roll your eyes. “My friend is here. She’s most certainly not sober and I’ve come to pick her up. That’s it. Do you think I want to be here, among these drunk, perverted jocks?”

He turns around, stretching his neck, his eyes darting through the crowd, inhibited by alcohol, smelling like cheap beer and weed. The moment his eyes bore into yours, though, it’s terrifying; it’s a rustled reminder of Seokjin’s wedding Jimin, and you don’t like it. You loathe it. You dread it.

“Maybe only some of us.”

He tips his head, lips curving into a timid, small smile, and you tear your gaze from his lips in a heartbeat.

“Yeah, keep dreaming of it. I just want my friend back.” You point your chin towards the amalgam of drunk party animals, “I’ll leave you to your immensely interesting activities, then.”

“What if,” he begins, “You don’t. Or—even better scenario, you leave with me.”

“Best case scenario, I leave with my friend. You stay here.”

“What’s the worst-case scenario, then?”

You cock a brow at him, crossing your arms on your chest. “I leave with my friend, you stay here. Sometime before me leaving, you’re punched. Or kicked. I don’t know. There’s a high chance I’ll throw a drink on you.”

“That implies you’ll be here long enough to grab a drink, doesn’t it? And you don’t have to ruin my shirt to get me naked, babe. Just ask nicely.”

You huff, and you’re mildly tempted to shove him against a wall. Or ruin him. Not in the funny way. More like the high and dry way, the one he knows so well. “I changed my mind, I’ll kick you.”

“Ask nicely?” His teasing tone makes your cheeks flush, and you hope the shitplace with subdued lightening can cover it. His expression shifts into an arrogant one, full smirk and little dimples out, so your cute guess is that he can see. He sees his effect on you, albeit completely unwanted and full of hatred from your side, and he enjoys it. Actually lulls in it, letting out a small laugh which, in turn, makes his eyes turn into crescents, all warm and cute—all things he’s not. All things you know he’s not.

“Ask nicely,” you repeat, rolling the words on your tongue, “Okay, babe. Let’s do this, babe. What do you want from me, babe?”

“Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe the answer is you?”

“Yes, actually,” you sigh, fingers brushing his neck, face comically close to his perfect, chiselled one, “That’s exactly what I thought when you stopped fingering me.”

“Right,” Jimin has the audacity to smile, craning his neck as if to close the distance between you in order to meet you for a kiss, “I’m a man of word, thought. You should be impressed.”

“I’m pretty sure the only thing that’s impressed is your face under the orgasm denial definition. Google it, babe, I guarantee you the meaning comes with your name and a brilliant review of one star.”

“Unlike you.” He licks his lips, eyes on your pretty pink ones, smeared with venom, “You’re not coming.” He explains, to further ignite your rage.

“And whose fault is that, babe?”

Jimin nuzzles into your neck, cupping your other cheek with his rough palm, and his thumb stills on your throat, right where your breath is stuck. He adds pressure on it, lips fondling your burning skin, his usual smirk plastered on them.

“Let me make it up to you.”

“You’re not fucking me,” you spit back, mouth now millimetres away from his, gently inviting you to kiss it, and cherish it, and biting it until you’re satisfied with the hot result.

“I’ll eat you out? Until you come.” He hums. “You’ll come.”

His voice is a mere strangled sound, wanting and dripping with need, and you snap out of it with a small smile.

“Nice offer,” your smile is wicked as you scrape his nape with a feathery touch, the slow movement rousing a flutter in your lower belly. “But get in line, babe.”

His shell-shocked face is the last thing you see before you fulfil the let’s rescue Seulgi! party.

(“Why do you smell like softener?” Seulgi sniffs you, arms looped loosely around your neck, eyes completely shut down. It’s a nice sight, all things considered. You’re no angel, no saint, no perfect person, but you’re a nice friend, and that’s probably the most Seokjin trait you recognize in yourself. It’s your shared apartment, and it’s past 3 am and you’re the one good friend who keeps her promises. “It’s strawberry vodka, you heathen.”)

The line turns out to be a real line, queue line, let’s get this coffee line, which, well. How can one word it, how can one phrase it fully catching the irony of it all, the distinctive je ne sais quoi of life without—

“Nice to see you here.”

It’s the perfect set for a rom-com, you notice, taking in the warm scenery around you. What else can one dream of, right? The campus coffee shop, the campus hot not-really-but-also-kinda fuckboy Jimin, partial jock to give him credit, full time attractive idiot with a tendency for orgasm denial. Really.

“What are the chances?” You exhale, voice devoid of emotions. For the sake of your parents’ integrity, you suppose, because they raised no impolite woman, of course, you turn around to face the angel-like human being, black hair partially covering his forehead, little dimples on full display. That’s—that is lack of integrity, or indecency or au-fucking-dacity. It might as well be a mix of the above-mentioned possibilities, all fitting and nurturing you because he’s gorgeous. He’s handsome. Jimin’s the most attractive human being you’ve ever seen in your life, and it’s not fair.

(Beside the fact that you’ve lived with Kim Seokjin, for fuck’s sake)

He pokes his own cheek, and you bask into the otherworldly scenario that takes place right in front of your caffeine deprived eyes. It’s a sight for sore, soft eyes, and it’s the end of the world as you know it, because it’s morning, too early to properly function like a normal human being, but there he is. There he is, Jimin, channelling his inner boyfriend material aura, oozing off boyfriend smell, nice, fresh, aftershave smell, rocking a stupid sweater and the messiest black mop of hair.

It’s honestly a tragedy, and you won’t stand for it. You will make a move—

“You’re squinting your eyes, like, real tight. Are you alright?”

Just ogling you, your drowsy mind offers, the fucking cheater.

“Yeah,” you reply, swallowing a lump in your dry throat, “Just need coffee. A latte. Anything.”

You move forward in the queue, and as you blink you realize it’s your turn, until it’s not anymore. Jimin carefully and gently moves you out of the way, brushing with the softest touch your side.

“A latte and an iced americano, please.”

The sweetened order for two turns into a hushed thank you, a tipped smile, a flutter of you heart. It’s drinks still half full, his curious gaze darting on your lips, your defences down. It’s unfair, because in a hot second all this pent-up tension shifts into a light, chaste kiss, your back pressed against the coffee shop’s restroom; your chest heaves under his tantalizing make-out session with your neck, followed by his frantic lips pressing on yours, his tongue licking lazily into your mouth, a gasp easing its way out of your warm and eager mouth. It’s a hot-blooded supercut, each frame announced by a starving moan, a content sigh, and, before you realise it, you’re on your bed, Jimin hovering on top of you.

It’s Saturday morning, you hum to yourself, fingers sliding into his hair, all’s in check. There’s a warm body slumped on yours, his tongue swerving on your lower lip and his hips shyly bucking between your open legs. Your panties are drenched, you can feel his hard on through the jeans and, really, all’s in check.

He nudges your nose with his. “Lemme eat you out.”

The answer lies sitting on the tip of your tongue, right next to an obnoxious remark that you hope will rile him up enough for him to rip your underwear, which you definitely won’t complain about. However, the words don’t come out, they slur in your craving mouth the second he gets up and shoves you toward the end of your unmade bed, spreading your naked legs open with his calloused palms.

“Nice skirt,” he comments, voice a rasp, eyeing the drenched, lilac underwear, skirt at this point gone up to cover your stomach. “I just want…”

He shuffles closer, enough for you to feel his hot breath on your core, and that’s when Jimin pulls the panties on a side, teasing you with little licks to your entrance. You’re responsive, too eager for anything to quench your thirst that you sigh happily at the barest of actions, gripping strands of his hair. Jimin chuckles, engulfing the throbbing clit in his mouth in one go and drawing desperate moans out of your cute, devilish mouth.

“Fuckboy move,” you emit, voice cracking at the pressure of his warm mouth, “Oh, oh. Fuck…”

He replies flattening his tongue on your core, then licking and lapping against your dripping folds. Jimin positively glows at the cries you let out, face slobbering with your arousal while driving you insane, fucking with his tongue like his life depended on it. It’s almost a spiritual experience, a crescendo of wails and sobs, his face drown in your pussy and his tongue paying reverence to your approaching orgasm. He can feel it in the way you writhe, in his hand splaying over your stomach, keeping you still while he eats you religiously, forehead beaded with sweat.

You come with a trembling hand in his hair, the other flicking your bare nipple, back slightly arched and a lewd mewl; Jimin takes in the way your body trembles, your breath all staggered because of him, and the sight alone is enough for him to cum in his pants with a grunt, completely untouched.

The second time it happens is, coincidentally, the first time Jimin knows there’s no turning back from this.

Complicated is a big word when it comes to relationship, you reckon, emitting something akin to a gasp, truly soap operas worthy material, but, for the first time in your life, you decide to name it this way.

Being with Jimin is… complicated, for starters. Especially because you’re not with Jimin, in the strict, relationship-wise meaning. He knows your favourite colour (“Why the fuck you only own purple underwear?” “It’s lilac, dick, watch your mouth.” “Watch your own mouth, babe. You’re the one on your knees.”), your favourite food (“But you like having your mouth stuffed with my cock, honey.” You sigh, blushing. “First of all, I’m talking about real food. That amazing steak kind of food—“

“I’ll show you real meat, babe.”

“Gross. Gross. How can I cancel the last five seconds of my life?”

“Come here, Jared, nineteen,” he half smiles, tilting his head, “I’ll get us fries.”), your favourite movie (“We can’t get each other off every time your ugly paper cap fits—oh,” you suck in a breath, Jimin flicking his tongue on your turgid nipple, “oh, god, don’t stop.”), your best friend’s name (“I condone you dicking her so good she sometimes cries, you know, I just don’t when I’m in the room next to hers and all I can hear is my best friend trying to formulate a single coherent word but failing because you’re pounding her mercilessly into the mattress.” Jimin chuckles, grabbing his jacket before holding the doorknob. “She begged, Seulgi.”)—so what? It’s not like you sat down and decided not to ask each other dumb questions, so that you could find out in the funny, kinky way. For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even decide on anything, didn’t even talk about talking, because the relationship related shit didn’t even cross your mind.

It’s even quite fucking hard for it to cross it, because half the time you’re together you’re either both naked – except for the time he pleaded for the tartan mini to stay – or stuffing your mouth with food—because, if there’s something you’ve learned after one too many hook-ups with him is that this kind of sex requires strength. Like, actual, physical strength, if we’re not talking about the this test is draining me please fuck me until I can’t walk sex. Which, yeah, 10/10 would recommend. That was the day Seulgi decided to invest in ear plugs while muttering capitalism, here I come.

You also came.

Funnily enough, guess who also came. Not in the funny, kinky way. Think about the grossest thing, imagine the beyond the bounds of possibility, sprinkle it with Jimin earnestly shoving his dick down your throat, stir it with a poor Taehyung brushing his teeth next to the both of you, a step away from the shower, and serve it on the most expensive plate in the kitchen, a recipe not approved by Kim Seokjin.

Yeah, you mentally roll your eyes, licking your lips clean, at eye-level with your sorta enemy with benefits’ pretty dick: the married brother of yours, former fratboy, taller than your current will to live.

In hindsight, maybe it is Seokjin’s fault. Once you’re married, you’re supposed to be committed to the cause, and sometimes, an angry little crumb in you finds the audacity to speak, the cause is made up of your four walls: ergo home, ergo your married life, miles away from the absurdity that once filled his university days. You’re being hypocritical, you realize, skin wet, body trembling. In the simplest, most hedonistic terms, you’re done with the chaos in this fraternity and just wished that hooking up was easier. It’s more than a stolen orgasm, a random spur of pleasure and free de-stresser; it’s also something not quite like art but just as peculiar. Sex with Jimin is more than nice, more than a fast rummage of clothes on the floor and panties teared, or condoms stuffed in every single pocket of his jacket.

It should also be noticed that it’s been one hell of a stressful week, okay, which means that it’s one of those times you seek for naked intimacy, in its least literal meaning. You’re looking for something sure, something silent, something earnest. Jimin gives you that in the simplest of forms, in the easiest of ways. It’s not fair for your brother to come unannounced and burst into the house with his adorable laugh and love for his own brothers. Way to ruin the moment, bro.

Jimin blinks attentively when Taehyung laughs, clapping his hands all happy and following the elder’s voice outside the bathroom.

“I’m getting you my clothes.”

“Wait, what?”

His lips part just enough for his tongue to wet them, and your eyes follow in silence the gesture.

“I mean,” he starts, grabbing a towel, “You either come out with me from this bathroom or you don’t.”

He’s concise, yet harsh, words uttered with those soft lips yet are just as hot as a slap in your face. He’s telling the truth, but you soon find out you don’t really like it.

There’s something abrupt and severe in those chosen words, so well picked out because they’re not meant to hurt, but at the same time they’re so worrying. So terrible, practically as hard as a punch in your guts.

You either come out of the bathroom with him — you had been blowing minutes before, hadn’t you? Quite the intimacy, huh? — or you don’t. You stay behind. Different rooms, a whole door to separate you while he’s out with the people he cares about.

Seems legit, but. It’s unfair. You know Jimin isn’t choosing for you, but it’s obvious he’s inclined towards an option between the two, and you’re terrified to discover whether it’s his own desire pushing or what he thinks you want.

You, instead, push the thought aside when you nod, taking the towel from his hands and covering your body from this terrific half hook-up.

Because that’s what it is—that’s what you are.

It dawns upon you like a cold breeze hitting your face in full December, suddenly, and that’s when you realize winter is near. In your mind, this hooking up scenario seemed nicer. Sounded softer, a cute bubble moving slowly in the air.

But now—well, now the bubble has burst, and it feels wrong, and this unexpected wrong doesn’t feel right in your chest, and that’s the story of how you leave the house escaping from his window, in his clothes, with vision blurred by hot, stupid, idiotic tears.

Seulgi is the first one to notice, and, obviously, the first one to speak.

“Something’s been bothering you,” she says, head tilted in a way that’s supposed to be emphatic and worried but comes off as stiff and terrified. “Care to share?”

It’s just a wholesome amount of terrifying stuff, isn’t it? First the shower incident, now Seulgi’s ways not working around you anymore. What’s next? Avoiding Jimin for a whole week? Blocking his number? Losing the smart and beautiful title to your obnoxious brother?

You wouldn’t be surprised, really. Shit like this always happens at the same fucking time.

“It’s nothing. A stressful couple days, maybe? Or maybe I’m getting sick. There’s a guy always coughing during Physics. Maybe it’s his fault, who knows.”

Seulgi unlocks her phone, an unreadable gaze studying you. She gives up a second later, though, her weak maybe reaching your ears when you’ve already looked down on your book.

One simply cannot be annoyed because of a half hook up. Christ. You deserve better than that. You have some dignity left, tainted by everything that’s not Jimin and his harsh, stupid words.

So, your mind offers, while you squint your eyes, I suppose there’s nothing else you could do about it.

Nothing else besides acknowledging it and moving on.

Sounds like a plan. A fireproof plan, an escape plan, something detailed and precise. Planned to work out smoothly; planned to be executed without pain or mistakes.

It’s seven sharp when he knocks, takeout in his left hand, eyes bulging because it’s fucking freezing outside.

“It’s fucking freezing, what the fuck.” He says out loud, indeed. What he receives as an answer is the sound of your tongue clicking, the biggest amount of interest you’ve shown towards him the whole week. He would finally exhale, weren’t it for the fact that this is still pretty traumatic, because if there’s something he’s learned while orbiting around you, is that you’re constantly awake and aware of your surroundings. Your body language says that you pay attention to him, or Seulgi, or whoever you’re talking to. You follow the guy with your eyes, and you listen and nod in all the right places during a conversation, and you search for his dark gaze when he’s fucking you in the dimly lit bedroom, the bed creaking under your sweaty sex making. He’s not admitting it, he never will, and he’ll pretty much deny this to everyone who will ask but: there’s something hot about it. Something burning with the way your body reacts to him, when your eyes follow his actions, while your voice falters when he fucks you right, and it somehow pushes him to the edge every time. It’s the equivalent of Jungkook getting a boner in the gym while catching girls and boys drooling at him, except he’s talking about you and your crazy moans, your magic aura.

And yes, okay, fucking blame him, the realization alone made him jerk off in his room like a teen, twice, yesterday. That’s a fact. That’s barely a fact, alright? This is a truth; a statement soon forgot by the knowers. Obviously.

You look spent, he thinks, if he had to choose a word, dared by some arrogant deity to define the current mess you were. He glances at your barely done ponytail, at the tiredness written all over your face. He takes in your baggy sweater, your quiet beauty, knowing this is gonna be one of those nights you take a step back.

He doesn’t say anything though, instead he brushes the hair on your forehead, not even making contact with your skin.

You grab the bag from his hands, shivering instantly and hoping he doesn’t read the signs. They’re—they’re there, you know, you’re collecting them slowly, one after another, grabbing one and looking cautiously for the following one, hoping it’s not there. Hoping it doesn’t exist.

You exhale a sigh, disguising it as cough, a noise, something distracting Jimin from his silent staring, which is, funnily enough, loud and cacophonic.

“Hungry,” you state, the single word weighting more because of the soft pout on your lips. Jimin hates that he knows what it means, that it’s gonna be just the two of you this time, no chill whatsoever, no bodies touching and melting against each-other. He’s not complaining, what the fuck, he’s not an idiot. He’s not even mad, he’s just—accepting, on a level. This is the point of no return, he guesses, following you on the couch and admiring the laptop’s screen reflected on your face.

He doesn’t say anything when you search for Brooklyn 99 on Netflix, because he’d say everything, otherwise. He’d mumble something along the lines of this feels real, we could do this all the time, or, worst of all: I like this. I like you.

So, in order: he tugs at your sleeves and scoots you closer to him, and you say absolutely nothing at the gesture. He’s ecstatic on the inside, partially terrified, mostly delusional. He pretends he’s something more when you lean on him, the slightest pressure of your head on his shoulder. He cares zero fucks about the show when he’s breathing your scent in and feels how warm you are and shuts his eyelids down when he pictures you adoring him. Liking him. Liking him a whole lot more—

He’s fucked, he realises, hours later, when you doze off and he has to carry you to bed, something you claim of loathing, which—what on earth. It’s an unfathomable absurdity, that’s what it is.

“You can stay.”

His voice falters. “What?”

You cough, eyes closed as you speak sinful words: “The night, I mean. It’s fucking freezing outside.”

His lips form a small o, and it’s hot all of a sudden. “Alright,” he manages, staring at you on your bed, hands fidgety and heartbeat accelerated for some reason, “Make space for me. Hey, fucker. I’m serious. Let me in.”

You do.

(to be continued. ily)

#BTS jimin #bts #bts fic #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts scenario #bts smut #bts social media au #bts imagine #bts imagines #jimin imagine #jimin #jimin smut #jimin bts #jimin x reader

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descendantofthesparrow · 3 years

Text

Shuffle Playlist - Rewrite - Part of Your World - Harry Hook x Reader - Part 14 - Discoveries

Evie hung one of the last dresses on the transportation rack, when a knock sounded on her door. She pushed the dresses apart for her to step on the other side and called out; “come in!” Doug entered moments later, a smile on his face.

“Hey! How was the camping trip?” Evie turned to him with furrowed brows.

“C-Camping?” Doug's smile diminished and he looked at her slightly confused.

“yeah?” He tilted his head at Evie “Carlos and Jay said you and the others went on a last-minute camping trip to relax?...is-is that not what you did?” Evie sighed, the questions running through her mind stopping as she realized what had happened.

“oh, um, yeah they lied to you” Doug looked a bit offended “you see, Ben was kidnapped on the isle” now he looked alarmed “let me finish, we saved him and saved Auradon” Doug let out a small sigh of relief and took Evie's hands.

“is everyone okay?” Evie looked off to the side for a moment “you hesitated what happened” She grimaced and shook her head a bit.

“um, well…you know how our parents are kinda pieces of shit?” Doug looked surprised at the swear but nodded “well… Harry's dad is…kinda really bad and…that didn’t turn out well on Harry's side…that’s all I’m saying” she gave a small smile and turned, grabbing some of Dizzy’s accessories that she had brought back with her and sliding some on her arm to carry easier.

“Is he okay now?” Doug asked quietly, stepping to her side and leaning into her field of vision.

“yes” Evie assured him “Mal healed him when we left the isle and he’s with (y/n) now, he should be just fine for cotillion tomorrow~” Doug nodded and gave Evie a small smile.

“that’s good, you had me really worried for a moment there, was anyone else hurt?” Evie thought for a moment then shook her head.

“Mal has a cut on her cheek but that was the worst of our end thankfully.” She gave another smile and looked back down at the accessories “you know…while I was there…I realized something” Doug put his hand on her shoulder “I was lucky enough to be given a chance, and now I need to give someone else a chance too” her mind flashed back to five months ago when Harry had asked Ben to bring Uma over, and maybe after cotillion she could ask about Dizzy?

“My uncle bashful used the say that” Doug switched the topic, sensing Evie was not in the mood to talk about what had happened on the isle with him. Evie smiled, happy with the sudden change and turned to him, her brow raised a bit.

“did he?” Doug nodded, then pursed his lips a bit.

“but, really-really quietly” Evie laughed, spinning around to face the transportation rack and gesturing to it.

“come on, we have dresses to deliver~!” Doug happily obliged to her non-verbal request and moved to the rack, pushing it as Evie pulled it out of the room.

Two hours later, after every dress had been delivered, Evie returned to her room and grabbed her last two outfits she had to deliver.

A red rose gown and a red and black suit.

She handed the outfits to Doug and dug into her bag again, finding the red ruby earrings with small crossbones skulls hanging from the top. “perfect” she muttered, carefully holding them in her hand and leading Doug to (y/n)s room.

She knocked on the door, humming as a couple of moments passed by and no response came. She knocked again and sighed when again no response came, she gently opened the door and cooed as she looked inside the room.

On (y/n)s bed was her and Harry, curled up together under her many blankets as soft yellow fairy lights hung above them, the title screen of a movie playing on her tv.

Evie snuck into the room, gesturing Doug to be quiet as she set (y/n)s new earrings on her desk and motioned for Doug to hang hers and Harry's outfits on her closet door.

Evie spotted (y/n)s notepad on her desk and wrote out a small thank you note, pinning it to her corkboard that hung just next to her desk.

She ushered Doug out and turned, smiling at the sleeping couple, and slowly closed the door behind her, shushing it as it shut with a loud click.

“There we go” Evie sighed, turning to Doug and wrapping her arm around his “I’m starving, how about you?”

“Food sounds good” he chuckled, guiding Evie to the cafeteria.

Carlos watched from afar as Mal swung her feet just of the gazebo floor, her toes just grazing the cool lake water. He froze as she turned to look at him, her emerald green eyes softening and she invited him closer, turning back to the water as he did so and sat down beside her.

Mal laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, while she and Carlos hadn’t been friends before Auradon, she was glad that she had him by her side now.

“so…you broke up with Ben?” Carlos started, giving Mal a soft smile as she looked up at him. She slowly looked back down at the water as she thought of what to say.

“I…yeah” she sighed, letting her weight fully lean onto Carlos, who lifted his arm and wrapped it around her shoulder. “I’m just…not ready for the relationship he wants…I know I hide my feelings and shit but…I really don’t know how he expected me to just, be good with all of this Auradon lady stuff within six months…I feel like a failure” Carlos let out a low hum, squeezing Mal's shoulder.

“well, you aren’t, you did your best, and your best was good enough, you just found out that that life…isn’t going to work out for you, it goes against your mental wiring, yes maybe you could adjust to it but would you be happy with it?” Mal pursed her lips, Carlos shook her a bit “well?”

“no” Mal muttered, picking at the loose thread on her pants “no I wouldn’t be happy like that…Ben…he said he wanted me…the real me, the isle me-wait…no he wouldn’t want her, she's rude as fuck” Mal smiled at the snort that erupted from Carlos, before it slipped off as she remembered something. Mal stopped Carlos as he was about to speak again “Hey…I did this for Evie but…I wanted to do the same for you” He looked at her confused “I’m sorry for the way I treated you when we were on the isle” he looked off to the side for a moment before he realized what she meant.

“oh! Yeah, it's no biggie” he attempted to brush it off but Mal adamantly shook her head.

“No! it's not “no biggie!” I treated you, Evie, and sometimes Jay, horribly! Even after we became friends! You were and are deserving of kindness, and I’m sorry that I was so fucked up that I was the rottenest little brat to you” Carlos stared at her with wide eyes. “what?”

His shocked look melted into a comforting grin “Thank you Mal” he wrapped his arms around her, pulling into a tight hug that only lasted a moment “sorry, just remembered; you’re not really affectionate” he laughed, grinning wider as Mal giggled along.

“it’s-its fine when it comes from you three” Mal hummed, turning to look back at the lake.

“sooo back to the Ben break up talk?” Carlos tried, smirking as Mal blew a raspberry “come on, you need to talk it out with someone, or else you’re gonna explode keeping it all bottled up.”

“…I’m happy I broke up with him” Mal spilled, not looking at Carlos as his brows shot up “I thought about our future and I realized if I kept doing what I was doing, and we kept going with how we were…neither of us would have been happy…I need to learn to love myself before I can love him properly, because…if (y/n)s forced quote an’ unquote therapy sessions” Carlos laughed at that “taught me anything. It’s that…I rely on someone else's love to measure my self-worth”

Carlos hummed, squeezing Mal's shoulder again “that’s not a good thing”

“no!” Mal huffed, running her hands through her hair and pulling at the roots “it isn’t! I've been trying to earn my mother's love for 16 years, then I just hop to doing so much bullshit to make sure Ben will love me! I dyed my hair blonde, I dressed in those itchy dresses, I dropped my entire personality for all that! And-and it wasn’t good, I felt like I was slipping away Carlos” Mal sobbed, tears trailing down her cheeks as she finally broke “I don’t even remember what I’m supposed to act like without all that because I spent so long doing it I just-I forgot what being ME felt like” Carlos fully wrapped his arms around Mal and pulled her tight to his side. “I-I know it sounds like I’m being pathetic and having a fucking pity party but I’m just so fucking scared Carlos” Mal whimpered, throwing her arms around Carlos’ torso and pushing her cheek against his shoulder “on the isle my life was commanded by my mother and my identity was pleasing her, and here my life has been being Ben’s girlfriend and pleasing the people of Auradon so they think I’m not some villain whose just after Ben because he’s king…I-I do really like Ben Carlos”

Mal sniffed, pulling back one of her arms and wipe her nose “I do, it's just that…being with him hasn’t helped me move on from my mother bullshit and im-gah!” Mal let out a yell, pulling back from Carlos and burying her face in her hands “I’m having a fucking identity crisis because of my fucking mother! Why can’t she just leave me alone! Why can't all this dumb shit be left behind five months ago! Why do I still have to deal with it?!” Carlos let Mal rant, rubbing her back as she broke down.

“because life is unfair that way” Carlos sighed “Mal I know exactly what you're dealing with right now” Mal peeked out from her fingers, her eyes shining “I still have nightmares from living in my mother’s closet, getting trapped in the bear traps on the ground, or when she would burn me with her cigarette…even ones were she sends dogs at me to kill me…I still hear her voice in my head, telling me I’m worthless, that I’ll never be better than dog chow, my only use was being her servant” Carlos swallowed down the lump in his throat “but I know she's wrong, I’m not anything she says. I’m a tech genius, I've made several computers on the isle just from scraps, I've enhanced my 3D printer to be the best in Auradon, faster than any other and the quality is still top-notch, I've made a tiny little device that was able to make a hole in the barrier, I've gotten offers to work for Tony fucking Stark!” Mal gasped, reaching forward to grab Carlos' shoulders in excitement.

“holy shit what!? When? How? Why?!” Carlos smiled, prying off her grip.

“I knew you all were distracted by something else, especially you, so I didn’t want to make you stressed by my stuff either, it was two months ago. I didn’t take the offer because I want to finish school, but the offer still stands when I graduate in two years” Mal grinned, but it turned to a pout as Carlos gave her a look “Now back to the original topic, I’m not letting you deviate from it, you need to let it all out”

Mal stared at him for a moment before shrugging “I…feel like I already did…Auradon is stressful, my mother is the base of all my mental shit, and I’m not ready to be in a relationship with the dude I love because until I can love myself and learn not to rely on others value of me as my own value I can't be with him in a way that won't hurt him” Carlos slowly grinned “what?” “you said you love Ben~” he teased, laughing as Mal turned red and smacked him.

“I did not!!” she screeched, yelping as Carlos half tackled her and pulled her into an arm lock “Let me go you heathen!”

“you love Ben~ you love Ben~” Carlos sang, laughing as she tried to smack at his face “Come on, pixie! Let's get you back to the dorms, I think you need a nap”

“Don’t call me pixie!”

“How bout gremlin?”

“Carlos!!”

Chad carefully pulled the 3D printed copy of the king's crown from the printer and pressed a kiss to the emblem on the front. “Finally,~” He walked over to the mirror that was installed in Jay's standing dresser and carefully perched the crown on his head, smiling as his full cotillion outfit came to light.

He looked like a king~

He tilted the crown down a bit and laughed, posing in the mirror “oh what's that? Why no Audrey, I haven’t chosen my queen yet~” He purred to the fake Audrey in his mind. He turned and started to walk away before spinning back around to pose again “why no Audrey-”

Suddenly his phone rang, and he turned, raising his brow as he walked over to his phone “who could be calling me?”

Caller ID - Audrey <3

Chad let out a high-pitched scream of excitement, dropping his phone to the floor as he gripped his head “ahhAH! Audrey!!!”

“chad!” Carlos groaned, glaring as the other dived to the floor for his phone, and shushed him “Chad! This is my room chad!”

Chad shushed him again, making Carlos roll his eyes. Chad hit the answer button on his phone “Audrey?”

“Hey Chad um, I’m kind of stuck in Sherwood forest, my tire went flat. Could, could you come help me?”

“yeah of course!” Chad covered the mic and turned back to Carlos “she got a flat tire in Sherwood forest and she wants me to come fix it~” Carlos squinted a bit and looked at Chad with an odd look.

“that’s six hours away”

Chad looked at him as if what he said wasn’t a long road trip. “Really? Only six?” he turned back to his phone and put it back to his ear “I’m gonna be there faster than I thought”

“Thanks Chad, I was going to come to cotilli-“ he pulled the phone away and pressed a kiss to the screen, hanging up on Audrey and starting to walk out the door when Carlos stopped him.

“Ah-My printer my crown” Carlos took the crown off Chad's head, who chuckled and gestured back from the printer to the crown before shrugging it off.

“I’m coming Audrey!” he ran down the halls towards his car, leaving a bewildered Carlos in his dorm.

“wow,” Carlos snorted, shaking his head and walking into the room, tossing the crown on Jay's bed. Carlos flopped down on his bed, Dude hopping up next to him moments later “these last two days have been crazy huh?”

“You can say that again” Dude snorted, halfway crawling on Carlos' chest and laying his head down “Nap time?”

“Nap time” Carlos chuckled, pulling his pillow over his face to block out the afternoon sun and sighed.

-end of part 14-

yep, part 14, we’re almost to Cotillion guys! also yep, Doug does not accuse Evie of cheating on him even though he had no reason to do so in the movie and he shows concern over Evie and her friends safety when she tells him about the isle~ what?? no~ this isn't a dig at Doug's awful D2 writing!! how could you accuse me of such a thing~! (Doug had alot of potential but like Mal it got ruined in the second movie and he was pushed as a full on background character in the third) also MORE CARLOS CONTENT~ yes he is smart boi and deserves that recognition and yes, the avengers exist in this universe. hopefully that Mal talk didnt sound like a pity party.

anyway PERMTAGLLIST

@queer-cosette @sephiralorange

@lunanight2012 @daughter-of-the-stars11

@musicarose @random-thoughts-003

@remembered-license @rintheemolion

@thecaptainsgingersnap @descendantsobsessed

@verboetoperee @imtryingthisout

taglist

@thesailbells @beccad10x

#disney descendants #harry hook #harry hook x reader #Descendents #descendants #harry hook descendants #harry hook imagine #anti mal #just in case #anti doug #just in case 2 #rewrite #part of your world #shuffle playlist

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firefly-in-darkness · 4 years

Text

Misconceptions - 3/12

Characters: Y/N, the Avengers

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Series Summary: Bucky Barnes overhears a conversation that he shouldn’t have… and now he regrets his reaction...

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Violence, swearing, injuries

Beta: The always lovely, Stacey - @princessmisery666 // all mistakes are my own.

A/N: Just imagine that Infinity War & Endgame didn’t result in deaths, people have settled their differences and are living their best lives at the Avenger’s Compound.... here's part 3 - I'm over the moon at everyone's lovely feedback on this story, I'm still not sure how many parts this series will have but hope you stick with me and enjoy it ✌️

Catch up with the series here: Misconceptions Series List

Return to Firefly’s Library & Masterlist

Previously: The piercing sound of metal clanging brought her attention back to the door as a tall shadowy finger entered the room, unable to make out who they were. Y/N screwed an eye shut, turning her head to the side to try and make out their features, only able to make out a man in a dark suit, the light too bright to allow her to see their face.

She caught sight of the Hydra pin on the lapel then felt a blow to her head.

Everything went dark.

“FRIDAY, access the CCTV from the hotel. Starting from when Y/N entered the party, stay on her at all times.” Stark crossed his arm across his chest, a hand stroking at his chin at one end of the conference table.

Tony’s eyes darkened as he watched the screen flickering through the different cameras in and around the hotel area. The moment Sam had entered the lab earlier, he knew. He knew, something had happened to Y/N and that it would have been the Soldier’s fault. He focused on the CCTV, trying to dampen down the panic in his chest.

Steve stood next to Tony, leaning forward with his hands on the table, a neutral expression as the hologram whizzed through the footage. Sam was at the other end, pacing back and forth, head whipping back and forth as he waited to see Y/N’s face on the screen.

“When did you last see her? Do you know what time she left?” Sam ranted with each step.

Bucky sat away from the table, elbows leaning on his knees, head hung low, “She was in the suite when I got back. I don’t know when she left.”

Wanda closed the door with a click, the noise brought Bucky’s attention to her. Wanda didn’t even look in his direction, just sitting down with the rest of the team.

Natasha walked in with Clint and Bruce, all taking a seat around the table. The tension rife in the air as they all watched the CCTV and avoided the heated discussion at the other side of the room. Bucky glanced up to Nat, her face neutral. He had hoped she would have shown a flicker of emotion, but she was cold. He knew he had fucked up, but now he really knew it. Fuck, I should have been with her, that was my mission.

Bucky’s groan brought Sam’s attention back to him, as if he knew exactly what he had been thinking.

“You were there to back her up and you-” Sam shook his head, “You just wanted to get your dick wet.” His hands on his hips and glaring at Bucky.

Bucky didn’t respond.

“I wish I had gone on that mission instead; she was right.” Sam muttered to himself.

Steve walked over, putting a hand on Sam’s chest, “Calm down. We will find her. Bucky knows what he’s done. Arguing with each other isn’t going to help.”

Bucky heard Sam’s words. He knew it, they were together. He held his head in his hands, unsure of how he missed their relationship developing from that of teammates and friends to something more. Do they love each other? His thoughts filled with all the moments that he had shared with Y/N and how she had laughed at his poor jokes, blushed at the way he called her Doll or Sweetheart. How could he have been so blind to not see what he had with her, only for it to be taken from him by his friend. His friend that was now hurting because of him.

“Bingo.” Tony’s clap had them all looking in his direction.

All eyes on the hologram, holding their breath as they watched Y/N enter the elevator. Sam glanced at the timestamp - 2:40am - anger boiling at the lateness of her departure. At how long she had endured Bucky’s inconsiderate behaviour.

Bucky watched the footage, unblinking as he watched Y/N - even in the poor quality, he can see hurt in her features, the way she wrapped her arms around herself. Did she just wipe away tears? His brows furrowed as he watched her enter the lobby and leave the hotel.

The view changed again, Y/N headed to the parking lot, approaching her motorbike. She stopped nearby, searching her bag for the keys when her head snapped up to something unseen by the cameras. She walked towards it, disappearing out of sight, only to return moments later.

Wanda clamped her hand over her mouth as a large figure walked out from the shadows, hitting Y/N over the head with a baton. She crumpled to the floor, the figure dragging her along the ground by her ankles, out of shot.

The room was silent, and they all turned to Bucky as he growled out, nobody moved. All watching him stand up and punch the wall. Vibranium fist winning over the drywall and scattering plaster over his boots and the floor.

Tony checked his watch. “It’s been six hours since Y/N went missing.”

Steve’s voice commanded everyone’s attention. “Bruce, you stick with Tony and find out whatever you can about Davenport, anything that we don’t already know. Everybody else, suit up.”

The team began to make their way out of the room when FRIDAY’s voice filled it, “Avenger Compromised - I have a location for Miss Y/L/N. Her alias was searched for by a mobile device 60 kilometres away.”

“Meet you on the jet in five.” Steve ordered, the team sprinting down the corridors.

Y/N awoke, head pounding more than ever. The metal cuffs cut into her wrists and ankles, her body ached as she was stretched apart like the Vitruvian Man. The damp stone wall dug into the skin at the back of her legs, straining forward as she checked herself over; She could hardly see out of her left eye thanks to the beatings she had endured. They’d removed her clothing apart from a tank top and underwear.

Bile rose in her throat as she thought of them undressing her whilst she was unconscious. She coughed it down, tears stinging her eyes whilst she recalled how she received each bruise and cut along her body, the men that had punched her face beyond counting, the slices made across her arms and legs with a sharp point. A pocketknife or scalpel, maybe?

A sharp pain ached along her neck as she turned to look around, remembering how she had been dragged by her hair down a corridor to a different room. Thrown through the doorway, the fall winding her and keeping her on the ground. And then the kicks to her ribs taking even more breath from her lungs. The way she curled into a ball, head protected by her arms whilst blunt objects and fists rained down at her before the darkness consumed her once more.

A man walked out from the shadows, the same dark suit and the Hydra pin with a menacing glint as it hit the light. A large hand gripped Y/N’s chin, pushing her cheeks in, teeth grazing against the insides. Her captor was forcing her to look in his direction, yet she was unfazed to see Patrick Davenport in front of her.

“You will tell me everything you know.” Davenport gritted his teeth, spit landing on her cheek, “Why were you snooping around my penthouse?”

Y/N yanked her head away from him, hitting her head against the wall. A hiss left her lips, but she didn’t say a word. She kept her expression neutral; she used her training to hide behind the mask but her mind still raced with fear as she realised that nobody would know where she was.

She grimaced at herself. Should have stayed with Bucky.

“I will bring the bigger guy back in if you don’t start talking.”

If she had been paying attention, then she would have been prepared for the next blow. His hand slapped across her face, the sound reverberating around the walls. She bit the inside of her cheek, blood pouring into her mouth. Y/N spat it out to the floor and glared at Davenport.

“Okay, I know who you are.” He pulled out a purse and driver’s licence, turning it over in his hand. “Mrs Eve C Goodman from Rhode Island.”

Y/N’s eyes widened but she didn’t respond.

Davenport smirked at her, “We searched your name, and guess what? Your record is squeaky clean. Nothing in police databases, not even a library fine. So that means, either it’s an alias and you’re either FBI or CIA, or you’re just plain stupid.”

Laughter burst through Y/N’s lips, once she started, she couldn’t stop, regardless of the pain and aching of her ribs and lungs from the lack of air. She was silenced with a punch to her stomach, her face grabbed to look up at him.

“What’s so funny little girl?” Davenport shouted.

“Oh, you really fucked up.” She snarled. “The moment you searched my name, you fucked up.”

Davenport’s eyebrows twitched together, and his grip loosened around her face. Y/N lurched forward, head smashing into his nose. He stumbled backwards, bent at the waist holding onto his face.

“You fucking bitch!” He straightened up, pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it to his nose.

The blood seeped through the material, a satisfied smirk on Y/N’s face had him lunging forward until an explosion rippled through the building, stopping him from hitting her again. Gunfire and shouting echoed in the distance.

“Told you, you fucked up.”

Continue Here...

Taglist: @supraveng / @iheartsebastianstan / @jessyballet / @likeit-or-leaveit / @inspocollective-blog / @ladifrickinda / @wintersoldierissucharide / @michelehansel / @danietoww04 / @booboobella01 / @thefandomimagines / @justreadingfics / @socalgem1124 / @a--1--1--3 / @notyourtypicalrose / @winterboobear11 / @justlovelifeblog / @polireader / @hailmary-yramliah / @rainbowkisses31 / @gooddaykate / @moonybarnes

#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes Fic Series #Bucky Barnes Fic #Bucky Barnes Angst #Bucky Barnes Fanfic #Bucky Barnes

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fandoms-are-my-friends-1321 · 4 years

Text

Schemes in a Storm

So, it’s been raining here for the past three days. Even though I would much rather have sunshine, the rain inspired me to write this fic. Plus there’s not a whole lot of fanfics out there for Helmut Zemo, so I figured I would make one. I hope you all enjoy it! Gif and characters are not mine.

Description: Helmut and the reader have been working to try and take down the Avengers. However, the rain ruins their plans. Not only can they not continue their work, but the reader is scared of storms. Takes place before Age of Ultron.

Warnings: mild swearing, otherwise none

Helmut and Y/N were sitting inside their apartment in Sokovia. Despite its size, it was fairly nice. There was a mahogany coffee table by a window that was framed with vermillion curtains. The bed took up most of the room, and their was a small bathroom close to the door that led out of the apartment. As much as Y/N wanted a bigger living space, this would have to do for now.

“We won’t be here long, darling. As soon as we flush the Winter Soldier out of hiding, we can find a bigger place to stay,” Helmut said as he stopped his work and looked over his shoulder. Y/N was sitting on their bed, typing away on her laptop. Her wedding ring reflected what little light was coming through the window.

“In that case, we need to get this plan in to action as soon as possible,” Y/N affirmed as she glanced up momentarily. She had known Helmut Zemo for years, and gladly joined in on his plan to take down the Avengers. They had only been married for a short time, but she knew that Helmut was the one.

Helmut turned his focus back to his own laptop, and continued his search for someone that resembled the Winter Soldier. The plan was simple. He would pay someone to dress as the Winter Soldier, and news of the “sighting” would spread quickly. Once the real soldier emerged, he would be caught.

Y/N would normally be just as eager to continue with their plan, but today she couldn’t seem to focus. “Can we go visit the farmer’s market tomorrow,” Y/N asked.

“Why would we go there when we could be working here,” Helmut quickly replied.

“Can’t a woman spend a little quality time with her husband?”

“We are spending time together.”

Y/N sighed as she got up from her spot on the bed and walked over to where Helmut was sitting at the coffee table. She wrapped her arms around him and rested her chin on his shoulder. “I meant spending time together outside of the apartment. We deserve a break from plotting and scheming. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Helmut grinned as he took Y/N’s hand in his, kissing her knuckles gently. “Alright, we can go to the farmer’s market.”

Y/N was jumping with joy as she flopped back onto the bed, grinning from ear to ear. The room fell silent after that. The only sound was the clicking of computer keys. However, the sound of rain soon joined in, the droplets making a light thump as they met the window.

Soon the rain went from a light sprinkle, to a downpour. A flash of lighting spread across the sky, and a crash of thunder shook the apartment. Helmet was unphased by the storm raging outside, but Y/N was a different story. Her stomach started to twist into a knot, and she tapped her foot against the bedsheet.

“Hey,” Helmut exclaimed as he quickly turned to face Y/N, “I think I found just the guy we need.” Before anyone could react further, the light from the fixture above dissipated, leaving the married couple in darkness.

“Damn, the power has gone out. I’ll try to find a candle,” Helmut stated as he maneuvered through the pitch black apartment.

Another lightning strike illuminated the room, and the loud thunder that followed was enough to make Y/N curl up into a ball. As Helmut finally managed to find and light a candle, he was greeted by his wife’s distraught form. He hurriedly placed the candle on the coffee table, and joined Y/N on the bed.

“What’s wrong, darling,” Helmut whispered as he sat close to Y/N. He moved a strand of hair away from her face. She looked up at him, a few tears falling from her eyes.

“I-I’m just scared of storms is all,” Y/N confessed as her E/C eyes met Helmut’s brown ones.

Helmut whipped a tear that started to travel across Y/N’s cheek. He had no idea that she felt this way, but he hated to see her like this. “Come here, lets rest for a while.”

Y/N leaned her head against Helmut’s chest as his arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his form. The warmth coming from Helmut’s body helped to calm Y/N down, and the familiar scent of his cologne put her at ease. She began to admire the gold ring on Helmut’s left hand.

“Do you remember when we got to our reception, and you thought it would be funny to throw a giant piece of wedding cake at me,” Helmut uttered as he ran his right hand through Y/N’s hair.

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle at the memory. “Of course it was funny. You look even more attractive when you are covered in frosting.”

“Is that so,” Helmut questioned as he looked down at the woman in his arms.

“It is so, and I have the pictures to prove it.”

Y/N was now smiling again, and her joy made Helmut feel better as well. He wasn’t sure how he had managed to find a woman like Y/N, but he was glad that he did. Helmut placed a kiss on Y/N’s temple as a yawn escaped her lips.

“Thank you for helping me, Ze,” Y/N whispered as her eyes slowly closed.

“I’ll always be here for you. Anytime you need me, just say the word,” Helmut answered as he too closed his eyes.

With the storm now forgotten, Helmut and Y/N fell into a peaceful slumber. No matter what, the two would always be together, and no storm or anything else that life could throw at them would ever change that.

#helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo #captain america: civil war #mcu fanfiction #marvel #fluff #daniel bruhl

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fenristheorem · 3 years

Text

Asks/Headcanons/Stories

Rules, Details and Other Important Information

Updated May 22nd, 2021

Status: Currently NOT accepting requests / asks

See my Masterlist here!

***The ask box will be closed within a couple days of the updated post date (April 30th). It will be closed for a couple of weeks while I bring my request count down (it’s reached over 30 requests) and due to my schedule limiting how much time I can spend writing. Any new asks I receive will be immediately posted stating the box is closed (although I’m still open to receiving comments and other questions via ask box).

How long for an answer: About a month depending on how much work will go into it, my askbox is quiet as of late but I have many that I’m working on currently. I have almost 20 drafts and a nearly equal amount of untouched requests in my ask box.

(Rules under the cut)

Hello! If you’ve reached this post you may be interested in asking/requesting something - go ahead and do so! Just make sure you keep in mind the information I list here because if an ask/request is outside my rules I probably won’t write it (there may be some exceptions heavily depending on certain factors). Therefore, please read everything (even if it’s just skimming) so you get a basic idea of what to expect from me.

The only fandom I write for is Eldarya, if you couldn’t tell by my posts lol.

Who do I write for? (Romantically)

Primarily Lance, he’s the only route I follow on my two accounts and I’ve spent a lot of personal time nit-picking and analyzing his character so I’d say I have a thorough understanding of who he is and how to write him.

I'm second most comfortable writing Valkyon, he was my route in Origins. Even though Origins is past now, I'm still happy to write about him

I’m not very interested in the other routes, but I have a general idea of what they’re like, so I’ll write for Leiftan and Nevra, too (although what I write differs. I’ll always write friendly or fluffy relationship stuff, but I draw the line around in-depth, intimate asks. I don’t know them too well so I don’t mind writing semi-vague things about them, but they won’t be very specific). I’m more comfortable writing Leiftan than Nevra overall.

I won’t write for Mathieu as I don’t know him well enough, he seems to be a pretty basic character but I doubt that’s the case so I don’t want to write something I know will likely be nowhere near relevant to who he is.

I may write for Koori, but not as of right now; I’ll update this if I decide to do so later when I know her better.

Other than what’s detailed here, I won’t write romantically for any other characters.

Have a request that’s not romantic? Awesome, I’ll write general headcanons for any of the characters.

General headcanons basically means anything not too intimate (or an ask that covers many different topics, but that's besides the point right now), I’ll write friendly requests, but not romantic ones. Have a request that seems to walk the fine line between friendship and a platonic / fluffy relationship? Go ahead and ask anyways, I may write it and even it I don’t, it helps provide an example of what I will or won’t write.

I'm happy to write any characters as Origins instead of New Era, just be sure to specify in your ask.

What do I write? (I will add warnings for NSFW and certain angst or violence prompts and how heavy it is in the writing)

Nearly anything, really

Romance

NSFW

Friendships/friendly fun stuff

Angst

Violence

A lot of others

There may be some things I’m not thinking of currently, but again, I’ll write pretty much anything (and I’ll keep updating this list in time)

That being said, I’m comfortable writing some genres with some characters and others not so much. But again, if unsure, ask anyways.

What DON’T I write?

Non-con (no consent)

Yandere

Suicide (I’ll write how it effects others, but I won’t write the specifics on how an actual character does it)

How to specify your ask:

So I’m a very specific person, and I can go on very long rants; just take this headcanon and this second one as an example. However, I know some people prefer small and short, so I’m asking that in your request/ask you specify which type of writing you want so I’m not constantly thinking ‘oh try and keep it short - but maybe one more bullet - oh god how did this get so long? - m a y b e I s h o u l d j u s t w r i t e t h i s a s a s c e n a r i o - did they want headcanons or a scenario/short story?’ Don’t care about how long my response to your ask is? Cool, don’t worry about specifying length, just send your ask (but seriously, be prepared for something close to a novel lol).

In order of shortest to longest:

Mini-headcanons - Usually the fastest to write - Not as ‘mini’ as you may think. It’s not entirely short, I’ll still put in my fair share of thoughts, but I won’t go on major rants about one thing during the ask. It’s a very straightforward / to the point ask. Not interested in possibly reading an essay on why I think this is this and how I feel this effected this person? This is pretty good for you then.

Normal headcanons / headcanons (otherwise known as medium or long headcanons) - Writing time can differ based on how much I rant, but will usually take longer than mini-headcanons - Are you ok if you end up reading a small novella or a post with so many words it rivals a dictionary? Awesome, this is the type for you! Depending on the ask, I can’t promise that I’ll go on major rants that take centuries to write, but it gives me the freedom to specify and clarify things, while also adding in a few of personal comments. This type of ask really allows me to be creative and provide examples or special situations with the characters.

Scenarios / short stories - Will most likely take longer than both types of headcanons - This type of response doesn’t take place in bullets. It’s exactly as it says - a story. I won’t include my personal opinions / theories in this as stories are a narrative, not an analysis for me. This type is a bit restrictive for me as I will press myself to stay as close to canon as possible, improvising my own theories / headcanons only when necessary to bridge aspects within the story (unless otherwise specified in the ask), but other than that I don’t like to intrude my own thoughts / theories in a story. Good for readers who want drama, descriptions, scenarios, or who feel headcanons just won’t fit the ask this time. These are typically a couple hundred words long for me.

Like mentioned above - if you don’t care about how it’s formatted, don’t worry about specifying anything or just add in the ask that you’re flexible to any format. In this case, I’ll choose what format to write in based on what I feel can fit best the ask while being written well. My default is usually headcanons, though.

Other important information:

This’ll be updated more in time

Have any specific details you want about the ask? Be sure to mention it!

I’m fine with writing asks with gender-neutral characters and such. Writing the S/O’s and reader-inserts are female by default for me, but I have nothing against writing different gender alignments

Writing takes time, especially since I try my best to write quality on every ask. It will usually take me no longer than 5 days to a week to write nearly anything, however, if my ask box is busy or there’s a particularly long request that I’m writing, it could take me within 2 to 3 weeks to write some things. I’ll try to keep it first-come-first-serve, but as some asks may be shorter than others, or I’m feeling a bit more productive on certain asks than others, response time may change a bit. I’ll keep a general idea on how long to expect a response post underneath the status listed at the top of this post

I will write for OC's (original characters)! If you're comfortable with it, I would recommend you send these asks not anonymously; I'll probably DM you to get more information. Otherwise, be sure to DM me saying what your ask was so I can connect the details you give me with the specific ask. I don't mind receiving some details via Anon ask, but it would greatly restrict me if I can't clarify some things so I can write better. That being said; if you would like your ask to be anonymous but need to DM me for details, I promise I'll keep your identity a secret. It's none of my business why you wanted to send anonymously, so I won't go revealing anything.

I have a tendency to swear, but only to stress points humorously or sexually. It’s really only to add to the tone of the story. However, if you’d like to request no swearing specifically then I’ll honor that.

With that: go ahead and ask! I always look forward to writing my next request!

Over all, I’ll write nearly anything, and if you’re unsure, just ask anyways and I’ll clarify if I’ll write it or not. And the more specific you are in your ask; the better I can write it (with reason, of course. Too much limitation will hinder).

Have a request? Ask them here!

Submissions are open! Just click on me!

#Don't be afraid #I don't bite #I'll happily write characters who do though #fenristheorem writing #askfenris

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anntidote · 3 years

Text

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*. 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

i made this blog in july of 2020, and only started writing & posting in september. ever since then, i have already written over 70(?) pieces for the hq community, made a handful of friends, and everything seems to have snowballed since. i’ve seen so much sappy shit on my dash and it honestly makes me sick— but i’m truly thankful. here’s my lil spiel ♡

♡ my followers & misc readers.

thank you for taking the time to click on a post. notes, reblogs, comments— let alone, actually reading it. the fact that you enjoy and spend time reading my content, makes my day.

i can still recall the first requests i recieved and first couple notes i got. i cried because i didn’t think my writing was anything that anyone would pay attention to— but now, a couple notes is a daily thing. although i definitely don’t take it for granted— i really do appreciate you all. whether you’re loud as shit in my inbox or a silent reader. thank you.

you have no idea how much you all mean to me, and how much your support has impacted me through the latter half of 2020. let’s walk brighter paths together this year <3

and hopefully y’all get laid cuz holy shit y’all are horn KNEE sheesh

i’m honestly not any better LMAO

♡ my moots. (i might miss a couple of ya but shh ily all the same)

@liberhoe — you ass, thank you for being literally the most interactive/extroverted bih i know. whether it’s me- teasing you about upcoming fic ideas or your thirsts on a libero- i treasure these moments. fuck you thank you for making me **error** throughout the time i’ve been here... also, go drink some water.

@ceo-of-daichi — lydz!! thank you for always answering my unique social sunday asks and always being so kind. your voice is always soothing, and i hope you n daichi are spending some quality time together rn c;

@knightofameris — Y O U. you kind ass mofo >:( i hope you’re taking care of yourself. thank you for always being so so so so so so so caring towards me, and always tagging me in those cute lil games! i swear i’ll do them soon— but the spam likes got me buried like an animal crossing fossil 😔 anyway, i hope this year brings you better circumstances <3 muah

@atsumoon — HANA!! i hope you’re doing well, darling <3 it’s been a hot second but thank you for always checking up on me once n awhile. sending virtual hugs c:

@prettysetterbaby — jj, i’m going to fight tumblr because i’ve been trying to be your friend for so goddamn long LOL but i’m glad i’m being given a shot here. thank you for being so open with me, and not telling me i looked like a literal CHILD when i sent the matchup photos LMAOOOO love ya <3 may we become better friends this year !

@stelleum — holy shit i still cant believe we’re moots- um okay- d e a d a s s may i say; you, afton (also my moot but im too scared to interact cuz im a clown), saz, and another writer are the reason why i started writing for the hq fandom um- thank you for inspiring me and [most likely] a bunch of other writers in the fandom. although i’m not the most extroverted person in interacting, i want to thank you as one of your readers (and now your moot i guess ahaha *error*) for writing, as i truly enjoy what you put out. <3 stay healthy.

@soft-for-shoyo — IT’S GOD SAZ!! i’m sorry i haven’t been interacting a lot,,, i’m not exactly the most extroverted moot but congrats on the success on your december event! i don’t lurk i swearrrr *cough* much love & happy new year !!

@hisoka-married-illumi — i just became your moot and your chaos is very much welcome heh i’ve seen you in my motifs and have always wanted to interact but i’m 👉👈 so i’m very happy we’re moots now LMAO thank you for the kindness you’ve shown me and the fact you even read my trash content <3

@jeongccr — should i even consider you a moot? LOL you’re more of my son than a moot. thank you for always putting up with my bullshit when it comes to me fangirling about music. as a fellow army, i cant wait to bootleg more concerts with you- and i hope we’ll be able to see the boys live again this year. here’s to making more memories <3

♡ myself (brutally honest)

let’s do better and do more. i know you’re still miserable from losing a year or so of your childhood to something you can’t control- and that fact that you’ve gone through so much loss this year- i know you’re strong and capable of so much more. let’s keep our chin up, and remember where you came from. lias told us we’re the protagonists of the world, so let’s make it a reality.

#i love my moots<3 #this is made late #im crying in the club bro #sorry guys #anyway much love #muah #kisses and smooches #happy new years loves #lets get it #anntidote:organizes #not haikyuu

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spookyvalentine · 3 years

Text

OC aesthetic tag game

ahhhh these are SO FUN thank you @aceghosts for the tag!!

this will of course be for my shep, mercy, and forgive me but it’s another low quality phone picture of them, but I’m too lazy to do photo mode

— LIGHT SOURCES

SUN RAYS. effervescent smiles, dandelion puffs, bare feet, beach waves, flowers pressed into books, champagne glasses, rose-gold eye shadow, boho skirts, wire-rimmed glasses, hair in loose waves, kaleidoscope eyes, sunshine in your hair, fire in your soul.

INCANDESCENT BULBS. crop tops, floral print, dancing in the rain, quiet defiance, hand-knit beanies, rosé, painted bookmarks, marble floors, cirrus clouds against a blue sky, polaroid pictures, hands held, fingers intertwined, flower crowns, baby bluebirds.

STARDUST. lace bralettes, brisk breezes, jasmine-scented perfume, books with yellowed pages, tracking constellations, sterling silver, violin music, chess games, iced coffee, glittery dresses, high heels, secret grins, midnight meetings, wishing upon a star.

CANDLE FLAMES. denim jackets, gladiator sandals, braided hair, messenger bags, movies at the cinema, stolen kisses, wax-sealed envelopes, haiku poetry, cherry wood, succulents, fountain pens, jigsaw puzzles, soft tired eyes, hidden smiles, cuddling with someone you trust.

MOONBEAMS. newspapers, over-sized sweaters, dancing shadows, fleece throws, cutoff shorts, piano chords, red wine, messy buns, embossed journals, a hint of blush dusted across your cheeks, freshly fallen snow, tranquil solitude, burning incense, light hair and dark skin.

AURORAS. combat boots, burgundy lips, infectious laughter, spiral-bound notebooks, pencils used down to the stub, ripped jeans, painted nails, cloud-watching, summer thunderstorms, hiking trails, vinyl records, film cameras, skating on a frozen lake, hot chocolate by the fire.

FIREWORKS. dancing until the break of dawn, heelys, being wheeled around in a shopping cart by your best friend, the euphoria of soaring through the air, being excited for what the future holds, group hugs, colorful tattoos, bronzer-highlighted cheeks, hugging a stuffed animal, lifting a child onto your shoulders, space buns, bright streaks in your hair.

— BODY LANGUAGE

DEFENSIVENESS. arms crossed on chest / crossing legs / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / karate chops / stiffening of shoulders / tense posture / curling of lip / baring of teeth

REFLECTIVE. hand-to-face gestures / head tilted/ stroking chin / peering over glasses / taking glasses off; cleaning / putting earpiece of glasses in mouth / pipe smoker gestures / putting hand to bridge of nose / pursed lips / knitted brows

SUSPICION. arms crossed / sideways glance / touching or rubbing nose / rubbing eyes / hands resting on weapon / brows raising / lips pressing into a thin line / strict, unwavering eye contact / wrinkling of nose / narrowed eyes

CONFIDENCE. hands behind back / hands on lapels of coat / steepled hands / baring teeth in a grin / rolling shoulders / tipping head back but maintaining eye contact / chest puffed up / shoulders back / arms folded just above navel / wide eyes / standing akimbo

INSECURITY & ANXIETY. chewing pen or pencil / rubbing thumb over opposite thumb / biting fingernails / biting lips/ hands in pockets / elbow bent / closed gestures / clearing throat / “whew” sound / picking or pinching flesh / fidgeting in chair / hand covering mouth whilst speaking / poor eye contact/ tugging pants whilst seated / jingling money in pockets / tugging at ear / perspiring hands / playing with hair / swaying / playing with pointer; marker; cane / smacking lips / sighing/ rocking on balls of feet / flexing or cracking fingers sporadically

ANGER & FRUSTRATION. short breaths / “tsk” sounds / tightly-clenched hands / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / rubbing hand through hair / rubbing back of neck / snarling / revealing teeth / grimacing / sharp-eye glowers / notable tension in brow / shoulders back, head up; defensive posturing / clenching of jaw / grinding teeth / nostrils flaring / heavy exhales

— SENSES

SIGHT. small towns. big cities. six thirty curfews. lights that take the place of stars. blanket nests. light through the blinds as a wake up call. found family. finding a single star in the middle of new york night city. window shopping. watching something terrible and enjoying it.growing numb to the sight of injustice. wilted flowers. faded caricatures. bright, bold colours.

HEARING. crickets and lightning bugs. car engines and a / c units. a phone call to mum / dad. laughing with friends. jokes that are so bad you have to laugh. the clicking of computer keys. noise cancelling headphones. the sound of silence. muffled music from another room. drumming fingertips on a table. clicking of pens. listening to a clock and swearing the ticks get slower. ringing in the ears. the voice of someone you love.pitch shifted songs.

TOUCH. being held close during a long night. fleeting reassurances. holding hands when you’re scared. brushing fingers through strands of hair. freshly dried clothes. bruises on your knuckles.silk and satin. your favourite pet’s fur or feather.wringing your hands anxiously. snuggles. comforters in the dead of winter.nails against skin. cold metal. leather in summer.

TASTE. coffee in the morning. tea in the evening. bubblegum that lost its flavor. alcohol burning the back of your throat. homemade cooking, no matter what’s made.blood in your mouth.stale air. mint. fresh vegetables. that processed taste of citrus candy. the first meal you cook by yourself that tastes good.foreign sweets. fast food. Bittersweet. Sour. Spicy. Sweet. Bitter. too much salt on fries.

I tag my beloved @battlemastershepard , @zet-sway and @maryam0revna !

#themshep #sheeit i am enjoying these tag games #mass effect #oc: mercy shepard

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huilian · 4 years

Text

stop confusing my name, dad!

AO3

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Barbara Gordon

Summary:

Bruce has too many children, or, 5 times Bruce calls his children by the wrong name.

A/N: this is inspired by this post by @in-fearful-day-in-raging-night. Please check them out! They post quality batfam things! The first four have dialogue stolen (with permission) directly from the post, and the last one is mine. I wanted to add one time Bruce got called the wrong name, but couldn't figure out how to do it properly, so... sorry?

***

It’s a quiet morning at the Manor. Too quiet, with two of his children currently on attendance. Admittedly they’re all here because they crashed after a truly exhausting patrol, but Bruce has trained his children well. They are never too tired to wreck havoc inside his home.

Bruce walks towards the kitchen silently. If his children are quiet, he can be quiet too. He has to catch them before they catch him, or the consequences (for him) will be even worse.

No one in the kitchen. At least, no one Bruce, with his extensive training, can detect. He walks in gingerly, still scanning the room for hostiles, namely, his children. If they are not in the kitchen, then they are somewhere else. He has to stay vigilant.

Yesterday night was truly an exhausting patrol. Why are his children like this?

A crash. Somewhere on the second floor.

Bruce runs towards it. He knows, logically, that it is most likely his children doing what passes as fun between them, but he can’t shake the nagging feeling inside him. What if it’s not his children? What if someone has come to hurt them? Bruce runs.

He stops dead in his tracks, however, when he sees Damian. Who is standing in front of Tim’s door, frantically trying to break it down, while dripping wet. Bruce distantly notices an upturned bucket some feet away from his youngest son, but he’s much more interested in the fact that his youngest son is breaking his other son’s door. That is made of solid wood.

He’s going to break himself. Bruce, with no other thought besides stopping Damian, says, “Dick, stop that! Wait, no.” Why is he calling Dick? It’s clearly Damian in front of him. So he tries again. “Jason,” no, that’s not right either, “no, Tim, ugh, Cass, I mean Damian! Stop that!”

Damian, who thankfully stops his assault on Tim’s door, glares up at him. “Father! How dare you confuse me with Drake!”

Bruce opens his mouth to scold Damian, because breaking down his siblings’ door is not acceptable behaviour, but then Tim’s door opens, revealing the boy himself. “Damian, he literally called everyone’s name, and that’s what you focus on?”

“He called me by your name! It’s a disgrace I will not stand on!”

“He went through everyone’s name! And I’m not a disgrace!”

“Ha! You admit you are a disgrace!”

“I literally just said I’m not a disgrace, you little brat. Are you even listening?”

Bruce sighs. Tim and Damian arguing is basically an everyday occurrence by now, but the headache it inflicts upon Bruce never stops. Why are his children like this?

“Enough!” Bruce shouts. “Damian, breaking down your siblings’ door is not acceptable. Jason, stop pranking your little brother,” because Bruce knows enough by now to be sure that the bucket was Tim’s doing.

Silence. Normally a Tim and Damian argument can’t be solved by just a simple admonishment, but Bruce is going to take what miracles the universe decides to give him. Bruce turns to go. He needs coffee, because yesterday night was truly an exhausting patrol, and he has work to do today.

That is, until Tim shrieks, “Jason?”

Oh no.

“You’re calling me Jason?” Tim scoffs. “Unbelievable.”

“Tim, Tim, wait, I’m sorry,” Bruce stammers, but Tim scoffs again.

“Jason. I’m done with this. Come on, Damian, let’s leave Bruce to his inability to remember his own children’s name,” Tim says. Then, he adds, low enough to pretend that he doesn’t want Bruce to hear, but just loud enough so that Bruce can hear it perfectly well, “Batman, my ass. Can’t even remember his children’s name.”

“For once, I agree with you, Drake.” For someone who is spitting mad at being called Tim just a few minutes ago, Damian follows Tim easily enough.

Oh no, oh no. Those two working together is going to be unstoppable. Bruce shudders to think about what they are going to do to him.

(He got locked out of the kitchen. And then his room. And then his car. Basically every door he tried to open today is locked. Even the entrance to the Cave is locked, and he made it. Why are his children like this?)

It’s always good whenever all his children are in Gotham, patrolling with him. Provided they are not there because of a massive Arkham breakout or an apocalypse that needed all hands on deck. It’s always good whenever all Bruce’s children are patrolling Gotham with him because they all decided to visit.

(He knows it’s the overbearing parent in him, but he likes all of them patrolling Gotham with him because if they are on patrol with him, they are not getting into any trouble he can’t help them out of. Ideally they would not be getting into any trouble at all, but Bruce knows his children. That hope had sailed long ago.)

Since they are all here tonight, Bruce decides to do one of his semi-regular sweeps of the illegal bars. There are a lot of them tonight-almost all of them, really, except for Black Bat who has her own mission tonight-so Bruce is hoping that this time the message will stick longer.

He left this at the very end of the patrol, when the bars are at their most crowded, so that it would hit even more people. Robin is already with him, of course, and he registers the rest of his children gathering next to him.

It’s not that complicated of a bust, so he feels comfortable just giving instructions on the go. “The patrons are not committing any serious crime, not yet, but they are planning to do so. We’ll stop the planning, but no use of force unless absolutely necessary.” He waits for confirmation from all of them, already pulling his mental map of the bar. “Nightwing, take the left entrance.” Wait. That’s not what Bruce meant. That’s not what Bruce meant at all. “No wait, Robin, no, Black Bat, Red Hood, Batgirl, whoever you are,” Bruce points at Tim, then clicks his fingers a few times. It doesn’t make that much noise, especially with the gauntlets on, but the gesture itself helped. “Red Robin!” Finally! His children change their names far too many times, Bruce swears. “Take the left.”

He’s greeted with silence from his children. Then Tim (Red Robin, Bruce’s mind helpfully supplied) said, “Wow, B, thanks for that.”

The statement from Tim seems to unlock the rest of his children’s mouth, because everyone starts talking all at once.

“Black Bat’s not even on this mission!”

“Wait, so-”

“I swear he does this all the time!”

“-who’s taking the left?”

Bruce decides to focus on the actually relevant question (thank you, Dick), and growls out, “Red Robin is taking the left. Nightwing will come with me and Robin through the front entrance. Batgirl, stay on the back entrance and handle any runners. Hood, take the right.”

Everyone seemed to be paying attention, for which Bruce is grateful for, but then, because his children will never let anything go, Jason said, “Are you sure it’s me who’s taking the right and not Robin?”

Stephanie looks like she also wants to add something, but Bruce cuts her out before that. “Yes. Now positions, everyone.”

They move, but it’s only because his children (and Bruce notes this with not a small sense of pride himself) are professionals. Bruce is sure that he will pay for this, with interest, but that can wait until after they finished this bust.

It’s just him and Dick, tonight. Robin has a test tomorrow, and Bruce knows that Damian is going to ace the test, patrol or no, but the rule has always been and will always be no patrol before a test, so Damian is staying in. The rest of his brood (Bruce has a brood now. He would have laughed had you tell him that a few years ago.) have their own cases, and so Bruce is patrolling with Dick.

It reminds him of days long passed.

“Robin, fall back and we’ll rendezvous at the docks,” Bruce says to his comms. Dick is a few blocks away, having split with Bruce to check in with someone he saved a couple weeks ago. It’s a quiet night, at any rate, and Bruce just wants to sweep the docks once and go back home.

There’s no answer from the comms. Bruce is starting to panic, because Dick knows better than to not answer his comms. He starts to move towards Dick’s location, while trying to hail Dick again, when Dick, finally, blessedly, answers, “Do you mean me?”

Bruce is so relieved to hear Dick’s voice that the meaning of his words doesn’t register to him for a minute. Why wouldn’t Dick think Bruce meant him? “Yes, of course I mean you,” Bruce says.

“B,” Dick’s voice sounds exasperated, even through the comms, “it’s been well over a decade since I’ve been Robin. There’s been four other Robins since me.”

Oh. Bruce mentally rewinds the conversation, only to shamefully realize that a, he did call Dick Robin, b, Robin, the actual Robin, is currently inside his room, and c, Dick is right. “Sorry, Nightwing.”

Bruce hears Dick sighs. “What should I do with you, B?”

“Next thing you know, he’ll be calling me Batgirl.” Oracle. “There’s a mugging two streets over, Batman. You might want to check it out with Robin.”

“Hey! Don’t lump me in with him, O! I know better than that!”

“It’s your fault. You’re the one who made him start taking in kids left and right,” Barbara says. “Go high, Nightwing.”

“You know I’ll always go high, Oracle.”

Bruce is content with letting the two of them banter as he takes down the mugger. He knows these two. They can run their mouth off, but they’ll still do their job perfectly. And besides, it is nice to hear Barbara’s voice. That just makes it feel more like the old days.

Bruce keeps his mouth shut though, partly because he’s still reeling from calling Dick Robin, and partly because he cannot trust himself to not call Barbara Batgirl. Like he said, tonight reminds him of the old days.

He finishes neutralizing the mugger at the same time as Nightwing emerges in his point of view. He checks the bindings one more time, then looks up.

“O, tell me something,” Nigthwing has a huge grin on his face, “you keep recordings of our comms, right?”

Oh no. Dick wouldn’t. Barbara wouldn’t.

“Of course, Nightwing. Is there something in particular you need?”

Then again, it’s Dick and Barbara. Robin and Batgirl. They would. They absolutely would.

“Can I get a recording of tonight’s conversation?” Dick looks Bruce right in the eyes as he says this. “I need to share it with my siblings.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Barbara says. Even Bruce can hear the smile in her voice, and he knows Dick would hear it even more. He can’t win against the two of them. He hasn’t been able to for years now. “Should I send it to Batgirl as well?”

“Oh, please do,” Dick says. “I can’t wait to see their reaction.”

Bruce sighs. Not so much like the old days, after all. At least back then, they didn’t have anyone to share his embarrassing moments with.

“Red Robin, what’s your position?” They’ve been trailing this particular shipment for a few weeks now, and Bruce wants to close this case as soon as possible.

“Uh… I’m standing next to you?” Tim says. Damn it. He’s doing it again.

“... Red Hood, what’s your position?” He can’t be blamed that his children choose very similar sounding code names. Even he can’t remember everything.

Of course, Jason would beg to differ. “Fuck you, B, if you can’t even tell us apart, I’m not telling you jackshit.”

Bruce sighs. “Hood, please, let’s just finish this now and have the pissing contest later. We need to stop the shipment from getting to the streets.”

“Fine, but only because I don’t want to let the drugs get on the streets. We will have the pissing contest later, mark my words.”

Bruce starts to feel relief, but it’s apparently too soon, because Tim (dear, dear Tim) says, “What about me? Stop forgetting my name, B.”

“Um, little bird, he forgot my name, not yours.”

“He substituted my name for yours! That means he forgot my name too!”

“Boys,” Bruce feels very strongly the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, but forces it down because he’s wearing the cowl, “please stop arguing. Let’s, let’s just finish this. Please,” he whispered the last word, unsure whether it’s a plea or a prayer.

Tim looks at him, and Bruce has the feeling that Jason, from his own perch, is also looking down at him. Tim nods, and then eerily, both he and Jason say, “Fine,” at the same time.

Bruce knows that this is not over, not even close, but he’s so relieved that they agreed to shelf this for now. So he says again, making sure he says the right name, “Red Hood, what’s your position?”

“Up the second rig, Batman,” Jason answers. There’s still an underlying sense of Jason being pissed off, but at least he’s answering Bruce’s questions now.

“Noted. I’ll drop down on the sellers, and Red Hood, you’ll be coming with me,” Bruce recites the plan. He waits for the confirmation, but it doesn’t come.

“I thought I’m coming with you?” Why is Tim sounding so confused?

Damn. Damn. Bruce swears.

“You messed up our name again, didn’t you? Fuck you, B.”

Bruce swears again. This is going to be a long night.

“Batgirl, three men your way,” Bruce says.

“My way? Are you sure, Batman? I’m inside the vents?” Stephanie says.

This is getting ridiculous. Why does he keep mixing up his children’s name? He doesn’t even have that many of them. “Black Bat, three men your way.”

Cass looks back at him and gives him a smile that promises pain to everyone that dares to come her way. He knows he doesn’t need to give out warnings to Cass, but he still worries. He watches as Cass delivers perfect takedowns one after the other. It calms him, to know that Cass is much, much better than he is.

The sense of calm doesn’t last though, because his comms hiss alive again. “Did you just forget that I’m Batgirl?”

Bruce sighs. “No.” That’s the truth, too. He just mixes up the names sometimes. More than once, he wishes that his children aren’t passing down names and taking new ones every other year. It’s getting harder and harder to keep everything straight in his head.

“Wait, is this the thing Red keeps telling me about? You mixing everyone’s names up?” Stephanie sounds absolutely gleeful.

“No, Robin. Focus on the mission, please.”

Cass, who had casually taken down every thug in the area, walks over calmly to Bruce, and says, “You just called her Robin.”

Bruce freezes. Oh no. Now Stephanie’s never going to let this go.

“Did you just call me Robin?” There it is.

“Sorry, Batgirl.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe it! Batman, mixing up people’s names! O sent me that recording of you calling Wing Robin, but I thought that’s that! I can’t believe it!”

“He mixes up Red Robin and Red Hood all the time,” Cass says.

“You didn’t! B! No wonder Red keeps bitching about it to me!”

“Are you in the command room yet, Batgirl?” Bruce swallows down his embarrassment. Focus on the mission. Focus on the mission.

“Yeah, I’m copying their data as we speak, B-man. How many times have you mixed up the Reds?”

Bruce considers lying, but then, Cass is right there. She would bust him right away.

“Three,” he grits out.

“Four,” Cass says.

“Three. The time with Condiment King doesn’t count.”

“Condiment King? Oh this conversation is gold. Please tell me the story, BB.”

Bruce closes his eyes. For the umpeteenth time, he asks himself, why are his children like this?

#dc #bruce wayne #tim drake #damian wayne #jason todd #dick grayson #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #barbara gordon #fic #lian writes

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