bad charities

The Freedom Fighters never turn down people in need, not even in the real world!  As I’m sure you all know, the states of Texas and Louisiana have recently been hit with a Category 4 hurricane, Hurricane Harvey.  Among the affected areas was Houston, one of the biggest cities in the US.  Simple fact is, not everyone can escape from such a huge storm in time, and even if they can they’ll most likely have to leave many things behind.  The hurricane has since regressed to a tropical storm, but the damage has been done- thousands of houses destroyed, countless precious belongings damaged beyond repair, hundreds of thousands of people flooded out of their homes and stuck in overcrowded shelters.  As if that wasn’t enough, another major hurricane, Irma, is currently preparing to rage the Caribbean Islands and may even reach the East Coast.  For the affected areas to truly recover from these disasters will take many years, but in the meantime there are innocent victims that need our help.

So where do we at ASO come in?  This October, we’re planning to hold a Sonic gaming stream to raise relief money!  Hosted by a member of our staff, @ian-pk, watch us play Sonic games that you audience members vote for!  Of course, as this is still a non-profit project, 100% of the donations generated during this event will be instantly transferred to trustworthy charities that will ensure that the victims of both storms are given the proper care.  Our project may currently be small and humble, but we still want to do our part to help out a good cause.  We have no idea how well the stream will go, but it’s our hope that our beloved audience will do their best to spread the word and help this endeavor be as successful as it can be!  And of course, we do have incentive- we have some exclusive ASO previews for the more generous donors!

As of right now, there are still quite a few details that need to be worked out, but you can all look forward to some updates soon!  Even the Freedom Fighters can’t tackle this tragedy alone- we need your help!  Whether it’s through spreading the word or donating during the stream, every little bit helps!  It’s times like these when the true power of teamwork makes itself known, so let’s do it to it!  

Art by @drawloverlala


Michael Jackson meets Princess Diana and Prince Charles during his Bad Tour at Wembley Stadium in London on July 16, 1988.

Jackson presented Britain’s Prince and Princess of Wales with gifts before his third sell-out concert. Princess Diana is holding one of the gifts, a Bad tour jacket. He also donated $450,000 dollars to the Prince’s Trust.

Am I the only one who’s been watching Charity’s face and thinks that she might actually have some genuine feelings for Vanessa? Or am I just lost in wishful thinking?
Like, I get that she’s manipulative and uses people and all that, and she definitely shouldn’t have outed Vanessa…. But I think that at least a tiny part of her was maybe a bit hurt by seeing her on a date with someone else?
Or maybe I just wanna see the best in Charity cause I think she’s a queen idk 💁🏻👑

i’m just saying but literally any time this blog talks up against inequality, we get literally dozens of asks being like “FUCK YOU” and “didnt know this blog was run by sjws….” and “umm you’re not a REAL feminist/activist if you criticize MORE FAMOUS feminists/activists” and it’s one of the reasons we don’t talk about this shit very often.

about a year back we reblogged posts saying that autism speaks (literal eugenicists) was a bad charity and people wanted our fucking asses on their mantlepiece like fucking spongebob in that episode about painting mr krabbs house

Bad moms cast and crew pic! Proudly rocking our “MOTHER LOVER” tee shirts to support #badmoms everywhere! Each tee supports Alliance of Moms and their work to support and empower teen moms in foster care. Because everybody loves a mother somewhere. Find your perfect fit at or through the link in our bio. #Motherlover #BadMomsXmas


Below Zero- Taehyung(m)

Originally posted by orchid-bud

// (m)- mature (f)- fluff w/ a sprinkle of angst // word count: 6,175 // 

And if it comes back it was yours all along…

You hate him. You hate him so much. You hate how much you think of him. You hate how much he makes you question who you are. You hate how much he makes you want to be a good person. You hate everything about Kim Taehyung.

Everything down to the individual strands of brown hair on his round head.

“Yah. Y/N,” Park Jimin’s teasing voice calls your name, throwing pencils at your back until you flip around, agitated and annoyed.

“What?” You snap, avoiding the watching eyes of Taehyung in favor of the thin slits of Jimin’s. You’d been avoiding him for a solid three weeks at this point, and you are pretty proud of yourself for it too.

“Ohhhhhh,” Jimin throws his hands up and wiggles his eyebrows at Taehyung, who just looks at you in unassumed thought, “someone’s sensitive today.”

“Shut up,” you retort, turning around with an indignant huff.

Tapping your pencil against the edge of your desk, you wait for class to end nervously, wanting to get out from Taehyung’s deep stare and from the weight of everyone’s eyes on you. Maybe she’s blackmailing him. You don’t know why he’d even look at a bitch like her. Maybe if we hate her enough she’ll just transfer again. They aren’t even in the same social class. He sleeps on sheets more expensive than her rent.  

Words circle in your head like hawks, a lonely fox wandering in the desert, stranded and with nowhere to hide and no one to save it. It wants to just rip up all the dirt and burrow underneath the ground to where it’s cold and unsuspecting.

Where no one can touch it or talk to it. Where no one can break its heart.

“For the last pairing…” the teacher points to you, a long pink nail arched in the air, “since neither of you seem to be paying any attention in my class, I’m pairing you and Kim Taehyung together. I hope you can manage to pull whatever you have learned into a finished project.”

You open your mouth, standing up in your seat to begin a protest when the bell rings, loud and heavenly to your ears, zipping up and grabbing your bag just to be blocked by a small chest. “Move,” You lock your jaw and make your way from the expensive school bow, to the neatly pressed collar, to the long, thin neck of Myung-hwa.

You don’t need this right now. All you want to do is run into the darkest corner so you can cry and make it darker with a long pity party before you start on the project yourself. No way in hell you are getting anywhere near Taehyung again. 

“I said, ‘move’,” You try to shove past her plastic chest, but her frail hand reaches out to lock around your forearm in a vise like grip.

“Just who do you think you are?” Her voice is low, but by the way everyone is staring at you, you’re sure not a word is lost. “What kind of family do you come from to think that starting anything with someone of a different social status is okay?”

You’re so tired of this, fucking exhausted of all the shit, and the gossip and all glares of assault. You’re so done with the fact that everything is Kim Taehyung’s fault. So mad about how if you never moved you wouldn’t have had to transfer and you definitely wouldn’t have had to cross paths with your first boyfriend.

You wouldn’t have had to see him again.

And you could have just kept living as if he never existed.

He’d taken everything from you. He’d taken every last piece he could until you were stranded without a clue of where to go, of where he went. Of who you were without him. And apparently all of his wonderful friends knew about his triumphant steal too, because ever since you transferred they wouldn’t leave you alone.

“Sorry, I don’t have any interest ‘socializing’ with people like you,” you rip your arm from the snob’s expensively manicured fingers, sad you didn’t even rip a nail in the process.  

“Excuse me? I am the daughter of one of the world’s richest men, my father throws meals worth more than you down the drain every day-”

And there everyone goes again, making assumptions about your worth. You step forward, ready to backfire when a voice cuts in.

“Is everything okay over here?” Taehyung inserts himself in your conversation for the first time, deep voice grating against every one of your nerves and electrifying every space of skin.   

“We’re fine, Tae,” who knew rich girls were so good at lying? “just introducing ourselves.”

His gaze lingers on her for a moment, weighing her worth in amounts of trust before cocking his head to look at you, “is everything okay…. Y/N?”

You snap back as if he’s struck you, scoffing softly and turning on your heel, ignoring every stare or hushed whisper as you slam the door to the classroom behind you and breathe in the significantly less hot air of the hallway, “like you care.”  

You can feel your face burning, ignoring the curious looks from your peers as you stomp down the hallway, trying to hold your head up and eyes straight. “Hey! Wait!” Taehyung calls from behind you, shoes pounding on the squeaky floor.

Your throat clogs, stopping for a split second before continuing faster. If you could just make it to the girls restroom…

“Hey,” Taehyung’s hand grips your shoulder, entire body convulsing at the feeling of him.

“Yah!” You startle yourself, twisting around in great agitation and annoyance, “what do you want? I have somewhere to be.”

“We’re partners…”

“Don’t worry about it,” you inch back, “I’ll do all the work myself and put your name on it.”

“But…” he reclaims the inches you’re putting between you two.  

“You don’t have to do charity work on me because you feel bad.”

“You’re not charity work,” his eyebrows furrow and you make the mistake of looking behind him for a split second to find everyone watching, Myung-hwa’s arms crossed and eyes shooting laser beams from across the hall.

“I’ll do it,” you repeat, growing panicked under more unwanted attention, you back up until you hit the stair railing, not letting him get a chance to speak before hurrying down.

“Y/N,” but he’s hot on your trail, wind lashing behind you as he continues to swipe for your elbow, your hand, your sweater, anything he can grasp to stop you from running. To keep you from moving away again.

Surging forward, he stumbles down the last step, falling against you and in turn sending you against the wall. A loud grunt leaves your lips and a pleased huff from Taehyung’s, finally getting a firm hold on your wrist and your back against the wall behind you as the harsh light plays shadows on your surprised face.  

You look up at him, “let go of me.”

His grip only seems to tighten around your wrist, thick lips parting as he holds you against the cool plaster, “no. If I let go, you’ll leave.”

“That’s the idea-”

“Well don’t.”

“Look, Kim Taehyung, I don’t know who you think I am or who you want me to be, but I’m not that. I’m not who I was four years ago and I’m sorry-”

His lips silence any of your further words, slamming you back into the wall as he forcefully kisses you. You are speechless, eyes wide open and staring at Kim Taehyung’s impossibly dark lashes.

You remember how he used to taste, you remember how he used to hold your hand and how shy he always looked when he’d brush against you or push your hair behind your ears. Little Kim Taehyung is nothing like his aged counterpart.

Little Kim Taehyung is but a novice compared the professional against you.

“What the hell are you doing?” You push him back roughly, lips tingling and stomach dropping through your ass. You want him back. And the feeling makes you sick.

“You said you’re not who you used to be… but you taste like you used to,”  his voice is laced with sigh, pulling back to open his eyes, “meet me after school for our project,” he pulls himself together as if nothing ever happened, “you remember where I live don’t you?”


It’s the big white house at the end of a long black road. The one with the curling iron gate and the expensive red brick to ground it. The one that looks like it’s worth more in one leaf of grass than your entire life savings.

The one you used to run down the halls of, screaming and laughing as Taehyung chased after you with his long legs in elementary school. The one where his mom always told him to take the couch and you the bed, but by morning he was curled next to you or you were snoring at his feet. The second bedroom up the stairs and to the right, where Taehyung stained his new satin sheets with tears as you said you were leaving for the summer. And the same room you had stained them three years later when he announced the relationship you had was over, moving off to an expensive boarding school while your mom moved you from one high rise penthouse apartment to the next. Guess a million dollar suite isn’t on the same galaxy as a ten million dollar mansion anymore. You suppose when you grow older things are run differently, and you understand why you’re parents never let you have play dates with certain kids and always dressed so expensively for every school affair.

There’s no room for a misstep. No room for false accusations or rumors.

And for Kim Taehyung there was no room for you.

Why are you even here?

Hitting the stainless steel buzzer, you tap your foot impatiently, wondering if maybe, just maybe you can make a run for it and say something came up. “Mr. Kim has been expecting you,” a small voice buzzes you in, crossing the courtyard quickly before anyone can see you walking to your own death.

“Welcome, Miss.” A well dressed housemaid opens the door, bowing to you as you pass inside, “you have grown well.”

You turn to her, startled, she doesn’t look familiar, but then again, you haven’t been in this house in four years. She gives you a small smile before shaking her head and gesturing for you to follow, “have you been well?”

“Yes, thank you,” you keep your eyes straight ahead, not letting any of the reflective jewels or glass catch your eye, “I trust you have as well. The house looks as beautiful and well taken care of as it did when I was here before.”  

You feel like you’re going into a warzone, a multi-million dollar, pristinely clean and crystalline war zone. Every step brings you closer to the enemy, every question from the housemaid is another for your demise.  

The stairs aren’t as tall as you remember, coming in front of that second door to the right all too soon, staring at the white paint and holding for a moment before the housemaid knocks for you. “Mr. Kim? Your guest is here.”

After waiting for a moment she bows again, a small smile bestowing her thin lips before she’s gone, moving with such grace that the thin hairs of her gray ponytail don’t sway as she moves, learning through her job how to be neither seen nor heard.

“Y/N?” The door swings open, soundless and smooth, revealing Kim Taehyung, half dressed in pants with a towel around his neck, collecting the sopping drops of water that fall from the ends of his hair.

“Did you forget I was coming?” You raise an eyebrow, desperately trying to keep your eyes on his face as his glistening chest heaves with laughter.

“No, I didn’t expect you to come at all.”

“Well you asked me to.”

“And since when have you ever done what I asked you to?”

Taking in a large breath, you turn around, “get a shirt on.”   

He chuckles, the deep sound going straight through your bones to punch a hole in your stomach as you hear the door close, cheeks red and fingers twitching at your sides as you stare at the wall and try to forget everything you saw.

You entertain the idea of running again, scared of being with him, but also too scared to let this opportunity slide. Your body has craved some sort of contact with him for years, your heart has pleaded to answer his phone calls and to hear his voice, when your brain told you to let him go. When your brain told you he didn’t want you anymore. That your worth was below his effort.

When the door opens again, Taehyung is fully dressed- much to your relief and disappointment, and he leads you into his room with a simple gesture of his hand, clenching your bag with a white fist as you walk past him, making it a point to not inhale his scent.

The light blue of his walls is so familiar, becoming confused at the similar room but different atmosphere, for everything looks exactly as it had, but the situation that brings you into it is entirely different.

He sits at his desk, laptop closed with a pad of paper and pen on top, beginning to spin absently as you sit on the very edge of his bed and let the silence encapsulate the space between you. Your mind is racing with a million things to say, all of the lines you’d rehearsed on the way over.

But now that you’re here you have nothing to say.

Giving your fidgety hands something to do, you twist your hair back into a bun, half hoping it will stay and half hoping it will not so you can have something to busy with other than watch Taehyung spin around in his chair.

“Are we going to start or…”

“You never returned my calls.”

You straighten, “I didn’t have anything to say.”

“Like hell,” he drops his pen on the desk with a sort of deafening click.

“I didn’t.”

“Well I did,” he counters.

“Then I didn’t want to listen.”

“Stop making excuses.”

“Are we going to work on this project?”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

You look at him for a long moment, grabbing your bag and standing up, “I’m leaving.”

“No you’re not,” Taehyung is up and gripping your arm before you can talk a step towards the door, “you’re staying here.”

“Let go of me, Taehyung.”

“If I let go you’ll leave.”

You stop, swallowing thickly and shaking your head profusely, “why do you keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true,” he holds your hand, “I gave up on you here,” he forces me to sit on the bed next to him, “and here,” he uses your hand to touch his heart, beating fast beneath your palm, “and here,” he brings your joined hands to his forehead, hair soft and smooth above his skin.

“You were the only one who gave up… I wasn’t worth your time and I get that now.” You say, pushing down the lump in your throat and trying to listen over the roaring in your ears as he continues to elaborate and correct all the wrong conclusions you’d drawn.

“My mother told me I would never see you again. And that a relationship would be unrealistic and foolish. She said it would hurt you more if I didn’t break it off and she threatened to cut my rich boy allowance off completely- and for a kid, that was a big deal. I didn’t know what I was doing until you started sobbing in front of me. Right here,” he points to the spot between you both, as if he’s marked it some grave sight in his mind for four years, “by then you were running out and it was too late. You didn’t answer my calls, my texts, my emails, damn Y/N I even sent you letters. I was so stupid.”

“I didn’t know what to say,” you square your shoulders and remove your hand from his, “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he hides his hurt with hope, trying to find your gaze, “when I heard a new girl was transferring in, I never ever thought it would be you. You’ve changed so much,” he fingers a strand of your hair between his fingers, changed in color and length from the last time he’d seen you, “but not at all.”

His dark eyes search your face, continuing on, “I thought I had changed too, but I haven’t. Not when it comes to you,” he grips your hand with more reassurance and brings it back to his chest, warmth radiating from his chest, “not here.”

You suck in your bottom lip to keep it from quivering, everything in your body stilling and speeding up at his words. The temperature in the room drops below zero and zooms to a hundred in the span of ten seconds, the time it takes for him to breathe rain down your throat and fire into your veins.


“I know it’s been a long time, but I haven’t forgotten you. Or us. What we wanted to become. Have you?”

You stare at him, a million thoughts racing in your head and nothing at all. A million contradictions fill you, overfill you, spilling in the tears with your cheeks and breath from your lungs. You feel relief and dread and fear and excitement and sadness and happiness and you can barely sort through all of them to find the word you are looking for, casting your head downward.


“Do you still want to become those things? With me?”

You nod before your brain knows what it’s doing, heart speaking out for you. Taehyung’s shoulders droop in relief, pulling you forward until your crashing against him in a hug, arms coming to tightly envelope you and scent wrapping itself around you.

“I’ve missed you a lot,” he says, collectively, dropping bird-like kisses on your head.

Your shoulders shake, tears clouding your vision and clinging onto him like he’s the only real, tangible thing in your life, “hey, hey.” Taehyung urges you, forcing your head up to him. He watches you cry, watches the tears stain narrow paths down your cheeks and over your lips and down your chin. He watches them push down the space between you and land on his bed, soft, but too loud.

“Don’t cry,” his fingers brush across your face to collect the rain, “it’s okay.”

His words only break open a dam inside of you, crying turning into sobs as you try and hide from him, wanting to burrow your face into the soft cotton of his shirt and never come out. But he isn’t having it, he takes you between both of his hands, weighing the options as you break apart before him. So hauntingly beautiful.     

“It’s okay,” he says again, closing the distance between you to taste your lips, tonguing the salty flesh until the tears give way to sweet underneath. He moves closer to make sure you can’t slip away, pressing harder against you and breathing everything he has into you.

All of his strength and relief and love.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, “it’s okay. I’m here.”

Your desperate fingers push up the hem of his shirt, feeling his lean body beneath the cotton with growing desire. How many times had you imagined this? How many times do you wish he was there to crave those fillings you couldn’t?

With silent agreement Taehyung pulls back just enough to let you pull the fabric over his head, the string of saliva between your lips breaking as it passes through on its way to the carpet. His torso is ridged with quiet definition, small lines of muscle cutting across his stomach and beneath his pants.   

Next, his fingers inch under your shirt, goosebumps lighting beneath his path until the shirt is no more, the plain blue of your bra so pleasing to Taehyung’s eye against your skin, “I always loved how you looked in this color,” he baritone voice murmurs, looking down on you with a carefully consuming stare, “but I think I’d like it better off.”  

Your cheeks are still flushed from crying, makeup smeared below the rims of your eyes and hair falling from it’s bun. Taehyung takes your cheeks between his long fingers, getting to his knees so he can kiss you once before uttering the word, beautiful, nipping at the lining of your bra whimsically, nimble fingers reaching back to undo the clasp. The straps fall down your shoulders of their own accord, nipples hard and peaked not only from the harshness of the air, but from Taehyung’s eyes.

“Amazing,” he sings your praises, taking one of the rosy tips between his fingers and rolling softly, “so soft and pretty.”

You give him room to get between you, roughly exhaling as he gently licks your nipple before continuing down your stomach, tongue wet and warm against your chest. You watch with obsessive enthrallment as he disappears between you, humming every now and then as he leaves a trail of sweet saliva down your skin.

Taehyung lets his fingers tap leisurely up your thighs, watching you for signs of retreatment as the line of your skirt goes higher and higher, Taehyung’s face dropping lower and lower as the temperature gets hotter and hotter.

“Wait,” you gasp, Taehyung’s head snapping up to you in question.

“I’m sorry, did I go too fa-”

You cut his words off by standing abruptly, pushing your skirt to the floor and stepping out of it before hooking a finger under the elastic of your panties, wetting your lower lip before shoving those down your legs as well. Taehyung’s eyes wander from your ankles, to your knees, to your thighs, to your core and still up to your stomach and breasts and neck and face and all the way back down again, admiring you with a look of raw need on his voice, reaching out for you.

“Come here, princess,” he breathes deeply, unable to take his eyes off your shy figure as it sways towards him, plopping yourself down on the bed in front of him. You run your hands through his hair methodically, trying to calm your racing heartbeat as he plants flowery kisses on your legs, spreading them slowly.

“Taehyung,” your speech catches.

Taehyung looks up at you, reading what you want to say in your gaze as he nods with a smile, “I’ll be gentle, my love.”

You let your hands fall to his shoulders, the smooth chords of his back rolling beneath your fingertips as he leans forward, licking the innermost part of your thigh so playfully soft. You moan lightly, hips already shaking against his movements in sensitivity.

“Has anyone ever touched you like this before?” He asks the intrusive question with such reserve, such a humble curiosity, you shake your head right away, telling the truth.

“Nobody could ever be you.”

His tongue snakes from between his pillowy lips to drag around your folds, the feeling of his wet muscle against your damp core giving you cause to dig your nails into his back, craning your neck towards the ceiling and moaning.

Taehyung lets out an appreciative noise, gripping the backs of your thighs in his capable hands so he can slide you closer, feet dangling closer to the floor. Breathing unevenly, you look down to find his eyes already even with yours, nose cresting your mound, chasing more of the unmarked territory with his tongue.

“I made a list of all the things I wanted to do when I saw you again,” his deep voice vibrates along your skin and ignites your nerves. You want to reply, but don’t trust yourself, looking at him in expectancy to go on.   

“I wanted to tell you I’ve missed you,” he plants a chaste kiss on your clit, throbbing with need, “and how much I’ve thought about you,” he moves down to fit his tongue into the tightness of your core, continuing on over the sound of your cries, “and how much I love you. And want to make love to you.”

Trailing the pad of his index over the place of his tongue, Taehyung seeks entrance, lightly pressing the long thin finger into you, listening to you whine and feeling you stretch around the simplicity of one, wondering how tight you’d feel at two, or three…

“How are you so beautiful?” He sighs, curling his finger up against your walls, intent on getting a reaction as you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, “I can’t believe you came back to me. I don’t deserve you.”

Working another finger next to the first one, Taehyung observes as you unravel, ceasing to be quiet and forgetting to be modest in the face of pleasure, the burn of pain nothing compared to how unbelievably right it feels to have him inside of you. Like two pieces of a puzzle finally fitted together, completing the most sorrowfully beautiful mirage you’d ever seen.   

His speed increases, the wetness of you filling the air in oddly erotic squishing sounds, gripping his bedsheets with white knuckles and groaning at how he feels, at how utterly amazing this feels, “I- I want you,” is all you can manage to breathe out, pushing his face closer against you in desperation as he moves away.

“Lay back,” he instructs lightly, hands gripping your waist to help you against the pillows. The reality of this moment begin to sink into your bones, the abrupt fear and excitement tightens your frame and widens your eyes as he climbs over you, licking his fingers.

“Everything about you is so sweet. So sexy. So bewilderingly perfect.”

“Taehyung,” you whimper, lip quivering as he stares down at you, “I’m scared.” 

His gaze softens, smiling assuredly, “I know. But you have nothing to fear when you’re with me.”

You search his face, finding the courage to nod but not trusting your voice, licking your lips. You feel his hard, waiting length prod your thigh, tightening up beneath him at the contact and hearing him sigh tenderly.

“Flip over,” his wide hands grip your waist in feathery gesture.

“Why…?” You begin with apprehension, but you listen to him.

“I want you to trust me.”

You trust him.

You swallow, not making any sign of rejection but not affirmation either, trying to just breathe in and out, in and out as Taehyung’s soft hands glide up the naked curve of your back. Applying slight pressure, his fingers leak the tension from your bones, draw out all the fear and all the caution. His fingers are ridding you of clouds and stuffing you with sunshine.

Filling you back up with his love and his care.

Like you’ve wanted him to for so long.

“Taehyung… don’t hurt me…” You whimper, releasing ragged breaths as his tongue dips into the dimples at the base of your back.

“I’m not- nobody is- ever going to hurt you again.”    

Your bottom lip wavers, hot tears running down your face as his words scar your skin. The deepness of his voice draws blood from beneath your flesh, it carves out chunks of your bone and sucks streams of marrow from within them. He’s killing you to give you life.

He’s breaking you apart to make you whole again.

His warm hands grab at your waist, settling into their small curves as he rubs circles into your stomach, soothing you, “don’t be afraid,” he repeats, getting himself in line before moving his hips closer slowly, testing the waters before diving right in.

His palms work out the knots in your back, relaxing your sore muscles while you sink to your elbows, trying to catch your jagged breath and trying to breathe all at once, making a little sound in the back of your throat to let him know you’re okay.

To let him know you’re ready.

“I trust you, Kim Taehyung,” you murmur, squeezing your eyes shut so he won’t see the puddles in them as he spins you around, sheets too soft and too smooth against your back.

“Let me see you,” he insists, chasing the tears with his thumb.

Obeying, you blink away the emotion to find Taehyung aptly licking at his finger, tasting the salt of your sadness on the pink of his tongue. This boy is the most peculiarly beautiful thing you’d ever seen. The most profoundly passionate human you’d ever met.

“I trust you,” you repeat the declaration like it’s one of love.

His eyes roam over your features, looking for any lingering signs of hesitation, any indication that you’re not who he knows you to be, or any inclination that you don’t want him. That you don’t want this.

“Let me in then, jagi. Open up.”

Your lips part, seeking the taste and warmth of the person above you, moving your knees so they straddle his chest. Taehyung breathes autumn onto your face, he breathes falling leaves and steaming coffee cups, he breathes the smiling heat of summer and the intense cold of winter. He breathes color into you. He gives you more than grey.  

“Let me love you,” he puts his forehead against yours, “like you should be loved.”

The first push is long and deep, sensuality pouring from your lips. The pain is so beautiful, the alignment of your bodies is so artistic. The swamp of words unsaid is thick and tangible, years of penny wishes and birthday candles and shooting stars that all amount to this moment.

You’d never allowed yourself pleasure once in your life, never finding release in the slide of your hands or the intrusion of your fingers. You could never drown without thinking of him, without wanting him to push you under, without needing him to hold you down. But now he’s done more than that, in one ministration he’s got you completely submerged, he has you dripping and soaking from every crease of your lips to every cut on your skin.

“Because I’ve loved you for so long,” he continues, brushing the hair out of your face with a gentle hand, “let me show you.”

Everything about this is too perfect, too painless, too emotional. You’re waiting for it all to crash to the floor. For the vase of flowers to slide from the tilted counter and to shatter it’s round glass and spill its contents along the tile, drifting red petals along the floor.

You reach up with shaking hands to push the hair from his face, damp palms brushing over his temples. His eyes drift shut, moving himself deeper inside of you, as the warm cotton of his sheets slide along your back.  

It hurts so bad. But it hurts so good. Kim Taehyung makes the discomfort feel okay, he makes the pain beauty and the tension lax. With him, beneath him, it feels as if nothing in the world matters, none of your childish reasons to stay away or to never return his phone calls. His fingers press into your sides, leaving indents that are sure to bruise come morning, using his lips to leave more stains of possessive love along your neck, your collarbones, distracting you from the dissipating discomfort between your legs.  

You fall together in a cacophony of hushed passion, in foamy waves of whispered secrets and unforgotten memories. Of a million dreams filtered through the holes of your dream catcher and a million glasses of resolve shattered along the floor. You push yourself down the cliff of scattered wishes and clean cotton, falling headfirst to find Taehyung waiting at the bottom.

“Are you okay?” His smooth voice catches you from a reverie, forearms bulging at your sides as he supports his weight on top of you.

“I’m more than okay,” you say, moving your stiff arms from their sides and through the rippling strands of his hair, urging him to go faster with a moan from your lips and a tilt of your hips. Obliging without a thought, he snaps back into you like an elastic band, an addictive burn stretching you out and stuffing you up.

Pleasure consumes every atom in your body, ignites every nerve with dancing flame and every lick of blood with intense color. Your heart swells with love and happiness and appreciation for the absolute simplicity of such a complicated moment. At how nothing drives you, how nothing drives him, but love and respect.

You can’t name the moment you realized you weren’t getting over him, you can’t name the time you knew you still wanted him to be yours. Perhaps it was something you always felt deep down, from the second you walked out from his life until the moment you were forced to return. No one kissed you like Kim Taehyung did, no one gave you butterflies, and no one made you feel something like he did. No one made you feel as safe or as worshipped as him. And maybe he doesn’t deserve you anymore but you don’t care, you want him, you need him.  

A pit in your stomach begins to hollow, mouth open and bleeding with professions of lust and euphoria, telling him how good he’s doing, how great he feels, how much you still want him and love him. His breathing is fast and erratic, matching his pace as his skin rubs against yours, blessed friction giving you more stimulation along your thighs.

“I can’t believe how tight you are, how incredible you feel,” he rasps, putting his sweaty forehead against yours as he pounds harder, completely fucking you out in the best of ways as your nails claw at the smooth flesh of his back, “that’s it, let go baby,” he praises.

Tightening yourself around him, you struggle to feel every single sensation he’s feeding you as your high begins to power down, a thousand and one feelings flooding you at once in the name of Kim Taehyung. He’s providing you with something beautiful you’ve never been able to touch, he’s helping you reach what had been unreachable.

Moaning for him one last time you release, watching the popcorn of his ceiling blur into kisses and hearts and sighs. You don’t know how something can make you feel so broken and so whole at the same time…

But it seems like Taehyung has been blowing apart all the things you thought to be true.

He continues to ride your sensitivity, getting lost in the tightening of your warm walls around him as he plunges in and out, in and out, drawing from you like breath before going back in, murmuring just a little longer, as you writhe and whine beneath him.

A few more thrusts and Taehyung keeps his promise, burying his face into your neck and inhaling the addictive concoction of your scent as he pulls from you to cum, lines of seed arching from him to color your skin in white rivers, bleeding down your sides and onto his sheets.

Before you can blink Taehyung leaves and comes back with a damp rag, wiping the drying cum from your stomach and breasts with a soft hand, playfully kissing your damp skin. He can still taste you on his lips, the dreamlike state of perfectness still intact.

After a lot of convincing he gets you to roll over until he can pull the stained sheets from under you and get a blanket from beneath the bed to cover you with, rectangular smile breaking across his face as he watches you curl under it, so cute and so his.

“Taehyung,” you reach out, happy to be met with the warmth of his arms.

“Yes, princess?” He lays next to you, propping up on his elbow.  

“…what happens from here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, is this real? Are we real? What are you going to tell your mother?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve grown up now and I’m not afraid of losing anything but you,” he runs a finger down your hair with a sly smile, “now, sleep. I’ll work on the project and put your name on it.”

“Nope,” you yawn, but settle deeper under his blanket, “that’s supposed to be my job.”

You snake your arms around his midsection and force him to stay down with you, “if I let you go, you’ll leave,” you steal his words, smiling with sleepy joy as your eyes begin to droop shut.

“Would you let me up if I promised to return?” He chuckles, kissing your forehead and watching your body relax into the bed, succumbing to sleep as you reply:

“Not a chance.”  

Guess who’s back bitchesss. It’s me, your friendly neighborhood smut dealer;)

~a.k.a Admin Eggplant


Sigrun + Personality Types (insp.)

“I’m telling you, if you’re not careful, the second you go out there, you’re done for.”

Day 2 I Got You

Second installment of Danvers Sisters Week by @queercapwriting . Featuring Looney Toons references, a jerk wad that pained me to write, Alex being violent, surprise angst (I was not planning to write that, I swear), Alex being difficult, and surprise Sanvers. read on ao3

Earth is…a lot. It’s loud and fast and bright, and so, so different than Krypton. There’s a lot Kara must know- must learn- to fit in, the least of which being controlling her powers. Yes, she has powers on this planet. Something her adoptive family won’t let her forget.

She’s slowly but surely reining in her abilities; practicing handshakes with a begrudging Alex, building small structures out of sticks, and constantly trying to remember to keep her feet on the ground. Jeremiah and Eliza are as supportive as can be, but Kara senses a kind of resentment from Alex.

She can’t really blame her. An alien suddenly invading your household and your parents informing you that she’s your new sister whom you have to take care of has to be tough. Especially since Alex was an only child for so long. Kara is an only child too, so she gets it. Although, is she really anyone’s child anymore? Now that her parents are…well, she doesn’t see herself calling Eliza or Jeremiah Mom or Dad anytime soon.

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