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aspiringharlot · 3 years

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Redolence

You’ve got a pretty lame quirk, but it manages to catch someone’s attention.

Word Count: 5.8k

Okay, second attempt at this whole y/n fanfic idea…I also tried formatting the this beginning bit, hope you’re still bearing with me!

Trigger warnings: Stalking behavior, noncon/ noncon turned to consent, public sex, name calling (let me know if I forgot something)

Tagged for: @palbabor-writes, @tod0oki, @kugutsuu

p.s. @cupcake-rogue, I know that this isn’t explicitly yandere/incel focused but I figured I’d direct your attention anyways!

For Palbabor, a sprinkle of Hawks!

Was Hawks the kind of guy to play it fast and loose? No, not even close. Sure, he acted out the charismatic, playboy persona crafted by his PR team, but a careless man he was not. Hawks had self-control, and a sense of self discipline, he’d never just make brash decisions capable of jeopardizing his standing as a hero.

And yet he’d entangled himself in this situation.

It all started when he caught a whiff of you.

Being a Hawk-man had many upsides. Hawks had phenomenal vision, unmatched speed and reflexes, and even telepathic control over his wings, though, that last ability may not be as Hawk related as the others. Still, despite the multitude of benefits, Hawks, like many birds, had a weak olfactory sense.

He’d lived his whole life like that, never seeing the downside to this facet of his life. How could he? Can’t miss what you never had, right?

And then, on a sweltering day approximately two months ago, he smelt a distinct scent.

He had no reference to judge the scent. How could he explain it? It was… good?

That was your quirk. You’d always lamented the lameness of your quirk, an emitter type known as “Redolence”. You could inspire interest and appreciation in others through your pheromones, in most cases only minutely affecting another’s perception of you. This had helped you out a few times. Before job interviews or dates, you’d typically avoid wearing perfume or using scented soaps, making you more likely to receive a call back, but that was really all it could do.

You’d never put much thought towards how those with a weak sense of smell would perceive it. Surely, they’d be unable to smell your pheromones and would go on with their day, right?

Wrong.

The scent of your pheromones penetrated all noses, regardless of their capabilities.

It had been months since that fateful patrol in which Hawks had smelt a scrunchie you’d lost on the sidewalk. The smell at first caught him off guard. It wasn’t often that he smelt something, let alone all the way up in the air and that made him curious. He dove lower to the ground to see what that smell could possibly be. Perched at the top of a building he scanned the street side with his trained eyes.

He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. An average crowd of people milling on with their day, seemingly oblivious to the mouthwatering aroma encompassing the neighborhood.

Really, Hawks should’ve just went back to his patrol. Nothing terribly strange was happening, he just smelt something.

‘Get back to work, Hawks.’ He thought to himself. ‘wasting time now means you’ll get your route done later and that means less personal time when it’s finally over with.’

The hero stood, readying himself to soar back in the air.

Instead he dove down.

The action wasn’t especially discreet, and several citizens flocked to Hawks, asking for pictures or autographs. He dealt with them as he would any other fan, patiently but not allowing himself to be pushed around. Eventually, as they were leaving him to himself, the blond reached out and asked a pair of friends if they’d smelt the pleasant aroma floating through the area.

They looked to each other confused before the shorter of the pair gained a spark of recognition in her eyes.

“Oh, do you mean that super sweet smell? It was a little stronger back the way we came but it wasn’t all that unusual.”

“Hm.” Hawks grunted gruffly, before seeing the taken aback faces of the pair. Misstep, that grunt was too aggressive, mask it with a more carefree response.

“Oh uh, sorry girls, I suspect there’s an illegal quirk user right in the area.” He pushed out a hardy, fake chuckle. “Not that’s anything a pair of beautiful young girls like yourself needs to worry about.”

They began to blush and stammer, allowing Hawks the perfect opportunity to exit the conversation and head off towards the area the short girl referenced. What an easy distraction a simple complement could make.

As he moved on, he smelled that scent becoming stronger and more powerful. His heart was beating, and butterflies began to form in his stomach. What was this smell? And why was he so desperate to find the source of it?

Eventually the scent began to fade slightly. Shit, he must’ve walked right past it. A game of hot and cold began, Hawks walking in circles like an idiot to track down the source of the smell. And then he found it.

A scrunchie, pink and velvety with prominent ruffles.

That was all, just a hair tie. Mystery solved, pack it up, time to move on.

Hawks was pathetic, feeling like a freak, as in one fluid motion he bent at the waist to collect the scrunchie. He held it to close to his face, mouthwatering as something stirred inside him. The scent emitting from the hair-tie was what he’d always thought cherry pie would smell like. Was this sugar? If it was, he had no idea how bakers managed their day to day lives, the scent alone making him feel increasingly excited.

Was he really going to do this? Snatch a hair tie from the sidewalk grate and keep it like a desperate weirdo?

The scrunchie was tucked into one of the many pockets lining the inside of Hawks’ coat.

From that day on, huffing that hair tie became a part of Hawks’ routine. After a long day he’d come home to shower and tend to his wings before reveling in the scent. It came to a point where he’d please himself, in one hand holding the scrunchie to his face as the other stroked his cock. He didn’t know how, but he had fallen in love with a scent.

Tragically, overtime, the smell faded like autumn leaves losing their crunch. He was going to have to stop relying on the scrunchie.

No, he was addicted to this smell, he couldn’t just let it fade out from his life. He thought back to the day he found it. It was left behind in public, maybe there were cameras which had captured the owner of this hair tie. Cameras that captured you.

Being a top pro hero gave Hawks much leeway- contacting the owners of nearby businesses and asking for copies of their security footage inspired no suspicion. Within a day he had several angles of perspective on the drop sight. He stuck an intern at his agency with the responsibility of reviewing the footage to detect who had dropped the footage.

Five hours later, Hawks saw you for the first time.

His heart fluttered. He saw a beautiful, no- a gorgeous girl resign herself to the side of the path as she dug through a small bag, digging for something. In frustration she pulls the bag open wider and ruffles more intensely until finally she pulls out a phone. In the roughness, the scrunchie he had held so close for two months now, slipped out of her purse. She hadn’t noticed, instead checking her phone only to noticeably sigh in relief as a car approached her. She entered the car and it drove away.

Finally, Hawks could put a face to a smell. Now he just had to find you.

That poor intern began to reevaluate his position as the agency when Hawks told him to track you down- Hawks wanted an entire file, complete with a name, date of birth, address, summative history. The whole works.

It took several days, but the intern got all the information and organized it in a neat manilla folder, giving it to Hawks as soon as it was completed.

When Hawks received the folder, he could hardly contain his excitement. This was it, using this file he could track down the smell and subsequently the person that he’d been obsessing over for the past two months. After his intern left, he raced to his room, digging the scrunchie from the plastic baggie it was kept in to sniff at it as he read your file. He tore it open right after pulling his pants down to his ankles. He immediately began palming at his erection, softly exhaling as he began to read over your file.

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(Photograph of you)

(clipped behind, are nudes that were obtained from your phone)

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Hawks stopped himself immediately to look slack jawed at the nude photographs of you, squeezing himself around the base of his cock to remind him of restraint. He laid the photo out next to the file to reference as he massaged his cock.

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Name: (y/n) (l/n)

Date of Birth: (y/D.O.B.)

Gender: Female

Sex: Female

Relationship Status: Single, no romantic partners or interests.

Sexuality: Unclear

Quirk: Redolence (emitter) - produces mood altering hormones capable of influencing perceptions of others. Low calculated threat as a combatant. Possible use in support position.

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‘Well,’ thought Hawks. ‘That certainly explains how I’ve gotten into this situation.’ He pumped his cock slowly, savoring the information he was learning.

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Legal status: Immigrated Citizen – all paperwork has been processed and completed as of 12/14/20XX

Criminal History: Nonexistent

Address: (Nearby address)

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‘She’s been that close this whole time?’ Hawks couldn’t help but picture you, walking down his street, your quirk turning heads as people wondered why they wanted you so badly. The inadequacy those strangers would feel when they saw Hawks swoop down to lift you off the street and into the air. Hawks felt even more turned on.

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Summary: (L/n) works at (place of employment) as (job position). Current income is ($$) per year. Has scarcely active social media profile. Not a public figure. Little contact with friends and family (out of country, no files available to draw information from). No roommates. No house pets. I.P. tracking shows recent queries centered around, heat death of the universe, 20th century American criminal Ed Gein, plane tickets to (your state), and pornographic material containing Consenting Non-Consent (CNC), public sex, indecent exposure, chikan and degradation.

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‘Oh boy,’ Hawks felt his cock twitch. He couldn’t believe that you’d be such a naughty little slut. He took a deep inhalation, melting at the fading scent. Right now, all he had was this scrunchie, but soon he’d have you. The reassurance made him being to pump his cock faster, the member throbbing in his calloused hands.

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Medical history shows she is prone to cavities, complications have arisen from improper healing of a torn muscle. Currently attending physical therapy to aid recovery. P.T. backed by health insurance.

Schedule:

Sunday- Grocery shops at approximately 11:20. Returns home to clean and watch television. No notable pattern excluding these events.

Monday- Attends work from 8:00 to 17:00. Purchases takeout on way home. No notable pattern excluding these events.

Tuesday- Attends work from 8:00 to 17:00. Returns home. Exits at 20:00, goes to building laundry office. No notable pattern excluding these events.

Wednesday- Attends physical therapy from 10:00 to 11:00. Attends work from 12:00 to 20:00. No notable pattern excluding these events.

Thursday- Attends work from 8:00 to 17:00. Returns home. No notable pattern excluding these events.

Friday- Goes to (specific area) public park at approximately 12:00. Remains for approximately two hours. Returns home and orders take-out. No notable pattern excluding these events.

Saturday- No notable pattern detected.

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Hawks was more than pleased with the information that had been gathered on you. And the schedule, that gave him more than enough time to plan out your first meeting. He could see it now, this Friday he’ll swoop through the park and casually run into you.

“Oh, hey there pretty lady, its funny running into you here, I think I saw you a few months ago…” You would start blushing and stammering right away, you’d feel so honored that the Pro Hero Hawks had remembered you, even if you hadn’t technically met.

From there he’d pull out the scrunchie that you lost and play it off like he’d seen you drop it recently. He’d say something like, “Anyway- I saw you drop this a few minutes ago and I thought I’d catch up and return it to you.” He’d hold it out to you and get a little closer than would be strictly necessary. You’d look into his eyes and Hawks could tell you how beautiful you are. He’d offer you out to coffee, he knows you have nothing planned afterwards so there’s no way you’ll say no.

By the time you finished your coffee you’d be in love with Hawks, equally infatuated with him as he was you. You’d shyly ask if he was busy and if maybe he wouldn’t mind walking you home… As soon as you got there, you’d offer yourself to him, stripping off your clothes to reveal your sensual breasts. He’d eagerly be led to the bedroom and immediately work himself down to your core, hoping for a chance to smell your sex. He’d lap at your folds, savoring the taste as he’d dip is tongue past the ring of muscle protecting your hole.

You’d mewl beneath him or pant his name and just beg him to fuck you with his cock. The sounds you’d make underneath him, downright sinful. You’d cum on his cock and flood the room with the smell of your pheromones, making him cum right inside you before he’d collapse on top of you to breath in your scent at the source.

In reality, Hawks was pumping his cock fast, occasionally twisting is hand to change up the rhythm, getting closer and closer as he dropped the scrunchie to instead hold the nude photograph. As he imagined the way you’d beg for his cock he came, hard, shooting white ribbons of cum right onto the picture of you.

He smiled.

Yes, Hawks had this whole thing planned perfectly. This encounter was going to end spectacularly.

When Friday came, Hawks came to the park an hour early, keeping an eye out for you just incase you’d decided to come early. The pro hero was circling the circumference of the park, his eyes darting from person to person until finally he saw you. Or, more accurately, smelled you.

You were entering the park from the west end, in your arms a yoga mat and a large opaque water bottle. On your body was a pants tightening outfit- black high-rise spandex cupping your legs and ass with a white cropped t-shirt straining against your tits. The little shirt was tied into a little knot in the front, the shin white fabric doing nothing to hide your black sports bra, enticing glances from men and women alike. Your hair was another matter of interest for Hawks, the soft strands clipped out of your eyes, only allowing the barest element to frame your face. Most importantly, you smelled great, Hawks could tell from all the way up in the air. The smell was not the same as the smell of your scrunchie- that one had been more, flirty somehow. Today all that Hawks could smell was that underlying scent that screamed ‘you’. Hawks didn’t mind though, he’d work your quirk’s full potential out of you when the time came.

The way he was getting excited, Hawks didn’t think he could wait any longer, he had to go down and make contact.

He managed to hold off another 7 minutes, allowing you to position yourself in a secluded area of the park, ideal for yoga and meditation. At this point he’d grounded himself to be more discreet and was casually approaching you, not that you noticed with your back to him and eyes closed.

For a tense moment, Hawks stood silently in front of you, breathing quiet. His heart pounded, ba-dum, ba-dum.

“Hey there.” You jumped in surprise, eyes shooting open as you gasped out an awkward sort of “guUh!” noise.

“Whoops!” Hawks chuckled merrily. “Didn’t mean to spook ya there.” When you looked at him, it took you a moment to process that there was a pro-hero in front of you. As you looked up at him, you took notice of his stance. He was calm, standing languidly and unbothered. He must have just felt like acknowledging you and now that he had, he’d probably move on with his day.

“Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?” you blanched. Did he know you?

“ah, no, uh… you must be thinking of someone else.”

“No, No, I wouldn’t forget a pretty face like yours.” He winked confidently. ‘What?’ you thought.

“What?” you said.

“Where was it… Oh!” He snapped, pointing at you. “On the sidewalk outside (business), about two month’s back, yeah, that’s it! (y/n)! That’s your name!”

You furrowed your brow trying to remember what the hell he was talking about. Sure, you’d gone through that area several times in the past three months, you had to in order to get to your physical therapy appointment, but you couldn’t recall seeing Hawks there. You’d never seen the guy in person to begin with!

“Uh, yeah maybe…” Hawks smirked at you.

“Oh, it’s fine if you don’t remember,” his face switched from playful to informative. “there was that villain with the memory erasing quirk, he probably hit you.” You supposed that made sense. Perhaps you did have a conversation with Hawks at some point, that’d explain why he knew your name.

“So-ahem,” you cleared your throat. “what’d we talk about?”

“Well, I saw you drop a few dollars and a hair tie from your purse and decided to do the heroic thing and return them to you” Hawks became carefree again. “We were chatting, and this little stand offered me some chicken kebabs- I asked if you could have some too and we just chatted until that villain came through. If I remember correctly, we were talking about exchanging numbers.”

You widened your eyes. Not only had you been approached by Hawks in the past, but you’d been about to get his number? You weren’t even a huge fan of hero’s, how had that happened?

“Wow, uh, I don’t know what to say.” You giggled.

“You know, I’m free at the moment, mind if I sit and enjoy the park with you?” Without waiting on a response Hawks plopped himself down near you, his great, red wings flexing for a moment before relaxing.

“Oh, uhm, sure…” Now you weren’t sure what to do. You were clearly here to do yoga, but would it be rude to keep doing it while someone was with you?

As if he read your mind, Hawks opened his mouth again, saying, “Don’t mind me, you can go on with your yoga.”

Now it’d be rude if you didn’t continue. You moved into a high lunge pose, stretching your thigh muscles before groaning just a little. Your sore muscle still experiencing some pain.

“Oh, was that the leg you were going to physical therapy for?” he asked innocently. You looked over to see him sprawled on the grass watching you.

“Yeah… I told you I was going to physical therapy?” Something about the way he said that ground your gears. Come to think of it, you only went through that way as you where heading to your appointment. Why would you stop and chat with Hawks beforehand and risk being late?

And, who would be serving chicken kebabs at 9:30 in the morning?

Something was off.

“Oh yeah!” Hawks brought you from your thoughts. “You were talking about how you couldn’t hang out long, you had your appointment to get to. Heck, you left in such a hurry I forgot to hand that hair tie back to you… hmmm… I wonder if…” Hawks began shrugging his coat off before rummaging through the pockets.

So, it seemed possible that you may of ran into Hawks at some point, but he must have been lying about the kebab thing… or maybe he was exaggerating to justify his interest.

“I knew it!” He pulled a pink scrunchie from one of his pockets and sure enough you did recognize it. It certainly was yours.

“Your scrunchie, m’lady.” He scooted closer to you and offered it back.

“Thanks…” you accepted it, wrapping the tie around your wrist twice. You noticed that some of the material seemed worn and stretched, like it had been handled a lot. “I’m surprised you kept it this long.”

“Me too,” Hawks laughed. “To be honest, I forgot all about it till just now.” His face was lit with a cheery smile. He held the smiled uncomfortably long and you weren’t so sure he was telling the truth.

Similarly, you were holding your yoga position too long. When you went to shift your position you grunted, your butt hitting the ground as you were destabilized.

You let out a high pitched, “Shit…” as you felt pain envelope your thigh.

“Oh, fuck, are you okay?” Hawks asked, sitting up and moving even closer to you. It was kind of weird how he kept scooting closer. Brief conversation or not, you were still strangers.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” you assured. “This happens sometimes, I just have to rub the area a bit, it’s just a pain doing it myself-“

“I could do it.” Hawks eyes kept moving from your inner thigh to your face and back again.

“heh, uh, no thanks…” you tried to laugh it off.

“No really, let me at it. You’ll feel much better.”

“Uh, thanks for the offer but, it’s not that bad.”

Okay, that was weird too. That was really weird. People don’t just offer to… do that, nor do they insist, and he seemed completely serious.

You were starting to feel not so safe around Hawks. Several things weren’t adding up. A villain with a quirk that could alter a person’s memory… When would you even be hit with that quirk? You did make it to your appointment- Hawks said so himself, so at what point would you get hit with a quirk like that?

The two of you sat it tense silence, not that Hawks acknowledged it. At the moment, he was just happy to be close to your scent. It would’ve been ideal if you’d let him in between your legs to massage your sore muscle but, could he really complain right now? No, even if this was awkward, he could see this working out for him.

“So, Hawks uh, how did I get hit with a memory loss quirk?” you asked.

“I don’t know that one, I just figured you had since you didn’t remember me and there was a villain with that quirk in the area, you must have been hit.” He seemed nonchalant and by all means, trustworthy; he was a hero for crying out loud!

But you couldn’t shake the gut feeling that something was wrong. Hawks would look at you, smiling charismatically, but you couldn’t help but feel like a chicken trapped in a fox’s den.

You’d really rather be going.

“Well, um…” you awkwardly start. “I think I’m going to head out…”

Hawks tilted his head as he looked at you. “What? Are you kidding? You’ve only been here for 20 minutes…Oh, don’t tell me that your one of those people who only does yoga in the park to say that they did yoga in the park.” His inflection. Were you imagining the bite you heard in his tone?

“O- oh, no, it’s just ah… I’m not feeling well…” You started to gather your stuff together, rolling up your mat before starting to stand. Before you fully straightened yourself out you started to sink back down, your leg muscle throbbing. You yelped and Hawks caught you, lowering you back down.

“’Not that bad’, huh?” Hawks chucked and he started to lightly push you back. You resisted, anxiously blabbering, “No, Hawks, I’ll be fine- I think I’ll feel better once I’m back home.”

You couldn’t stop him from pinning you down. Hawks straddled your good leg, holding the knee of your bad so you couldn’t close your legs. Humiliatingly, a single feather flew to rest on your forehead, subtly preventing you from lifting your upper body.

With his free hand, Hawks tenderly explored your inner thigh first only rubbing you through your spandex with the pads of his fingertips.

Alarms were ringing in your head, red alert, red alert, stranger pinning you down to creep on your thighs

“Hawks please-“ you tried to start.

“If you’d just let me finish this, you’d be out before you even realize I touched you.”

You tried being quiet, maybe submission would aid you.

Hawks got rougher with his caresses, making you whimper underneath him. Frustratingly, the position he’d pinned you in was… kind of erotic. There was this handsome man, holding you down, forcing your legs open and subsequently exposing your core. Your brain was recognizing the pattern, remembering all the porn you watched, the erotica you read. Your pussy started getting wet. You hoped to God that your quirk wouldn’t activate- it’d only make Hawks more aggressive.

You didn’t realize the half of it.

Because Hawks could smell your pheromones, inviting him to continue, making his head feel dizzy with excitement. His mouth watered and he began to lower closer and closer to your legs. Closer to your pussy.

“Oh (y/n),” he crooned. “Your leggings are getting in the way, I hope you don’t mind if I just-“ a feather detached itself from his wing, sharpening and dragging across your pantleg. A slit was torn in the fabric, exposing your leg to him.

“Hawks- please stop!”

He didn’t stop. Instead you felt his hands wander to the slit to physically rip a bigger hole, making the leggings a mere scrap of spandex. The action revealed your clothed cunt and the increased intensity of your pheromones drove Hawks wild, making him as feral as an opossum. He gave up the pretense of massaging your sore muscles and cupped your pussy with his palm, feeling your heat and wetness through your panties.

For a moment he just held it there before taking the hand to his nose and inhaling deeply.

And then you understood.

The scrunchie wrapped around your wrist, you last wore the thing on a hookup. Your pheromones must have gotten into the fibers of the fabric. If you lost it… and Hawks found it…No wonder Hawks had held on to it for so long… the fucker developed an obsession with the scent of your pheromones.

And then, he sees you, in public- of course he’d try to initiate something with you… Shit.

You’re taken back to the reality of your situation when you feel the scrape of a feather against your shirt. That- That fucker was cutting open your shirt! How the fuck were you going to get home in a bra and panties… soaked panties at that.

Rip Rip

Okay, scratch that, now all your clothes were shredded and unwearable.

Hawks finally changed positions, swinging around to hold you in a 69 position. The action kept you pinned down even when you jumped in surprise at the sensation of Hawks dragging his tongue over your pussy lips. He didn’t hesitate to dive in, eating your pussy like a man starved of nutrients for 12 to 13 days.

You hated to admit it… but it felt fantastic. The feeling of his stubble dragging against your skin while he alternated between licking and sucking your clit was making your pussy gush. The taboo of it all as well. Fuck, this shit was all your kinks rolled into one.

You wanted to hate what was happening. Hawks, he was overpowering you- making you feel small and weak. This was wrong…

Fuck it, you were horny.

To Hawks’ surprise you started palming at his erection, trying to work the zipper down to free his cock. Despite his surprise, he was thankful. Hawks Junior was starting to feel like a caged bird, trapped in his pants the way they were.

He was doubly as thankful when he felt your small, soft hand start working his cock, pumping it, letting the tip rub against the skin of your breast. Hawks shakily exhaled, taking a moment’s break from eating you out to focus of the pleasurable sensations overtaking his cock.

“Hawks~” you whined. “You’re wearing too many clothes…”

“Huh?” he said, dumbfounded for a moment.

“Take your clothes off.” He looked down at himself, raising his eyebrows when he compared his state of dress to yours.

“Oh, yeah, right!” He was quick to strip down, undoing his belt and allowing his pants to fall to the ground. His goggles, coat and shirt followed suit and you took in the sight before you.

In a moment of confidence, Hawks fully extended his wings and allowed you to look upon his toned body. His muscles were well defined and displayed the power housed within his skin.

It made you want to blow him.

You got on your knees before him, nuzzling his cock before taking it into your mouth- not an ounce of hesitation left in you anymore.

“Oh, so is this it real (y/n)? Not some nervous, bashful girl? She’s actually a worthless slut?” he cupped your face in his left hand, pushing your head down further onto his cock. Unprepared, you gagged- pulling yourself off his cock to cough and wheeze. He wasn’t thrilled at that, he wanted to feel your throat convulse around his cock, you weren’t allowed to just pull off.

Hawks grabbed you by the hair, yanking you so you toppled to your hands and knees before his feet.

“Oh come on, you can be a better slut than that!” You looked up to him, lust making your eyes dilated. Eagerly you repositioned yourself onto your knees, again not hesitating to slurp on his cock. He pushed your head down again like last time, triggering your gag reflex but you held down, forcing yourself to relax overtime, swallowing around his cock on occasion.

“See,” he cooed condescendingly, “there’s a good slut.” Wetness dribbled down your thigh. You pulled off his cock with an audible pop and said three words that made Hawks want to fuck you till you went blind.

“Please fuck me.” The look of it all was so erotic. You, naked on your knees, face red and makeup running, lips, puffy and red from sucking cock, begging to be stuffed with cock.

Hawks grabbed you by the hair again, dragging you to a gnarled tree. “oh, you want to be fucked? Fucked right in your needy hole?” you nodded eagerly. “Good slut, now go on, position yourself for me.”

You braced yourself against the tree, arching your back and planting your feet. You could feel the rough bark against the soft skin of your pillowy tits. It hurt but you didn’t care. You were too caught up in the eroticism of what you were doing.

When you felt Hawks tease his cock against your cunt, you couldn’t suppress your squeal of excitement or stop yourself from eagerly spearing yourself onto his cock. You shivered at the sound of Hawks groaning as he entered your tight, slick, heat.

“Fuuuuuck,” He moaned out as he adjusted to your tightness. It wasn’t long before he was bucking into your, searching for the spot inside you that would make your legs shake.

Three or four thrusts in you squeaked- eyes fluttering shut.

“Oh there? Is that where the little slut likes feeling my cock?” you nodded eagerly but that wasn’t enough for Hawks. “No, I want to hear you say it. Say it!”

“Yes! Fuck, that’s where I like feeling your cock!” Hawks pulled out completely.

“That’s where who likes feeling my cock?” your eyes widened with recognition.

“That’s where the little slut likes feeling your cock!”

“Oh, Good Girl!”

He thrust back in, aiming directly for that patch of skin inside your tight walls that made you see stars. Hawks’ own cock was feeling fantastic, the warm heat making him go a little crazy, groaning louder and louder. He kept thrusting in, harder and harder, making your brain rattle around inside your skull. He reached around to grind his hand against your clit, adding to the cacophony of pleasure you felt.

You were getting really close and Hawks’ wasn’t far behind you. With each thrust he could feel his muscles tense up in preparation to cum, the only thing keeping him from erupting inside you being his own willpower.

Finally, as the pleasure built inside of you, your muscles firmly clenched around Hawks’ thick cock, milking it around your own orgasm. The pro hero’s hips slowed their pace, fucking you through both of your orgasms until finally they stuttered to a halt, stuffing you to the brim with his cream.

He remained like that for a moment, cock feeling too sensitive to pull out but finally, he eased his cock out of your hole, removing the dam which had kept all of Hawks’ cum inside you. He watched in satisfaction as his cum leaked out of your used hole, completely transfixed until he heard the snapping of a branch.

He whipped around, eyes locking onto a teenaged boy holding his phone up from the bushes. The kid was tiny, with the strangest hairstyle Hawks had ever seen. Purple balls that didn’t even resemble hair. All and all an ugly kid. Even worse was to see that while one hand was occupied holding his phone, the other was held suspiciously low.

Luckily, at sight alone, the kid made a man dash to avoid a scolding. Unluckily, that kid for sure had a first of its kind, hero sex tape.

Hawks looked back at you, now slid to the ground, breathing heavily. Your naked form was a work of art, and his satisfaction with the sequence of events left him with a clear head. He looked around the clearing the two of you had occupied.

Oh, right. He’d completely destroyed all of your clothes… that was tricky.

“Hey, sorry for ruining all your clothes.” He didn’t seem too sorry.

“Its, whatever… I’ll just have to figure out a way home.”

“Well, I could fly you home… no one to enforce public decency when you’re in the sky.” You were not thrilled at the prospect of flying through the air naked. You looked down at your nude body. Unfortunately, you had no choice.

“I don’t really have any other options…” you helped clean up the clearing, and when all was set and done, allowed yourself to be carried bridal style by Hawks.

He leapt into the air, soaring seemingly higher than a plane. The cold made your nipples rock hard.

“oh by the way, (y/n)?” you looked at him.

“When we get to my apartment I’m gonna need you to rub your scent on my bed.”

Sometimes, you hated your quirk.

#bnha hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #yandere #stalker #bhna fanfiction #bnha x y/n

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dzamie-oc · 4 years

Text

Smaugust 08 - Glass

Dzamie, HM, and William experiment with a glass dragon eating two of them. Y’know, for science. Or something.

Contains vore; do not read if you object to vore existing.

An unusual trio gathered around the table, looking at a small, hollow, glass figurine of a dragon. A green-scaled dragon, inspecting the tiny version of his species, a blond human idly swirling a gently fizzling solution in his hand, and a smiling anthro cheetah with a rapidly swishing tail betraying his excitement. "Okay, so run this by me again," William requested of the nonhumans. He knew what they needed the potion for, and, if not for the dragon, could probably guess the plan.

"And, what am I here for?" HM asked, reaching forward to poke at the transparent figure, "seeing as I'm certain you know I'll sooner melt this thing down than be eaten by it." The cheetah drummed his paws on the table, harmless trails of green magic flying off as he burned through some energy. "I'm so glad you asked; exposition is a forte of mine! Now then..." He set his paws down flat on the table and drew up an illusion of a blueprint for the other two to see. "This is a three-part - well, five, really, but who's counting - three-part plan of action. Now that I've got this ADORABLE dragon statue, I'm gonna-" Dzamie traced two furred fingers through the air, trailing a spell circle behind them that dissipated into sparkles, "- put together a quick spell to animate it. Then, you have that fantastic growth potion to make him get-" he threw his arms open for emphasis, "- nice and big, and then he'll eat us. Probably you, then me," he said, physically pointing at William, then himself, "so I can observe, record, all that fun stuff." HM watched his energetic explanation dispassionately. "That better not be all you have to say." Dzamie reached over to the dragon and pat his head, earning a quick snap of his jaws that his paw just barely escaped. "Me? Nothing more to say? Why, HM, I thought you knew me. Now," the cheetah giggled before holding up one finger to forestall an interruption, and addressed them both, "so, it turns out that making life, like, through magic, is REALLY hard. And also, even if I DID - which I could, it's just too much effort - I have, like, a TON of moral reservations about magically altering the being's entire mind to a specific state for the purpose of doing some observation and also fun. Now, you know what's actually super very much easier than creating actual life, AND gets the soon to be big glass dragon to do exactly what we want it to do?" The cheetah put a finger to each of his friends' mouths - and once again dodged a bite from HM - before continuing, "now hold on, I'm gonna tell you. "Right, so, it turns out it's a heck of a lot easier to just make something able to move, like a puppet but much, much, MUCH finer controls, if I then also have someone pilot it around. Like an Eva. Or full synchro Megaman. Or- actually, there's a ton of stuff that did it. Anyway, that's what you're here for, HM! According to my notes, you have-" Dzamie traced a few numbers in the air, mumbling "carry the six," then went on, "- nearly twenty-four years of experience being a dragon! So this should be super easy for you. All you have to do is continue being a dragon, just one that's not made of flesh and blood and bone and all that nasty stuff. Well, scales aren't nasty. They're pretty cool." He shook his head. "Anyway, so in a way, you're gonna be eating us! It'll just also be a big glass dragon. So, any more questions?" William asked, "so why are we doing this in the first place?" This got an even wider grin from the cheetah. "For SCIENCE! ...and cuz I have a thing for being eaten, and I suspect you have one too, mister 'dating an aroma dragon.'" He rubbed his paws together, then summoned a clipboard and pen with a snap. "But officially? I'm using these funds for a scientific studie of dragon-shaped elementals, which this will technically be." Neither HM nor William had anything further to ask, so they looked back at the dragon. HM watched as several green circles formed in the air in front of the glass figure, populated with shifting, arcane symbols. After Dzamie drew another circle in front of him, the dragon blew a lick of his flame into each circle. With a quick gesture, the circles settled over the dragons - one glass, one scaly. HM took a step back shortly before going limp, and the small glass dragon jerked to life. It shook its head, then looked down at its see-through paws, back along its body, and stretched out its legs and wings, before staring up at the human and cheetah. "This is just... unnatural," HM said, "you should absolutely not be that big compared to me. I don't know how Sylvia does it." "She's... used to it, I guess, like I'm used to being human," William hazarded, then offered the growth potion. "And hey, at least you won't be tiny for long." "Fair." The little glass figure strolled up to the potion and stuck his head in, lapping at the liquid. He withdrew once the effects began to kick in, growing his body a good inch or so in each direction, then changed strategies, wrapping his jaws around the mouth of the bottle and tipping his head back. Dzamie scribbled on his clipboard as he watched the trail of potion snake down the inside of the glass dragon's neck, then pooled in his paws, with a small puddle having landed in the curve of his belly. It didn't stay there for long, and the trio could each see or feel as the power of the potion - and the potion itself, it seemed - dissipated into the transparent body. After lapping out the last drop with a glass tongue, he climbed down off the table, still growing in size. William and Dzamie stepped back to give him some room, but HM reached a paw out and casually pinned the cheetah to the floor. He smirked down at the now much more bite-sized friends before him. "Yes, this is much better," he said. "Was this strictly necessary?" Dzamie asked from under his paw. The paw was perfectly smooth, and easily clear enough for the feline to see his body through it. "Obviously, or you would've teleported out from under it already. Now then..." he swung his head right in front of William and made a show of licking his muzzle. There was no drool to leave streaked across his snout, however. "I believe he said something about you going first?" "What, I can't even take notes? At least let me move my arms." The dragon and the human looked skeptically at the mage, who rolled his eyes at them. In a flash of light, he vanished and reappeared a few feet behind William, sticking his tongue out at HM. "You're no fun." "It is serious sciencing time. Now, in you go, Will..." HM opened his jaws and lowered them over the human's body. The curves in the glass slightly distorted him from view - and the way he saw the world outside the glass dragon - and William reached a hand out to the mouth, exploring its texture. Slowly, carefully, the dragon clamped down and lifted his head, bringing the man horizontal, and parted his jaws once more to scoop the rest of the human inside with a glass tongue. A quick lick, and a swallow, and then William was sliding down the neck, only a couple inches of glass separating him from the outside of HM. He put his arms out to brace himself, and managed to avoid slipping into the dragon's legs, coming to a stop in his belly. Out of habit, William began to rub at the dragon's "stomach." Dzamie walked around HM's temporary body, taking notes, then stood under his belly directly, staring up at William. He reached a furry paw out and ran it along the underside. It felt smooth, like the shallow glass bowl it looked like. When he pressed against it, there was no give at all. "Can you hear me?" he asked. "Yeah, I can. Little muffled, though." The cheetah nodded. "So, similar to normal glass. That's cool." He turned to walk back to HM's head to present himself for the dragon, when suddenly, the dragon's belly dropped towards him. As HM laid down on him, Dzamie noted that the previously static, unmoving glass shifted, bent, and curved to cover his body more evenly. And, as a quick struggle showed, the dragon being hollow did little to make his weight any more tolerable. "What, exactly, is your damage?" he grumbled. "I'm being fun, my dear, and you know it," HM replied, resting his chin on his front paws, "you know exactly how to get out of that, you could've easily avoided it, and you're still there. I know how you act around dragons!" His voice carried a smug, but not quite mocking, tone. Another flash of magic, and Dzamie popped back into existence in front of the dragon's snout. "Rude. But not wrong. Open up, please, and stay open. I do have some actual observations to make on this." HM opened his jaws wide. Dzamie summoned his phone, snapped a photo, transferred it to his notes with a quick spell, and dispelled the device as quickly as it had arrived. With the mawshot on record, he stepped one foot into the mouth, and nudged the glass tongue aside. Two yellow-and-brown-furred hands tried to touch each other through the glass, and the cheetah copied down the dragon's thickness onto his notes. With a snap, the clipboard, pen, and paper vanished. He stepped fully into the transparent maw, taking a seat on the smooth, cool tongue. "At your leisure, then." The dragon coiled his tongue around the feline, earning a quick laugh, before lifting his head up once more and letting him slide down the smooth slide. Dzamie pressed out against the firm, hard neck, noting that, while it was obviously much drier than most dragon throats, it was just as slippery - he could barely slow his descent at all. His trip to the dragon's body was swift, and rather fun, not unlike a plastic slide one might find at a funfair. His momentum carried him into William, though they didn't slide too far. "Oof. Whoops, didn't think I'd keep that much speed," Dzamie apologized. HM chuckled, curling his neck to look at them through his body. "For once, the cheetah admits to going TOO fast for his comfort." "For my comfort OR my necessity," the feline added, "someone call Ripley's. Oh, but really," he said, changing topics as his clipboard and pen reappeared in his paws, "opinions, both of you?" "The throat was a lot of fun," said William, "I mean- er, you can leave the personal bits out of the notes, right?" "Out of the report, absolutely," Dzamie nodded, "out of my notes? ...maybe. For my eyes only, though. And HM's." William thought for a few moments before nodding. "Right. Well, this doesn't really do anything for me in terms of... well, what I usually get when Vanille does it. This feels more like a theme park attraction, complete with this... observation deck sort of thing. Actually, HM, Dzamie, if there's a way for him to make this watertight, I bet it'd be really neat to visit the sea in this glass dragon." "That is," Dzamie remarked, pointing his pen at the human, "a really cool idea. We should do it sometime. At the very least HM and I. And it was neat to see that HM didn't manifest a throat and stomach to eat us, although I think the tongue is new. It makes me wonder what other sort of anatomy he could have that's inaccurate to the original statue." HM laid down again, then slid to his side, giving his two prey a place to rest that didn't have hollow legs to fall into. "For science, huh." Dzamie waved him off. "Don't be silly, it's for horny purposes. Though I would catalog it all scientifically and see if it'll get accepted, too. But that can wait." He yawned and stretched out inside HM's side. William gently shook the cheetah. "I'd still like to get out. Glass isn't the most comfortable thing to lay on." "Plus," HM chipped in, "I can end the spell, myself, and I don't think either of you are interested in guessing what happens if I do. The growth potion only works on living things, after all." Dzamie looked at William, then at HM, through the glass body, then snapped his fingers. He and William found themselves back at the table, and HM walked over before assuming a rather statuesque pose. A darker green magic flickered across the glass dragon's form, then over the dormant, green-scaled dragon body laying nearby. And just like that, HM was back in his body. The glass statue rapidly shrunk back to its original size, and Dzamie quickly put it back on the table. The three of them got up, talked for a bit about various things, and ultimately, William bade them goodbye to go check on a few of his own experiments. HM looked at Dzamie. Dzamie looked at HM. The dragon opened his jaws, revealing a soft, saliva-coated maw, pink flesh glistening and framed by white teeth inside a green muzzle. "Still wanna nap?" The cheetah smiled placed his head in his friend's maw, purring as the dragon lapped warmly at his fur. "Thought you'd never ask."

#dragon #smaugust #soft vore #safe vore #extreme cuddling #writing #writers on tumblr #smaugust 2020 #ocs #oc: dzamie #oc: william #oc: hm #furry #furry cat #furry cheetah #text

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phroyd · 4 years

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Dumb-Fuck #MAGA Teens, children of Dumb-Fuck #MAGA Parents, and QTards Everywhere, resurrect #PizzaGate on Tik-Tok! - Phroyd

WASHINGTON — Four minutes into a video that was posted on Instagram last month, Justin Bieber leaned into the camera and adjusted the front of his black knit beanie. For some of his 130 million followers, it was a signal.

In the video, someone had posted a comment asking Mr. Bieber to touch his hat if he had been a victim of a child-trafficking ring known as PizzaGate. Thousands of comments were flooding in, and there was no evidence that Mr. Bieber had seen that message. But the pop star’s innocuous gesture set off a flurry of online activity, which highlighted the resurgence of one of social media’s early conspiracy theories.

Viewers quickly uploaded hundreds of videos online analyzing Mr. Bieber’s action. The videos were translated into Spanish, Portuguese and other languages, amassing millions of views. Fans then left thousands of comments on Mr. Bieber’s social media posts asking him if he was safe. Within days, searches for “Justin and PizzaGate” soared on Google, and the hashtag #savebieber started trending.

Four years ago, ahead of the 2016 presidential election, the baseless notion that Hillary Clinton and Democratic elites were running a child sex-trafficking ring out of a Washington pizzeria spread across the internet, illustrating how a crackpot idea with no truth to it could blossom on social media — and how dangerous it could be. In December 2016, a vigilante gunman showed up at the restaurant with an assault rifle and opened fire into a closet.

In the years afterward, Facebook, Twitter and YouTube managed to largely suppress PizzaGate. But now, just months before the next presidential election, the conspiracy theory is making a comeback on these platforms — and on new ones such as TikTok — underlining the limits of their efforts to stamp out dangerous speech online and how little has changed despite rising public frustration.

This time, PizzaGate is being fueled by a younger generation that is active on TikTok, which was in its infancy four years ago, as well as on other social media platforms. The conspiracy group QAnon is also promoting PizzaGate in private Facebook groups and creating easy-to-share memes on it.

Driven by these new elements, the theory has morphed. PizzaGate no longer focuses on Mrs. Clinton and has taken on less of a political bent. Its new targets and victims are a broader assortment of powerful businesspeople, politicians and celebrities, including Mr. Bieber, Bill Gates, Ellen DeGeneres, Oprah Winfrey and Chrissy Teigen, who are lumped together as part of the global elite. For groups like QAnon, PizzaGate has become a convenient way to foment discontent.

The theory has also gone global. While it previously found traction mainly in the United States, videos and posts about it have racked up millions of views in Italy, Brazil and Turkey.

“PizzaGate never went away because it encompasses very potent forces,” including children’s safety and the power of elites, said Alice Marwick, a disinformation expert at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. “But now there is so much scaffolding from people who have researched it, it wasn’t hard for others to pick up from there.”

PizzaGate is reaching a level that nearly exceeds its 2016 fever pitch, according to an analysis by The New York Times. TikTok posts with the #PizzaGate hashtag have been viewed more than 82 million times in recent months. Google searches for PizzaGate have skyrocketed.

In the first week of June, comments, likes and shares of PizzaGate also spiked to more than 800,000 on Facebook and nearly 600,000 on Instagram, according to data from CrowdTangle, a Facebook-owned tool for analyzing social interactions. That compares with 512,000 interactions on Facebook and 93,000 on Instagram during the first week of December 2016. From the start of 2017 through January this year, the average number of weekly PizzaGate mentions, likes and shares on Facebook and Instagram was under 20,000, according to The Times’s analysis.

The conspiracy has regained momentum even as its original targets — Mrs. Clinton, her top aides and a Washington pizzeria, Comet Ping Pong — are still dealing with the fallout.

Hateful comments have recently surged on the Facebook page and Yelp and Google review pages for Comet Ping Pong, where the child trafficking supposedly happened. The pizzeria’s owner, James Alefantis, said he had received fresh death threats that caused the Federal Bureau of Investigation to open a new investigation two months ago. The F.B.I. said Friday that it could not confirm the existence of an investigation.

“There are no real options for someone like me. I don’t have the names or numbers for people to call at Google or TikTok,” Mr. Alefantis said. “But I don’t want to be that person who lives their life in fear.”

PizzaGate was born in 2016 in online forums like 4chan and Reddit, where right-wing users and supporters of Donald J. Trump pored over hacked emails from John D. Podesta, Mrs. Clinton’s senior campaign adviser, looking for evidence of wrongdoing. Some emails referring to Mr. Podesta’s dinner plans mentioned pizza. A 4chan participant then connected the phrase “cheese pizza” to pedophiles, who on chat boards use the initials “c.p.” to denote child pornography.

Mr. Alefantis, who is friends with Mr. Podesta’s brother, Tony, was mentioned in several of the emails. That led internet users to connect his pizza parlor to their conspiracy.

The theory soon appeared in bogus publications like The Vigilant Citizen and The New Nationalist on Facebook and Instagram. On Twitter and YouTube, other users amplified the content.

Fact checkers debunked the idea. But weeks after the November 2016 election, Edgar M. Welch, 32, a North Carolina resident, drove six hours to Comet Ping Pong to free what he believed were enslaved children. He shot several rounds from a military-style assault rifle into a locked closet door of the pizzeria and eventually surrendered to the police. In 2017, he was sentenced to four years in prison.

Soon after, YouTube, Twitter and Facebook suspended the accounts of users who had pushed PizzaGate and took down hundreds of related posts.

To keep PizzaGate tamped down, the social media companies took other steps. Facebook made it impossible to search for hashtags such as #pizzagateisreal. On YouTube, searching for #pizzagate brought up a label that explained the term was part of a false conspiracy. Twitter also stopped #pizzagate from surfacing in its trending topics in the United States.

A documentary promoting PizzaGate, “Out of Shadows,” made by a former Hollywood stuntman, was released on YouTube that month and passed around the QAnon community. In May, the idea that Mr. Bieber was connected to the conspiracy surfaced. Teenagers on TikTok began promoting both, as reported earlier by The Daily Beast.

A week ago, Rachel McNear, 20, watched “Out of Shadows,” which has garnered 15 million views on YouTube. She then turned to Twitter, where she came across Mr. Bieber’s supposed association with PizzaGate. After reading more on Instagram, YouTube and Facebook, she created a one-minute description of her research on the topic and posted it to TikTok on Monday.

“The mainstream media uses words like conspiracy theory and how it is debunked but I’m seeing the research,” Ms. McNear, of Timonium, Md., said in an interview.

Her video was taken down on Wednesday when TikTok removed the #PizzaGate hashtag and all content searchable with the term. A TikTok spokeswoman said such content violated its guidelines.

That same day, Facebook also expunged PizzaGate-related comments under Comet Ping Pong’s page after a call from The Times.

YouTube said it had long demoted PizzaGate-related videos and removes them from its recommendation engine, including “Out of Shadows.” Twitter said it constantly eliminates PizzaGate posts and had updated its child sexual-exploitation policy to prevent harm from the conspiracy. Facebook said it had created new policies, teams and tools to prevent falsehoods like PizzaGate from spreading.

Teenagers and young adults, many of whom are just forming political beliefs, are particularly susceptible to PizzaGate, said Travis View, a researcher and host of the “QAnon Anonymous” podcast, which examines conspiracy theories. They are drawn to celebrity photos on tabloid sites and Hollywood blogs to uncover PizzaGate’s supposed secret symbols and clues, he said. Even a triangle — which can signify a slice of pizza — can be taken as proof that a celebrity is part of a secret elite cabal.

“It all becomes a game, and people are drawn in because it feels participatory,” Mr. View said.

For Tony Podesta, John Podesta’s brother, PizzaGate’s revival has opened up old wounds. He had dealt with trolling from conspiracy believers in 2016. Recently, he got a voice mail message from an anonymous caller saying, “Your pizza is ready.”

“It just doesn’t go away,” Mr. Podesta said. “They are always three steps ahead of the sheriff.”

#qtards #magamorons #pizzagate #tiktok

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perpetually-jungshook · 6 years

Text

RED || 01

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

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

Warnings: language, minor character death (jk it’s a hot pocket), crude humor, brief smut (masturbation), pining

Word Count: 8.5k

Links: Storyboard || Next Part

Jungkook’s finger gently taps at the rotation ring, zooming in Way Too Much on Jimin’s lips. They’re full, soft, quirked up slightly at the corners in a smile. The image distorts for a moment as Jimin leans forward, covering his mouth to hide a laugh.

“Kookie, I can see the lens thing move. I know you’re zooming.”

“Okay, okay, you caught me,” Jungkook can’t help his own smile as he fixes the image. “Stay still.”

He captures Jimin’s pose with practiced ease and a quick flash that brightens the room, casting a fleeting sheen across glittered, gilded, and silk surfaces. Upon Jungkook’s approval, Jimin relaxes and stretches slowly, causing the younger boy to avert his gaze. For some reason, editing the photos rarely bothers him, but Jungkook can’t quite bring himself to watch while Jimin is repositioning.

Instead, his attention settles on the shadowy folds of Jimin’s deeply red hooded cape, almost reminiscent of a sweet Merlot. He doesn’t know exactly what kind of material it is, but from the solid ten minutes he’d spent draping and reorienting the abundant amount of fabric, he knows it’s satiny with just the slightest bit of shimmer.

Jimin, now partially sitting up, angles himself sideways, his body perpendicular to the camera.

“What if I did something like this?” he asks, crooking the knee further from Jungkook upward, carefully planting his foot on the cream colored couch cushion as he leans back, one arm extended behind him, elbow locked to support his weight while the other rests on his raised bent knee. In this position, his hard dick is almost fully exposed, but so are the soft curves of his body, the gentle dips around healthy muscles in the expanse of smooth skin.

Something about Adonis or some marble dude named David could be applied here, but Jungkook’s brain is currently fifty percent work oriented focus and fifty percent TV static panic.

“Tilt your head a little,” Jungkook instructs quietly around a small lump forming in his throat, which he tries to ignore. He feels his brows pinch in concentration more than he pinches them himself. “Little less. Wait.”

He leaves the tripod, walking over to the couch and oh so gently taking Jimin’s chin between his thumb and the side of his index finger with confidence and calmness that he quite frankly does not actually possess. Jimin follows the suggested movements easily and without question, the two boys not only knowing their own and each other’s strengths and weaknesses, but also appreciating and respecting them. Jimin’s skin feels just as smooth as it looks, as always. Jungkook silently wonders what products he uses.

Stepping back, he inspects the new position, then hums thoughtfully.

“What if you leaned back a little more? Like put your weight on your elbow? Not your hand.”

Jimin dutifully bends his arm, turning his bare chest more toward the camera to maintain balance. It’s probably not the most comfortable position to hold, but it looks like he’s lounging, other wrist still up on the crooked knee. Jungkook adjusts the position of Jimin’s head one more time, fusses with the cape for a few seconds, then returns to his camera, quickly changing a few settings to compensate.

“I’ll take a set of five,” Jungkook says, examining the masterpiece one last time. “Two looking to your left, three at the camera.”

The first two photos are easy enough, Jimin effortlessly falling into a practiced neutral expression. He almost looks like some kind of fairy prince, hair parted in the middle, styled perfectly, feathery with a thin crown of fake branches and leaves, his makeup subtle but done to accentuate his features almost naturally, a little glitter skillfully placed at the corners of his eyes. Jimin really is a piece of living artwork.

Then he looks at the camera.

Heat rises onto Jungkook’s cheeks as Jimin’s attention falls on him— well, through the lens. No, at the lens. He’s probably not even thinking about Jungkook. The lump in his throat gets bigger, stomach feeling tight as he snaps two pictures. Two flashes. The heat crawls up to his ears, probably making them red too.

And then Jimin smirks.

It’s the last picture, and Jungkook has to check afterward to make sure it’s his vision that went blurry and not caused by the camera itself. He clears his throat and nods.

“Alright. We’re good. I’ll edit these and send them to you for approval by this weekend.”

“What? You gonna jerk off to them first?” Jimin teases, slowly pushing himself up out of the lounging position to sit comfortably, maybe too comfortably.

Jungkook looks everywhere but at the older boy as he starts packing up, needing to dismantle the tripod, then take apart the camera and light fixtures. Lots to do, so little hand eye coordination when nervous. He feels sick for a moment, like a teenager caught masturbating. He keeps working as the conversation continues.

“No.”

“You hesitated,” Jimin almost sings, obviously amused.

“I didn’t!” His voice totally doesn’t crack. You can’t prove anything.

Jimin just laughs, “Alright, well I’ll see you later, Kookie. After I shower all of this crap off.”

Jungkook has to consciously keep himself from thinking about Jimin in the shower, especially since he’ll probably end up taking care of his hard on too. An even more adamant: don’t think about that.

He nods as he finishes packing up his gear. “Take your time.”

“Oh stop being so stiff,” Jimin says, scrunching his nose. “Friends first, coworkers second. That’s what you promised when we started.”

Jungkook scrunches his nose, but allows himself to smile again, “We’re shooting niche porn. Aren’t I like, supposed to be stiff?”

Both boys laugh, relaxing, and Jungkook leaves the apartment in a significantly less tense mood than normal.

Even with the heavy equipment, he takes the stairs. It’s good exercise, and only one floor down. Jungkook knocks on the door with his foot and it’s promptly answered by Namjoon, who’s having what seems to be a tense conversation on the phone. So as quietly as possible, Jungkook thanks him and goes down the hall to his bedroom.

“Where were you last night at three o’clock?”

“In my bed?”

“Liar,” Hoseok snarls, slapping his hand down on the table, angling the lamp to shine directly into Jungkook’s face, causing the younger boy to squint. “Where were you last night at three o’clock?”

“In my room— probably sleeping?”

Jungkook winces and sinks back as Hoseok huffs with obvious disgusted.

“What did you do to my hot pocket?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook protests. “I didn’t do anything to it.”

Yoongi smothers a laugh, but does a terrible job because it can be heard across the room, “Hobi, if he did do anything with your hot pocket, I think it’s safe to say he would’ve eaten it. I don’t think there’s much of a question there.”

“You are a sick, sick monster,” Hoseok cries, pointing at Jungkook and effectively ignoring Yoongi. “Devouring my food as it sat innocently in the microwave-”

“Do we have any more hot pockets?” all three boys turn their head toward the kitchen as Jimin walks in from the short hallway, picking up the empty container from the counter. “I think I ate the last one last… night…”

He reads the room a few seconds too late, eyes widening, gaze slowly sweeping over Jungkook, the lamp, and lastly Hoseok. Everything freezes save for their heartbeats, thrumming faintly like the paper thin wings of a butterfly, the rest of the scene lying still, delicate as a snowflake, suspended like a dewdrop on a spider’s web, ready to fall, ready to shatter and splinter and wilt into the imperfect reality that is the next moment.

“Balls.”

“Fuck you Jimin that was my hot pocket.”

Jimin screams as he throws the container at Hoseok, doing the smart thing and running from the room like his life depends on it. Hoseok doesn’t miss a beat, using his arm to bat aside the empty cardboard box like it’s an empty cardboard box, which it is. He then hurdles the coffee table and sprints out of the living room at full speed, giving chase to the real hot pocket bandit. Jungkook feels bad for Jimin, but he’s also relieved, knowing now that Hoseok will definitely not murder him in his sleep. A loud bang issues from down the hall, but neither Jungkook nor Yoongi gets up to investigate. They’ll be fine. Probably.

“Well that was interesting,” Yoongi says, one eyebrow subtly arched in mild interest or maybe disinterest. It’s always hard to tell with him, especially with the underlying sarcasm he laces through practically every sentence.

Jungkook’s bones feel like jelly. He doesn’t do good under pressure when people are angry at him.

“I don’t understand why he just assumed it was me.”

“Because you eat like a garbage disposal,” Yoongi’s voice is distorted behind a yawn as he stretches.

“But I don’t even live here.”

Yoongi smirks, “The real question is, why was he up at three o’clock making a hot pocket?”

“It’s Hoseok, so who knows,” Jungkook laughs lightly, not sure what else to do except reach over and turn off the glaring desk lamp.

“Very true.”

Jungkook lets out a long sigh, his head gently hitting the grainy surface of the coffee table, made easy by the fact that he’s sitting on the floor. Who knew he would be in a crime-drama show before lunch? Speaking of lunch…

Fuck. That’s right. No more hot pockets to steal.

“Should I be concerned that Hobi’s trying to break down the bathroom door?” Namjoon clears his throat, jabbing a finger over his shoulder as he enters from the short hallway, likely having been in Seokjin’s room playing with the latter’s pet sugar gliders.

“Nope,” Yoongi replies first, settling once more into the well loved leather arm chair, trying to pretend like he didn’t almost drop his phone on his face as he stretched.

“Got it.” Namjoon says. He takes a seat on the not at all matching but still well loved leather couch opposite the coffee table of Jungkook. “Do you guys know when Jin’s coming back?”

“Nope,” Yoongi repeats.

“All I know is he said he’s bringing a friend over, for lunch or something, I think,” Jungkook adds, sitting up properly while he speaks to be polite.

Oh man. Lunch. That still sounds like a good idea.

“A friend?” Namjoon asks, pulling off his ratty black beanie only to put it on again during his next question. “Do we know them?”

“I dunno.”

“Probably not.”

“You guys are so helpful,” Namjoon’s tone is sarcastic yet distantly affectionate.

“Fuck you, go read your fancy poker cards if you’re so nosy,” Yoongi says, laughing, throwing a stained decorative pillow vaguely in Namjoon’s direction. Namjoon attempts to grab it, fumbling for a moment before accidentally hitting himself. Jungkook can’t help giggling, though he decides to stay quiet otherwise.

“They’re tarot cards,” Namjoon corrects with a huff.

Yoongi shrugs and starts scrolling through his phone, “Then go read your carrot cards.”

“Tarot.”

“Carrot?”

“There’s no ‘t’ at the end.”

“Yeah there is.”

“Okay, yes, while spelling. But you don’t actually pronounce it as a hard ‘t’ sound.”

Jungkook puts his hand over his mouth, stifling more giggles. He can see Yoongi’s smirk, but Namjoon is taking this one hundred percent seriously.

The younger of the two seems to realize something, his eyes getting wide as he continues, “Hey wait a second, if you know how to spell it, you totally know what I’m talking about.”

As they continue bickering, Jungkook decides he’s finally going to get up and see about lunch, or at least scavenge a snack. It’s not his house so he shouldn’t be rude (especially with Hoseok already so sensitive), but then again, Hoseok, Jimin, and Seokjin eat his food all the time. He pauses as he reaches the kitchen, though for a different reason. Maybe he should go see if Jimin is still alive. Back tracking a few steps, Jungkook peers down the short hallway to find Hoseok sitting on the floor outside the bathroom, moving his arms at a weird angle.

“Hobi?”

“Hang on Kook, I’m busy,” he draws out the last word contemplatively and Jungkook can see him set something small aside. It’s a screw. He’s holding a screwdriver. He’s unscrewing the hinges on the bathroom door.

Jungkook almost laughs, walking over and leaning down to whisper curiously, “Does he know you’re doing this?”

“Jimin? No. Or at least he’s about to-”

“Not him. Jin.”

Hoseok slows to a stop, the second screw wobbling against the head of the tool.

“I… no?” He groans and starts twisting it back in. “Fucking renter’s agreement.”

There’s a giggle behind the door and Hoseok pauses as if contemplating continuing. Jungkook pats the older boy’s shoulder, probably saving Jimin’s ass. How could he not help though? He has to seem impartial, but how could he not help Jimin?

“You can eat his food next time,” Jungkook sympathizes. “I’ll help you steal it from him too.”

The giggling stops.

Hoseok grumbles as he picks up the screw from the floor and replaces it, fixing the hinge before standing, dusting himself off.

“Park Jimin, you won’t know when or where, but I will get you back for this.”

It might have been threatening if he wasn’t pouting.

Hoseok turns to leave, but pauses to give Jungkook a bright smile as he says, “Sorry for accusing you. Want me to get you something next time I’m at the store?”

“Banana milk?”

“You got it, kiddo.” Hoseok ruffles his hair fondly before heading back to the living room.

Jungkook is about to follow (at least as far as the kitchen) when Jimin’s muffled, whispered voice stops him, “Is he gone?”

“I think so,” Jungkook admits, but he’s really not sure. Maybe Hoseok is bluffing, will run right back around the corner when he hears the door. He would do something like that.

“Okay well, I’ll just stay in here until further notice then.”

“Have fun with that,” Jungkook laughs lightly and goes back to the kitchen.

Wow today has been wild start to finish and it’s not even done yet.

It doesn’t take long for Jungkook to find himself back in his own apartment, his bedroom to be exact and with his mouth full of instant ramen noodles, he can’t help but find it funny that while he’s editing (Jimin’s) porn as a large part of his photography career, he’s still embarrassed about it.

Jungkook’s cheeks are warm. His ears are too. And his chest. He blames the noodles, but he knows it’s the pictures. Maybe “embarrassed” is the wrong word.

After swallowing the last of the broth from the cup, he inserts the background onto the green screen that had been stretched behind the couch last night during the shoot. Is it strange that there’s a couch in what’s essentially a “magical” forest with wispy trees and bioluminescent flowers? Will people even care? It’s just porn, right? People jerk off to it and then close the file. Jungkook adjusts the lighting on Jimin, softening out some tones and changing the contrast to match the nighttime setting.

He takes a deep breath, tongue poking into his cheek as he edits the next, then the next. Jimin deserves more than this— three to five minutes if he’s lucky and the person doesn’t just move on to the next picture. He deserves to be kissed, touched, loved. But that’s not Jungkook’s job, no matter how much he wishes it was. Flipping through the photos one last time, he minimizes the file so he can come back to it with fresh eyes tomorrow.

Swiveling his chair, picking up the instant noodle container, he looks inside and pouts. Right. It’s empty. Why does he always eat these so fast? Maybe he’ll go get another one. Jungkook’s socked feet slide against the artificial hardwood floor as he heads to the kitchen for another cup, humming to himself as he throws out the empty one, then adds water and slips the second into the microwave.

“You know you’re supposed to heat up the water, then put it in the cup right?”

Jungkook startles immediately on the first word, but recognizes the voice by the third. He turns to face Jimin, who is sitting on the couch across the open concept room, laughing hysterically.

“How did you get in here? The door was locked.”

“Your bathroom window wasn’t,” Jimin says, laughter petering off into a sweet smile.

Jungkook pauses.

“You… climbed through the window?”

“Hell yeah,” Jimin says, standing up and humorously flexing his muscles. “I’m a strong guy, scaling down the sides of buildings.”

He’s never sure what transition is more jarring, seeing Jimin in regular clothes or seeing him without any clothes on at all.

“You’re strong and stupid enough to climb a whole story down, but won’t just… leave the bathroom?” Jungkook asks.

“And face Hobi? No way.”

“What’s the worst he could do to you? Like really.”

“It was the last goddamn hot pocket.”

“Okay true. But why’d you climb down here?”

Jimin giggles, “I was bored in the bathroom all by myself.”

Blushing and shrugging in a weak attempt to cover said blush, Jungkook enjoys the moment of relative peace before something inevitably happens. Something always happens. Hoseok will burst through the front door, demanding Jimin’s head on a platter. Namjoon will come home, announcing he’s found another great, miraculous benefit bestowed upon the human race by green tea. Or Yoongi will walk in, announcing he’s no longer friends with Namjoon because of the way the younger says “pronounciation” when it’s supposed to be “pronunciation.”

But the only thing that interrupts the quiet lull is the beeping of the microwave. Jungkook turns back to the kitchen and retrieves his steaming cup, then goes to the living room to sit on the couch near but not next to Jimin. One boy eats his instant noodles while the other taps at the screen of his phone. It’s nice.

And then Jimin looks up, eyes widening in what must be realization.

“I didn’t unlock the door.”

Jungkook is confused. “Yeah? You don’t have a key to our apartm-?”

“Not that door. The bathroom. I didn’t unlock the bathroom when I left,” he sighs heavily. “Jin’s gonna kill me now too.”

“Why? Don’t you have that little wrench key thing that you can stick in the handle?”

“No I threw it out the window last time.”

“You mean when Jin made the banana bread?”

“Yeah, and then the hot sauce…” Jimin slowly sinks in on himself, dropping his phone on his lap to tangle his fingers in his hair, tugging as if it’ll pull out the answers he desperately needs. “I have to get back in there.”

“Back in the bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

“And how are you planning on doing that?”

Jimin hums, his eyebrows pinching, “A ladder?”

“To the third floor?”

“Ladders go that high, right?”

“Why don’t you just go up there and ask for help? Maybe Hobi could undo the hinges.”

“I don’t think that’d work,” Jimin frets. “Wouldn’t it still get stuck? Because of the little metal bolt thing? Like would we even be able to get the door out of the frame?”

Jungkook can’t help laughing, “And a ladder is better?”

Jimin leans over and gives Jungkook a playful shove, almost spilling the instant noodle broth, “Shut up I’m trying to think of something.”

“Oh, what if someone needed to pee and they think you’re still in the bathroom?”

“Jungkook.”

He laughs shamelessly, just teasing. Stressing Jimin out over little things is funny, especially considering how much he stresses Jungkook out regularly.

“Or wait, even better, what if they need to take a shit?”

“Fuck you,” Jimin whines, picking up his phone. From what Jungkook can see, he’s googling “how far up can ladders go.”

“If you’re so worried, why don’t you just climb back up?” Jungkook is joking, for the most part. No one would be stupid enough to—

“I don’t think I’d be able to do that.”

“Well duh.”

“But I bet you could.”

Jungkook almost chokes on his next bite of instant noodles, “Me?”

“Yeah. You have some pretty big muscles. Couldn’t you like, pull yourself up or whatever?”

No he can’t just like pull himself up or whatever.

“You want me to climb through the window?” Jungkook rephrases his thoughts, then sets aside his half finished (second) meal.

“For me, Kookie. Please?”

His hesitation falters, “Well, I’m not saying I’ll do it, but I’ll go look.”

Ten minutes later, Jungkook, trembling and sweaty, heaves himself into the third story window. It wasn’t difficult so much as terrifying. He’s much more timid than his body type and occupation suggest. The worst part? Jungkook is a fool and he goddamn knows it.

“You okay?” Jimin whisper yells from the bathroom below.

Jungkook tumbles onto the floor and lays prone for a moment, thankful that it was only a thud instead of a crash. He breathes deeply, then forces himself up to look out the window, down at Jimin.

“I’m alive.”

“Good okay so you can unlock it?”

Jungkook laughs, “Is that all I’m good for? Opening doors?”

“No of course not! You’re also great at taking really pretty pictures of me,” Jimin winks up at him with a big, cheeky smile.

“Asshole.” He blames his red cheeks on the physical exertion.

Jungkook rolls his eyes affectionately and closes the window to shut Jimin’s reply out, not too worried about replacing the screen quite yet. He walks over to the door and unlocks it, but then the handle turns, barrier opening away from him to reveal a complete stranger with fiery red hair held up by a faded navy blue bandana.

“H-hello,” Jungkook greets, trying to find a smile to plaster on his face that doesn’t read as startled, even though that’s pretty much all he feels at the moment.

“Hi,” the stranger looks just as shocked, his eyes wide, eyebrows raised. His voice is surprisingly deep.

It must be weird, talking to someone on their way out of the bathroom while you’re on your way in. It must be even weirder when Hoseok walks by and does a double take, backtracking.

“Kook? When did you get in there? I thought Jimin was hiding-”

Jungkook lets out a small distressed huff, cheeks heating up as he attempts to leave. He is unsuccessful. The unfamiliar boy bumps into Jungkook as they try to shuffle past one another. Two large hands come up to rest on Jungkook’s shoulders and he’s moved gently aside, now standing in the hallway, though still facing the boy with the fiery red hair.

The guy nods as if satisfied and smiles. It’s bright, a little boxy, and makes Jungkook instinctively want to wrap him up in a soft blanket with a glass of chocolate milk. The hands leave his shoulders and the smile turns into a soft, deep giggle.

The door closes between them.

“That’s Taehyung,” Hoseok explains after a few seconds, leaning against the corner of the wall at the end of the short hallway.

“Wait, hot-Taehyung from the retirement home?”

Pause.

Jungkook laughs, “Wow that sounded much weirder than I thought it would.”

“Hot-Taehyung that volunteers at the retirement home?” Hoseok offers.

“Better,” the younger of the two nods.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“What’s he doing here?”

“He’s crashing on the couch for a couple days. I’m not really sure why. Jin just said he needed a place to sleep and as long as he cleans up after himself I don’t mind.”

“If your standards were that low, I would’ve moved in and not paid rent months ago,” Yoongi interjects with an amused snort as he walks past, probably toward the kitchen.

“And then I would’ve kicked you right back out to your old apartment,” Hoseok’s voice is high pitched in a baby-talk coo.

“How long is he staying?” Jungkook asks before Yoongi can retort.

Hoseok shrugs, “However long he needs I guess.”

Yoongi walks past the hallway again, now with a plastic Spider-Man cup in hand, muttering, “This is ridiculous.”

“What is?”

Yoongi stops walking to answer Jungkook’s question, “You can’t tell me this doesn’t sound like the plot of some bullshit ridiculous romcom.”

“Romcom?”

“Romantic comedy,” Hoseok clarifies.

“Like, some random guy who’s a friend of a friend shows up to crash on your couch. At least he’s not someone’s sworn enemy or whatever.”

“Yoongle, you watch too much anime.”

“Hobi, if you ever call me that again, I will fry your testicles and eat them.”

Hoseok gasps in delight, “Well that’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard you say. I didn’t know you liked me that way! You should’ve just told me you wanted to suck my—”

The toilet flushes and the bathroom door opens.

Apparently, that’s Yoongi’s cue to leave.

“Taehyung,” Hoseok, who apparently has no fear of death, transitions seamlessly and with a big smile. “This is Jungkook. He’s a little awkward but…” Pause. “Yeah. He’s just awkward.”

Jungkook gives Hoseok a good shove, making the older boy cackle. After shaking hands, Taehyung laughs lightly, his voice still surprisingly deep for his soft features, “Nice to meet you.”

Is it weird they’re having this conversation outside the bathroom? It’s totally weird. It breaks like at least five unsaid bro-code bathroom rules.

“Same,” Jungkook adds lamely, wincing on the inside. Social skills. He has those. “So you, ah, work with Jin and Hoseok?”

Taehyung shakes his head, tone polite, “Nah. I just volunteer.”

Fuck. Hot-Taehyung who volunteers at the retirement home. How could he forget that?

“Well that’s cool. Any specific reason?”

“I spent a lot of time with my grandma there so I knew a bit about it. Thought I might as well help in my free time. Elderly people require love and attention too, yknow?” Taehyung laughs lightly again, seeming a little awkward as well. It’s reassuring.

“True.” Jungkook decides to not comment on the fact that “spent” was in past tense. He might be reading into it too much.

Silence.

Hoseok clears his throat, “So… where’s Jimin?”

“Hiding from you,” Jungkook answers easily.

Hoseok looks like he’s about to go peek in the bathroom, but Taehyung stops him with a chuckle, “I can assure you, there was no one in there.”

He doesn’t have to say a word. The look on Hoseok’s face clearly reads “then where did he go…?”

“Taehyung? What do you want to drink?” Seokjin’s voice comes from the kitchen.

“What do you-?” the boy with the fiery red hair asks, then quietly excuses himself with a small smile, “Might as well go look instead of shouting right?”

Jungkook nods and is subsequently left alone with Hoseok, who now makes an “I’m watching you” gesture. Life is strange. Jungkook is now an accessory to a hot pocket murderer. Namjoon is not amused at Yoongi’s attempt at a card trick with his “carrot cards.” Jin is, on an unrelated note, reminded that he is out of carrots which he wanted to add to the stir fry for dinner. Hoseok goes to the store and comes back with banana milk, hot pockets, and no carrots. And Jimin ends up spending the night on the couch instead of going back to his own apartment. No one blames him.

This is the first night Taehyung is here.

Jungkook looks at the clock.

12:05am

Okay, it’s totally tomorrow. He pushes back the blankets and walks over to his desk, waking up his computer. A quick password later and he’s navigating through his folders, finding Jimin’s most recent photoshoot.

Jungkook chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to be gentle with his sensitive skin while wanting to relieve the bubbling guilt inside of him as he opens up the first picture. It looks fine. He just has to adjust a few shadows in the cape and lighten a few of the leaves on the crown. He wouldn’t dare change anything about Jimin’s body. It’s not that Jimin wouldn’t like it, or would disapprove, it’s that Jungkook doesn’t want to change anything. He’s perfect the way he is.

He touches up one picture after another, trying to keep his attention off of Jimin’s toned muscles, smooth skin, the neatly trimmed pubic hair, and the swell of— obviously, he’s doing a bad job. Does that mean he wants to look? To notice?

From the start of their relatively informal contract, Jungkook had promised himself that he wouldn’t masturbate to Jimin’s content. He thought it might create a conflict of interests. But maybe… just once?

No. Not once. That would lead to twice, and then every time.

Jungkook clenches his fist to divert blood flow, breathing deeply and thinking of unsexy things. Like essays and taxes. He saves the photos and closes the folder, heading back to bed, curling under the blankets that he pulls up to his nose, trying to push those thoughts aside.

Don’t…

His eyes squeeze closed for a moment and he takes a small, shaky breath, fingers brushing over his tummy, then slipping under the waistband of his boxers. Jungkook’s whole body shivers pleasantly as he palms himself. How does Jimin manage to be so fucking sexy? It’s ridiculous. Effort. So much effort to be so beautiful.

He squirms as he wraps his fingers around his dick, pumping slowly. Jungkook doesn’t know why, but he likes to abuse his senses, touches light and soft and fleeting until he’s left whimpering quietly into his pillow so Namjoon and Yoongi won’t hear him.

Sometimes, he’ll indulge himself and pretend his hand is Jimin’s. It’s terrible and cliche but the thought always sends a flood of pleasure through him. Those soft palms, thick fingers. What Jungkook wouldn’t do to have Jimin tease him, edge him a few times.

His hips rock forward subconsciously, thigh muscles tensing, and his grip purposefully loosens, making a hot thread of frustration pull through his lower abdomen.

Jungkook turns onto his back, planting his feet to thrust up into his hand, fingers only just brushing the sensitive head of his dick. It doesn’t take long for the dry friction to become too much. His jaw clenches and he forces himself to let go long enough to pull open his nightstand drawer. One squirt from a small bottle of easily concealed lube later and he finally gives in.

Jungkook pushes down his boxers, kicking away the blankets, closing his eyes as a hand wraps around his dick. He’s lost to the fantasy in seconds. Plush, full lips quirked up in a smirk. Toned muscles and smooth skin. Small hands, one pumps vigorously, grip getting tighter and causing Jungkook’s teeth to set hard together, whole body tensing and relaxing in waves.

“You want me that bad huh?”

Jungkook nods.

“What do you want me to do to you, Kookie?”

Anything you want.

“Anything?”

He nods again.

Jimin’s fingers, slick from lube and warm from skin contact, tease Jungkook’s entrance.

“Want me to touch you here?”

Yes.

“How much? Tell me, Kookie.”

So much. Please…

“Let me hear you then.”

Jungkook whines quietly as Jimin slowly presses one finger in, letting Jungkook adjust before his second knuckle slips past the ring of muscle and the digit gently curls, pushing against the spot that makes his whole body jerk and shudder. He whimpers. His dick twitches and Jimin grabs it with his free hand, twisting his wrist on an upward pull. Jungkook feels like he could combust at any moment, be found the next morning as a pile of ashes on his bed.

“Look at you, so eager. You want me to fuck you?”

Yes.

“Say it.”

I want you to fuck me…

“Like you mean it.”

Jimin pushes in a second finger, causing Jungkook to wince at the abrupt stretch, but if asked, he couldn’t say he didn’t like it.

I want you to fuck me into the mattress. Bend me over and take control—

Jimin’s hand on his length slows, fingers inside him crooking up and making tears prick at the corners of Jungkook’s eyes. He’s so close. His palm comes to rest on the sensitive head of Jungkook’s dick, circling with his rough palm.

Except Jimin’s hand isn’t rough.

The illusion is broken, however thin it was to begin with. He wants to wait, at least try to look up some soft non-Jimin porn or something, but he’s too close. With a frustrated grunt, Jungkook spills onto his own hand in the most unsatisfying orgasm he’s had in a while. He can feel the warmth soaking into his shirt and sitting on his thighs, adding to the growing feeling of self disgust.

It doesn’t help when he remembers that Jimin is just down the hall, sleeping soundly on the couch.

The bang against the wall startles Jungkook so bad that he can feel some of the semen slide off of his thighs and presumably seep into his sheets.

Yoongi’s voice comes through the wall, muffled, a harsh raspy whisper, “Hey, if you’re gonna jerk off at least be quiet about it.”

Jungkook feels like he’s going to throw up. Yoongi heard that? Well, at least he hadn’t done something dumb and even more cliched like said Jimin’s name out loud. The dumb thing he does do is inattentively comb his fingers through his hair.

Jungkook’s friends are… weird, to put it gently. But he is too, so he like, has to love them. It’s practically an obligation at this point. Besides, there is more than sufficient blackmail material between the six of them, from pictures at birthday parties to that one video of Yoongi “singing” at the Christmas party, which Namjoon had insisted was a “celebration of all December holidays so we can be inclusive” despite none of them even knowing what Kwanzaa is or how to spell it. Naturally, this prompted a quick Google by Namjoon, who proceeded to turn off the music and make everyone sit down so he could explain. Jungkook thought it was sweet, but that’s all beside the point.

Day two with Taehyung staying over at Seokjin, Hoseok, and Jimin’s apartment isn’t absolutely-tastelessly-drunk-karaoke-with-rental-parrots-on-Seokjin’s-birthday weird. It’s not even shooting-niche-porn-of-one-of-your-best-friends weird. It’s weird in the way that leaves a stain on Jungkook he’ll never be able to rub away, despite all of the other unbelievably strange things that happen to him on a day to day basis.

Jimin clings to Jungkook’s arm, using him as a shield as the two of them walk upstairs so Jimin can get ready for his non porn related desk job.

“I seriously doubt he’s still mad,” Jungkook says quietly as Jimin fumbles with his keys.

“Have you met Hoseok?”

“Yeah. He’s a really nice dude.”

“You haven’t lived with him,” Jimin shudders, probably at a memory. “He screams sunshine and shits rainbows. But then you piss him off.”

“Then don’t piss him off?”

This comment earns Jungkook a smack to the crotch. He would be… kind of flustered that Jimin touched his dick? But he’s too focused on it hurting like hell right now? It probably wasn’t meant to injure him, just a playful jab, but Jungkook is a sensitive boy please love him.

The door opens and as Jimin enters with Jungkook half waddling, half staggering behind him. Immediately, like turning a corner and walking into a tangible wall that totally unfairly jumped out in front of him, the apartment smells like strong tea. That kind of spicy, maybe herbal tea that gets up into one’s nose and stays there for the rest of the day like a lingering scent that can be confused with a taste.

Jungkook’s nose scrunches in an instinctive emotion caught between disgust and shock.

“Want some tea?” Seokjin obliviously greets them from the small dining table, holding up a mug and smiling like he isn’t smelling and drinking death itself.

“I’ll pass, thanks,” Jungkook coughs subtly. He closes the door behind him and finally manages to straighten up, pain ebbing.

“What’s in it?” Jimin ventures, going over to the table to sit down next to Seokjin, who Hoseok wouldn’t dare upset, murdered hot pocket or otherwise.

“Tea,” Seokjin giggles as he takes a sip.

Jungkook fights the urge to gag.

“Taehyung made it,” he elaborates, gesturing with a nod to the adjacent kitchen. “He says it’s good for your sinuses, blood pressure, and immune system.”

“Don’t need an immune system if you die drinking it,” Jungkook mumbles, then laughs to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Jungkook’s just about to excuse himself, package (Jimin) safely delivered, but then he pauses as Jimin says, “So Taehyung’s still here? Like hot-Taehyung from the retirement home?”

“Yeah,” Seokjin giggles again, setting the mug down. “He’s in the shower.”

Jimin smirks, “Good to know. Cute clean boys first thing in the morning? That’s my shit right there.”

“Language.”

“You curse more than I do.”

“Park Jimin shut your fucking goddamn mouth I am older than you…”

Jungkook tunes out as the bathroom door opens. A few steps later, the boy with the fiery red hair, which is now dripping and plastered to his forehead, enters Jungkook’s line of sight as he walks into the living room, going over to a duffle bag placed thoughtfully out of the way. The towel hangs low on his hips, revealing tanned skin, toned muscles, and a soft tummy. Jungkook’s face gets warm as he averts his gaze. He’s not Jimin, but Taehyung is definitely... wait, don’t blatantly check out hot-Taehyung from the retirement home.

It takes him a second to realize the conversation has stopped.

“Is that him?” Jimin whispers with that slight lisp of his and thank goodness some of the windows are open to let in the white noise traffic sounds outside so Taehyung can’t hear everything. Then again, Jimin usually has no shame anyway.

“Yeah,” Seokjin smiles innocently, taking another sip of that godawful tea that has somehow managed to linger in the apartment like fog despite the aforementioned open windows.

Without another word to either of them, Jimin saunters away from the table.

“Shameless,” Seokjin muses.

Jungkook’s stomach twists.

“Hello, you must be hot-Taehyung who volunteers at the retirement home!” Jimin’s voice is chipper in the attractive way that is almost humanly impossible so early in the morning. “I’m Jimin, the third roommate who’s openly acknowledged as the cutest roommate with the best butt.”

“Debatable,” Seokjin huffs.

Jungkook waits for Taehyung to reject Jimin. The boy is practically naked, just out of the shower, and is being approached by this cocksure stranger who shows blatant interest in him. To be fair, while Jimin’s back is to Jungkook, he knows Jimin is giving Taehyung That Smile, the one that makes Jungkook feel a little sweaty, the one he only shows the camera and the absurdly attractive boys he always ends up sleeping with. Taehyung’s lips slowly settle into an obviously intrigued grin, one of his eyebrows rising subtly.

“Hello Jimin, cutest roommate with the best butt-”

“I don’t have to let you sleep on my couch,” Seokjin sing-songs, attention distractedly resting on the screen of his phone.

Jungkook decides to sit down at the table because why continue to stand there awkwardly? But he does this so abruptly that everyone’s collective, burning attention is drawn in his direction as the wooden chair screeches across the wooden floor. Jungkook wants to die or get swallowed up by the floor or hide in Seokjin’s ridiculously oversized hoodie because it looks comfortable. Any of those options sound better than accidentally interrupting a conversation while he was trying to eavesdrop.

Taehyung doesn’t miss a beat though, ignoring or showing Jungkook some mercy.

“Then… hello Jimin, debatably cutest roommate with the arguably best butt,” Taehyung corrects with an innocent smile directed at Seokjin.

“Good enough,” Seokjin approves without even a glance up.

The two boys turn back to each other, sharing (at least from what Jungkook can see) a humored, strangely intimate, knowing look, especially considering they just met.

“Maybe you should test it out sometime, see if it’s only arguably the best,” Jimin’s cadence is purposefully slow, clearly flirtatious, voice a little lower than normal. “Like maybe tonight?”

Jungkook tells himself that he the urge to vomit has returned because he gets a particularly potent whiff of Seokjin’s tea and not because of Jimin’s blatant sexual advances. But then:

Taehyung takes a breath between his teeth, making a small, regretful hissing sound, “Actually, I have to go volunteer tonight. Can I get a rain check?”

It takes Jimin a long time to respond. Like that type of scary pause that makes Jungkook think Jimin is considering the situation thoroughly. Most people don’t say no to Jimin. He just has this thing about him, or maybe several things that culminate into the sensation of being hooked, helplessly and yet willingly pulled toward him, transfixed by those beautiful eyes, the sound of his soft voice. No snake charmer or pied piper could ever compare. Or maybe that’s just Jungkook.

The worst part of all of this though? It wasn’t a “no.” It was a “not yet” and Jimin likes a chase.

“Absolutely,” the smirk is clear in his voice, the quiet musical lilt. “I’ll be waiting.”

Jungkook would rather swallow a cactus than continue to watch this unfold, so he gets up and quietly (like no loud scraping chairs thank fuck) leaves the apartment. As he walks down the stairs, palm ghosting the handrail, Jungkook can’t tell if he’s angry, sad, disappointed, or some other inappropriate emotion.

Jimin isn’t his. Never has been. They’ve known each other for more than a decade, but all they’ve ever been is friends.

It’s difficult because as his photographer, Jungkook gets to see him be beautiful, vulnerable, and seductive. It’s even more difficult because as his friend, Jungkook gets to see Jimin be relaxed, tired, and real. His chest constricts, but he fights it. Or at least he tries to.

The door to his own apartment closes behind him and Jungkook goes straight for the couch, falling into the embrace of the cushions and grabbing the nearest pillow to hug to his chest. He reaches for the TV remote to put on a Harry Potter movie that he unquestionably owns on DVD but will watch here with commercials because fuck knows why. Maybe to distract himself from the fact that he’s so in love and so alone and it fucking hurts hurts hurts like no physical pain he’s ever experienced. Not in high school dance practice, not at the gym— not even the time he fell out of a tree and broke his wrist in three places.

He can deal with that kind of pain, the kind that goes away, can get fixed with medicine or stretching or hot showers. This kind of pain stays, lingers, settles in Jungkook’s bones to make them feel like lead.

Not good enough, his brain whispers. Not even when doing your best.

Yoongi: [8:45 am]

So is he still alive?

Jungkook: [8:45 am]

Who?

Yoongi: [8:46 am]

That sexy fucker

Wtf

He changed the goddam

JI MIN

Jungkook: [8:46 am]

Lol

Yea

More than just alive prolly

Yoongi: [8:46 am]

???

Jungkook: [8:47 am]

Well he’s might be getting dicked down soon

Yoongi: [8:48 am]

Might?

Jungkook: [8:48 am]

Idk

Yoongi: [8:48 am]

Congrats to him I guess?

Jungkook: [8:50 am]

Yeah haha

Yoongi: [8:50 am]

We still getting takeout tonight?

Jungkook: [8:50 am]

Sure

Yoongi: [8:55 am]

Cool

Yoongi: [9:34 am]

You okay?

Kook?

Jungkook: [9:35 am]

Sorry I was

Jerking off?

Yoongi: [9:35 am]

Tmi dude

Jungkook: [9:35 am]

Lol jkjk

Yoongi: [9:36 am]

You just seem short haha

Jungkook: [9:36 am]

Ur the short one :P

Yoongi: [9:38 am]

Fuck you

Jungkook: [9:38 am]

Aren’t you supposed to be at work?

Yoongi: [9:39 am]

I am

Just on call

People can’t figure out how to turn their computers off and on again

I fucking swear

Fixes it like half the time

Jungkook: [9:40 am]

Aren’t they paying you to find and solve the actual problem??/?

Yoongi: [9:40 am]

I am solving the problem

With the least amount of effort

Jungkook: [9:40 am]

Lol

Sounds like you

Yoongi: [9:41 am]

Fuck you

Jungkook: [9:41 am]

Boo you already used that

Cliched

Not creative

Boooooo

Yoongi: [9:42 am]

Jungkook: [9:42 am]

Don’t be mad

Yoongi: [9:42 am]

Jungkook: [9:42 am]

Dude

Jungkook: [9:55 am]

Can’t ignore me forever

I live w u

Yoongi

Yoon

Shit they sent out of order

Min Genius

Yoongi: [9:42 am]

Jungkook: [9:42 am]

^-^

Yoongi: [9:43 am]

Yeah yeah fuckin brat

Friends:

Hoseok: [2:10 pm]

Why can’t we have a fun group chat name?

Hoseok has changed the group chat name to Cute Little Fuckers

Namjoon: [2:11 pm]

Because YOU kept changing it to inappropriate things

And THEN kept texting me during work hours

Hoseok has changed the group chat name to Generic Friends

Jimin has changed the group chat name to Generic BEST Friends

Hoseok: [2:11 pm]

Why can’t you just

Have your coworkers not care about what our gc name is

Jimin: [2:11 pm]

Yeah Joon why

Hoseok: [2:12 pm]

Yeah Joon y

Jimin: [2:12 pm]

Yea y

Namjoon: [2:12 pm]

Because they are bourgeoisie pigs who conform to societal expectations

Hoseok: [2:13 pm]

....

Jimin: [2:13 pm]

Booo boring answer

Namjoon: [2:13pm]

No it’s not :(

Seokjin: [2:13 pm]

Hobi

Where are you?

You left to get the diuretics 10 mins ago

Hoseok: [2:13 pm]

I... got lost?

Seokjin: [2:13 pm]

You’ve worked here longer than I have

Try again

Hoseok: [2:14 pm]

I... messed up the paperwork?

Seokjin: [2:14 pm]

Try again

Hoseok: [2:14 pm]

Ms Piper scares the living shit out of me?

Seokjin: [2:15 pm]

That’s acceptable

I’ll tell her you died

Hoseok: [2:16 pm]

Rip me

Namjoon: [2:18 pm]

You two sure text a lot at work

Yoongi: [2:18 pm]

And u snore when u sleep

Lmao

Namjoon: [2:18 pm]

THST IS NOT MY FAULT

IT IS A MESICAL COMDITION

Hoseok: [2:19 pm]

Rip Namjoon

Hoseok: [2:32 pm]

Is no one gonna mourn our deaths?!?

Yoongi: [2:33 pm]

Rip

Jimin: [2:33 pm]

Rest in peace. You were both so loved.

Yoongi: [2:33 pm]

Not by us but by someone

Jimin: [2:33 pm]

Rip Hobi and Joon x2

Jungkook watches the group chat with some disinterest. Over the past year, he’s found that one of the bad things about being a freelance photographer who is mildly successful is that somedays, he has a lot of free time, free time to do chores, run errands, refine his craft, make connections, put together a portfolio, and most frequently— this being the bad part— free time to have a soft existential crisis.

It’s soft because it doesn’t really involve questions like “why am I here?” and “what is the meaning of life?” It’s more like “why did I drop out of college to become a photographer?” and “why does Namjoon keep telling me to drink water with nasty grass seeds in it?” More often than not, it has a lot to do with Jimin too.

His phone buzzes and prompts a quick look, but it’s only Seokjin asking for Hoseok again. Jungkook won’t lie, he’s kind of disappointed no one has mentioned the fact that he hasn’t said anything in a while. But they’re a bunch of guys who are busy at work and distracted by the antics of the day. Jungkook is just one friend among six, lost in a sea of other things to talk about.

He almost smirks. Since when has he been so melodramatic?

A knock on the door causes Jungkook’s attention to drift out of the living room for the first time in hours. Who could that be? Namjoon and Yoongi are both at work. Maybe Hoseok finally decided to run from Ms. Piper and locked himself out again. Or maybe it’s one of the neighbors asking him to dog sit or whatever. Mindlessly, Jungkook gets up and heads to the front door. He opens it without a second thought.

Fiery red hair.

“Hey, it’s Jungkook, right?”

Taehyung, now fully clothed with his hair styled up in the faded navy bandana, gives Jungkook a small smile.

“Yeah,” he confirms, fingers curling subtly against his palm in an attempt to quell a sudden burst of aggression.

He isn’t sure what to feel. Yes, part of him is burning with petulant jealousy that Jimin has flirted with Taehyung instead of Jungkook; but another part of him wants to know who the fuck Taehyung is to turn down someone like Jimin; and a third part of him wants to get rid of both of these feelings altogether, simply because Taehyung has the right to choose too.

“So I kind of... locked myself out of Jin’s apartment? It was an accident,” he laughs, sounding a little guilty. “And he said you lived one floor down, so I was thinking maybe I could just hang out with you for a while. Just until they get back. Unless you’re busy. Don’t wanna be a bother.”

Jungkook fights with himself for a moment. Right thing to do right thing to do right thing to do. Reluctantly, he nods, stepping aside so Taehyung can come in.

“Make yourself at home- but don’t turn the hot water sink handle in the bathroom.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows shoot up in alarm, though he tries to keep a cool tone. “Okay?”

Jungkook can’t help himself, laughing lightly, “It’s broken. Just trust me. No one’s owned up to it yet but I’m pretty sure it was Hobi or Namjoon.”

Taehyung visibly relaxes, “Ah, alright I’ll take your word for it. I wasn’t sure if I was in trouble or about to unleash some ancient curse on us.”

“By turning a faucet handle?”

“You never know.”

Jungkook laughs openly this time, closing the door and leading the way to the living room. Oddly enough, he suddenly feels a little more relaxed around Taehyung.

[Next Part]

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daveshevett · 6 years

Text

My Personal EDC Geek Kit

New Post has been published on http://planet-geek.com/2018/05/28/geekitude/my-personal-edc-geek-kit/

My Personal EDC Geek Kit

This month finds me in France for a few weeks, away from hearth, home, family, and all my worldly posessions. While getting ready for this trip, I spent a bunch of time reviewing what I carry in my backpack – cleaning out debris that had accumulated (A few handfuls of receipts, some cold meds, and cables that didn’t make sense anymore), and making sure I had everything I’d need while away from home for an extended trip.

Contents of my every day carry backpack.

I realized while double-checking my kit that it really doesn’t change much. And since I got here (about a week ago) I haven’t had to replace or change anything, and I haven’t gone “Dammit, I’m missing something, guess I’ll go buy it.”

Now I’m not off in the wild jungle or anything – Paris does in fact have stores – but I’m pleased to say everything I’ve needed for work, and for my various jaunts around the city, have all been pretty well covered.

Someone on Slack asked about what I’m carrying for kit gear, so I decided to quickly write it up…

OGIO Camera bag – I got this bag something like 5 years ago, and it’s been great. It’s starting to get a little worn, but nothing is broken, and it came with a rain shroud that I’ve used a few times. It has a special pouch along the bottom specifically for camera gear.

Macbook Pro 13 – this is my every day computer. I don’t have a desktop machine at home. This is both my work and my personal machine. I’m typing on it as we speak!

Camera Flash – A small electronic flash for my Olympus

Memory cards – This bag contains about 20 memory cards – some USB3, some SD, a few microSD cards, and adapters. I used to have a specialized plastic case for cards, but there’s no reason to keep them that organized. Just toss ’em in the bag.

Earplugs – These are wax custom forming earplugs. I’ve used them on overnight plane flights, or in hotels that are just Too Damned Noisy

Macbook power supply – The smallest configuration I could get

Checkbook – Yes, there’s circumstances where I may need to use a check. I will probably just pick a few checks off this and put them in my wallet soon.

My journal – I have a journal. This was a gift from my sweetie – it’s about 3/4 full of a lot of dense writing. I find the act of writing in it cathartic. It slows me down and lets me think without all the geekery

Brainwavez Delta IEM Headphones – This is my “>second set of these (and I’m using them right now). They’re still fantastic sounding, and roll up into a nice light zippered case. The only reason I replaced them was the laptop fell off my lap at one point and bent the headphone connector all out of whack. Oops

Yes, I carry a rubiks cube around. It’s a great fidget toy, and a great way to relax. Also tends to start conversations. Best time right now is 1 minute 14 seconds for a full solve. But I’m out of practice, so nowadays it’s closer to 2 minutes. Also, a friend just reminded me that I sometimes use it for showing scale in a photo. Everyone knows how big a rubiks cube is.

Generic clip-on Sunglasses – these are a pair of clip on sunglasses I got off Amazon. They work remarkably well

My work ID pass

My passport – I don’t keep this with me all the time, just for this trip. I keep it in a buried pocket in the pack, very difficult to reach unless you’re trying hard Pickpocket proof as best I can do it.

Cleaning cloth for glasses – I wear glasses. I have sunglasses. Not having a good cleaning cloth at hand can be infuriating, particularly if you’re not wearing a cotton shirt or something.

KMASHI K-MP816 10000 mAh battery – This is critical. This battery has saved my ass a dozen times. It’s your typical portable battery pack. The reviews on it aren’t particularly stellar on Amazon, but for $12, I’ve totally gotten my money out of it. It’s a good balance between weight and capacity.

LKY DIGITAL Travel Adapter – This is a nifty little cube (it’s int he black zippered case) that has also been a godsend. It is a multi country adapter, able to plug into most European countries, as well as Japan and others I don’t know about. The real kicker is it has 2 USB charging ports on it also, so at night I can plug in my laptop, my cell phone, and my watch for recharging (or my travel battery), and have enough plugs for them all.

Apple Displayport to Ethernet adapter – Sometimes you’re in a place where the wifi just plain sucks or isn’t available (like a datacenter).

Charge cable for my Android Smartwatch

WMZ Multi Charger Cable – I love this thing. It’s a single USB cable with 3 ends on it. Lightning, Micro USB, and USB-C. It’s pretty rare I need more than one at a time, but I have a very good cable in case I need to charge my SO’s iPhone, or charge my KMASHI battery. My phone uses USB-C, so I’m all set no matter what I need. The cable itself is very well built, with a little velcro keeper and everything.

A spare small USB multiport charger, just in case.

Gerber Bear Grylls Compact Multitool – So, this is a bit of a problem. This is a very small (and inexpensive) multitool that I like to have with me, because having a multitool is handy. I normally carry that inside the Altoids tin with the rest of my ‘support stuff’, but out of the last 10 plane flights, two of them have been pulled out by the TSA and confiscated. Now what I do is take the multitool out of my bag and put it in my checked luggage (if I’m bringing some). If I don’t have checked luggage, I leave the multitool at home. Frustrating, because this thing is tiny, and incredibly useful.

Altoids ‘kit’ – It’s a little hard to see in this pic, but there’s 2 altoids tins there. One is full of tasty altoids goodness. The other is a sort of emergency kit I build after reading some of the more sane prepper sites. In that second tin I carry:

Bandaids

Antibiotic ointment

Advil

A small LED flashlight

Some cash

Several rubber bands

Several paper clips (these things have come in handy SO MANY TIMES, I honestly cannot tell you. Seriously, carry some.

Some anti-itch cream

Alcohol wipes

The rest of the items are specifically for my Olympus PEN-F Mirrorless Camera. A note here – this is the first long trip I’ve taken with the smaller camera, and I LOVE IT. I’m already having ideas for different lenses to carry but my current set is working quite well.

Spare lens caps

Olympus 25mm F1.8 Lens – The equivalent of the standard ‘nifty fifty’ lens so common on 35mm bodies. It’s been okay for my work, though I think I’d like faster glass.

Spare batteries and charger. I carry 3 batteries with me, because I’m almost ALWAYS having one go down, so having one to switch to that’s fresh, and one in the wings is great They charge pretty fast, so keeping them all charged isn’t much of a challenge.

Panasonic Lumix 20mm F1.7 Lens (on camera) – A great landscape lens. Flat and easy to work with, great for scenery and tourism shots!

Olympus 40-150mm Zoom Lens – This is equivalent to a 300mm lens in the 35mm body family. It’s great for doing ‘long lens’ work, and is extremely light.

Olympus PEN-F Mirrorless Four-Thirds Camera – See my other blog post about this camera, but this is now my everyday shooter. I love it.

Leather case for PEN-F – I freely admit one of the reasons I got the PEN-F was it’s retro styling. This brown leather case completes the image, and of course works really well protecting the camera. I leave the lens cover off when carrying it around on shoots, and bundle it up when it’s on it’s way any long distance (like on a plane).

Theres naturally other stuff I have that’s not in the pic, like my cell phone, but one thing I’d like to add in is I carry a Pocketmonkey Wallet Multitool. This is a super handy thin credit card sized piece of metal that has things like a bottle opener, screwdriver, wrench, etc etc on it. I’ve used it half a dozen times, and it is 100% TSA approved (I’ve only gotten nudged on it once, where an overzealous TSA agent asked about it, took it out of my wallet, went over to confer with his supervisor, and came back “Huh, these are 100% okay. Cool!” and off I went.

I’m sure there’s stuff I’m missing. Leave a comment if you think of something I should change or get. I will probably be looking to replace my Ogio pack soon, as it’s a little long in the tooth. Something a little more outdoorsey would be nice.

#camera #edc #geek #photography #tools #travel #Geekitude #Travel

0 notes

tragicbooks · 7 years

Text

When a terrorist attack happens, keep these 12 helpful points in mind.

Terrorists want to divide and conquer. Don't let them.

Terrorist attacks are horrifying.

In the wake of each one, we see the faces of victims on our screens. We hear interviews from witnesses breathlessly describing the terrors they endured. We feel a lot of conflicting, disorienting things — fear, sadness, anger, confusion, hopelessness, and despair — sometimes all at once.

We're often left wondering why?

It's easy to feel utterly helpless when terrorism takes lives. But there are ways you can defy the people and ideologies that inflict so much tragedy.

1. First, if you can, be the helper.

"When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers,'" Mr. Rogers once said. "You will always find people who are helping."

It's a quote that often circulates in the wake of terror attacks. But it's not just because it's reassuring; it also rings true. Anyone can be a helper if they're in a position to do so.

Helpers opened up their homes for victims and survivors in the wake of the May 22, 2017, bombing in Manchester, U.K.

#RoomForManchester 10 mins taxi from city centre, can provide a safe place to stay, a cup of tea, charge your phone, please message me

— #votelabour (@saveuglyanimals) May 22, 2017

Helpers also drove hundreds of miles to take home stranded travelers from the airport after the 2016 terrorist attack in Brussels. Small-business workers helped to protect their patrons in Paris last year after gunfire and blasts killed over 100 people.

Let compassion, not fear, inspire you to act in the hours and days following an attack. (Helping others doesn't just benefit victims; it helps us cope with tragedy, too.)

2. Then, remember terrorism seeks to divide, and don't let it.

Whether it's right-wing extremists targeting Planned Parenthood or jihadists targeting a French music venue, remember that terrorists are often hell-bent on creating the divisiveness that allows their message to thrive.

The vast, vast majority of Muslims, for instance, vehemently reject the messages behind groups like ISIS or al-Qaida. In fact, Muslims — not Christians or Jews — are by far the biggest victims of Islamic extremism. In the same way Westboro Baptist Church doesn't represent Christianity, radical Islamic groups don't represent Muslims.

3. Now, turn off the TV.

When tragedy strikes, we tend to stay glued to cable news for hours, hungry for more details, even when watching makes us more scared and more anxious. Our 24/7 news model is the perfect, sensationalized medium to disperse terror near and far, and extremists understand this well.

Vox's Carlos Maza breaks down how damaging this sort of news coverage is for our brains:

News outlets are already replaying footage of the Manchester incident. Be wary of what that's doing to your brain: http://pic.twitter.com/KWX9ns3W9j

— Carlos Maza (@gaywonk) May 23, 2017

Listen to the American Psychological Association: After a terrorist attack, it's best to watch cable news sparingly (if at all).

4. When you do watch or read about what happened, especially as the news is still breaking, don't fall for or share fake news.

Terrorism seeks to breed chaos. There's usually a rush of contradicting news reports in the hours following an attack (all the more reason to turn off cable TV). Your social media feeds will be inundated with images, requests for donations, questionable quotes from supposed eyewitnesses, and photos purporting to show the immediate and gory aftermath of the attack.

News outlets or pundits sometimes jump to conclusions about the attackers' race or religion — a knee-jerk reaction rooted in xenophobia — and irresponsibly spread false or unconfirmed information. And some people, incredibly, exploit the tragedy for clicks and attention.

Reporting can often be wrong in rush to report. Check out @onthemedia's Breaking News Consumer's Handbook. #ManchesterExplosion http://pic.twitter.com/IovZudYfVH

— Rick Trilsch (@ricktrilsch) May 23, 2017

Don't add to the chaos. Vet what you're reading and sharing to make sure it's accurate. If you're not sure, don't share it. If you see people spreading false news, let them know.

If you choose to donate to an organization, make sure it's a credible one — like the many doing lifesaving work in support of refugees.

5. Donate to the people and causes affected by terror.

No one better understands the destruction Islamist terrorism can bring like refugees in countries like Syria and Iraq. Whether they've been affected directly or were uprooted due to the political ramifications of terror groups, refugees desperately need our help. Learn more and support organizations like UNICEF, Save the Children, and Islamic Relief USA.

Photo by Kutluhan Cucel/Getty Images.

In the U.S., domestic terrorists often target groups based on factors like race, politics, or religion. A Planned Parenthood facility in Colorado, a black church in Charleston, South Carolina, the streets of Dallas, where five police officers were shot and killed, an LGBTQ nightclub in Florida — they've all been ground zero in recent atrocities. When terrorists attack these groups and causes, we can fight back by supporting the groups' missions, helping them rebuild and reopen, and building bridges to boost understanding.

6. Put the real threats of terrorism into perspective.

In the U.S., you're far more likely to die in a parachuting accident or be buried alive than to be killed by a radical jihadist. You're also more likely to die at the hands of right-wing American terrorists — which, of course, isn't a comforting thought, but it does say a lot about how differently we see and react to radical Islamic extremism and domestic threats.

Now that you know the facts...

7. Don't cancel your plans; go to a concert, the movies, or your favorite restaurants.

After all, the fears we typically experience after a terrorist attack are pretty irrational, as psychiatrist Richard Friedman expressed in The New York Times in 2015.

"[The president] has to help us all realize that when we are in the grip of so-called emergency emotion — extreme fear and anxiety — we privilege our feeling over our thinking," he wrote. "And our estimation of the danger we face is exaggerated by our fear."

Go live life as you normally would — free of fear. That's exactly what most terrorists don't want.

8. Support leaders who want to fight all forms of terrorism with facts and level-headedness — not with fear-mongering.

Banning Muslims from entering the U.S. won't make us any safer, according to national security experts. But it will help bolster recruitment for extremist groups.

Photo by Andrew Harrer-Pool/Getty Images.

Many times, American right-wing extremists who carry out heinous acts of terror are excused as "lone wolfs," and their atrocities are overlooked or minimized by our politicians. If a terrorist's skin is white, reaction to their crimes will be much different than if they're from, say, Syria.

Support leaders who understand the nuances of both global and domestic terrorism and know how to fight it.

9. Talk about the damage of toxic masculinity.

Terrorists and extremists from all walks of life and religious beliefs usually have one thing in common: They're almost all men. Mass shooters, Christian extremists, jihadists, and others around the globe often find purpose in ideologies that give them a (false) sense of power and control.

We need to talk about how our collective inability to stomp out toxic masculinity — the attitudes that confine males to being violent, aggressive, and unemotional — is swaying men to find their purpose within extremist sects of all sorts.

10. Share news stories that help counter negative stereotypes about Muslims.

In the case of a terror attack that ISIS or another Islamist extremist group takes credit for, it's especially important we acknowledge how most Muslims are reacting after terror strikes.

They're as scared and horrified as anyone else.

"Oh Allah give us peace" the head Imam says in his prayers #ManchesterArena http://pic.twitter.com/an9CeB1L1S

— Aisha S Gani (@aishagani) May 23, 2017

After an attack near the U.K. Parliament building in March 2017, Muslims United for London raised thousands of dollars for victims and their families. Muslim groups in Florida rushed to get blood donations for victims of the Pulse nightclub shooting in Orlando last year. In the wake of the Manchester, U.K., bombing, Muslim charity Human Appeal created a campaign to aid those affected by the atrocity.

These stories don't reflect the few. They reflect the feelings and attitudes of most Muslims.

11. Reach out to Muslims in your own community.

Needless to say, anti-white hate crimes don't spike in the U.S. after a right-wing extremist goes on a shooting rampage. Islamophobic hate crimes after a jihadist attack on the other hand? That's a different story.

This can leave American Muslims feeling isolated and targeted while fueling the type of division that acts as a recruiting tool for terrorist networks.

As an ally, this is when you're needed most.

Photo by Mandel Ngan/AFP/Getty Images.

Leave a friendly note for the Muslim family nearby (or, better yet, knock on their door and say hello). Get lunch with the Muslim student who lives down the hall in your dorm building. Offer to walk with Muslims to and from mosques, like New Yorkers did last year, so they're more protected from violence on the street.

Do what you can to let our Muslim neighbors know they're welcome here.

12. Whatever you do, don't succumb to fear.

Do just the opposite.

As former Norwegian Prime Minister Jens Stoltenberg said in 2011 after a horrific attack by a right wing extremist resulted in the deadliest incident in Norway since World War II (emphasis added): "We are still shocked by what has happened. But we will never give up our values. Our response is more democracy, more openness, and more humanity."

Remember: Compassion and empathy do far more in fighting terrorism than divisiveness and fear.

"Fight or flight" is real, and it makes sense that those instincts tell us to build walls or turn away from our neighbors in the face of senseless violence. It's in those moments especially that we have to remind ourselves that that's what extremists want us to do.

When terror strikes, turn off the TV, parse through the fake news, and do what you can to help those who need it most. Live your life exactly how terrorists hope you don't.

0 notes

socialviralnews · 7 years

Text

When a terrorist attack happens, keep these 12 helpful points in mind.

Terrorists want to divide and conquer. Don't let them.

Terrorist attacks are horrifying.

We're often left wondering why?

It's easy to feel utterly helpless when terrorism takes lives. But there are ways you can defy the people and ideologies that inflict so much tragedy.

1. First, if you can, be the helper.

"When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers,'" Mr. Rogers once said. "You will always find people who are helping."

It's a quote that often circulates in the wake of terror attacks. But it's not just because it's reassuring; it also rings true. Anyone can be a helper if they're in a position to do so.

Helpers opened up their homes for victims and survivors in the wake of the May 22, 2017, bombing in Manchester, U.K.

#RoomForManchester 10 mins taxi from city centre, can provide a safe place to stay, a cup of tea, charge your phone, please message me

— #votelabour (@saveuglyanimals) May 22, 2017

Let compassion, not fear, inspire you to act in the hours and days following an attack. (Helping others doesn't just benefit victims; it helps us cope with tragedy, too.)

2. Then, remember terrorism seeks to divide, and don't let it.

3. Now, turn off the TV.

Vox's Carlos Maza breaks down how damaging this sort of news coverage is for our brains:

News outlets are already replaying footage of the Manchester incident. Be wary of what that's doing to your brain: http://pic.twitter.com/KWX9ns3W9j

— Carlos Maza (@gaywonk) May 23, 2017

Listen to the American Psychological Association: After a terrorist attack, it's best to watch cable news sparingly (if at all).

4. When you do watch or read about what happened, especially as the news is still breaking, don't fall for or share fake news.

Reporting can often be wrong in rush to report. Check out @onthemedia's Breaking News Consumer's Handbook. #ManchesterExplosion http://pic.twitter.com/IovZudYfVH

— Rick Trilsch (@ricktrilsch) May 23, 2017

Don't add to the chaos. Vet what you're reading and sharing to make sure it's accurate. If you're not sure, don't share it. If you see people spreading false news, let them know.

If you choose to donate to an organization, make sure it's a credible one — like the many doing lifesaving work in support of refugees.

5. Donate to the people and causes affected by terror.

Photo by Kutluhan Cucel/Getty Images.

6. Put the real threats of terrorism into perspective.

Now that you know the facts...

7. Don't cancel your plans; go to a concert, the movies, or your favorite restaurants.

After all, the fears we typically experience after a terrorist attack are pretty irrational, as psychiatrist Richard Friedman expressed in The New York Times in 2015.

Go live life as you normally would — free of fear. That's exactly what most terrorists don't want.

8. Support leaders who want to fight all forms of terrorism with facts and level-headedness — not with fear-mongering.

Banning Muslims from entering the U.S. won't make us any safer, according to national security experts. But it will help bolster recruitment for extremist groups.

Photo by Andrew Harrer-Pool/Getty Images.

Support leaders who understand the nuances of both global and domestic terrorism and know how to fight it.

9. Talk about the damage of toxic masculinity.

10. Share news stories that help counter negative stereotypes about Muslims.

In the case of a terror attack that ISIS or another Islamist extremist group takes credit for, it's especially important we acknowledge how most Muslims are reacting after terror strikes.

They're as scared and horrified as anyone else.

"Oh Allah give us peace" the head Imam says in his prayers #ManchesterArena http://pic.twitter.com/an9CeB1L1S

— Aisha S Gani (@aishagani) May 23, 2017

These stories don't reflect the few. They reflect the feelings and attitudes of most Muslims.

11. Reach out to Muslims in your own community.

This can leave American Muslims feeling isolated and targeted while fueling the type of division that acts as a recruiting tool for terrorist networks.

As an ally, this is when you're needed most.

Photo by Mandel Ngan/AFP/Getty Images.

Do what you can to let our Muslim neighbors know they're welcome here.

12. Whatever you do, don't succumb to fear.

Do just the opposite.

Remember: Compassion and empathy do far more in fighting terrorism than divisiveness and fear.

When terror strikes, turn off the TV, parse through the fake news, and do what you can to help those who need it most. Live your life exactly how terrorists hope you don't.

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