#he's also been hit by a baseball bat which broke his arm

[townofcadence]

Σ(ﾟДﾟ；): Have they ever sprained or broken their leg before? How about their arm? What was the story behind it? - Artair

Physical Details Σ(ﾟДﾟ；): Have they ever sprained or broken their leg before? How about their arm? What was the story behind it?

Artair laughed and rubbed at his neck. "Man, what a Question to pick for me." He then wriggled his prosthetic, just enough for the metal to rattle. "I would say I've definitely broken an arm, but that one's obvious. Though honestly, what bone haven't I broken is a better question."

He shrugged now. His hand gesticulated as he continued, moving between waving and almost a counting motion. "I mean, as a dumb kid I was pretty outdoorsy and liked climbing things like tall-ass trees. And as a dumber teenager I was exploring some... well, definitely not osha-compliant buildings. Which is a thing I still do. I don't think I can count the number of times I accidentally rolled my ankle on a case. Oh, and that isn't even counting learning parkour! I was determined, and I think for at least the first year or two I was half covered in bandages from cuts and scrapes. I definitely fell wrong a few times and fucked up my wrist or ankle for a bit. Thank the stars I was a fast learner, or I think I woulda given the old man an aneurysm." Artair chuckled again, this time with a tiny smile and fondness in the sound.

"Honestly though, it's more embarrassing when it happens some way that's almost--- mundane, you know? I sprained my ankle a couple of years ago because I wasn't paying enough attention, and stepped off the sidewalk by accident. The height difference or something got me and I fell really hard. Had to stay off that foot for weeks. I felt like such a doofus. Walking; worst anyone's ever done it."

[modernchillthings]

I wanna talk about Weak Hero Class because I saw this on twt where Hyunwook talks about Sooho's relationship w Sieun and it's making me cry.

So basically I wanna talk about Sooho and how, for the whole show, he always emphasizes not crossing the line. From his first introduction of his fight with the baseball team, he told the dude that he crossed the line so he punched him. But before that he was mostly fighting in self defense and his attacks weren't too harmful (playful smack with a book for example). I think for Sooho, 'crossing the line' means harming someone severely and with malicious intent. Like those baseball dudes had intent to harm, sure, but Sooho never saw it that way and was even being playful. But the moment the baseball dude acted with the intent to really harm Sooho with the bat, thats when it was 'crossing the line'

The next instance was at the end of ep1 when Sieun was about curb stomp the shit out of Youngbin but he stopped him. Idk why he didn't stop him before that (if he was asleep through that then wtf..how??) but let's assume he woke up during the fight. He probably let Sieun handle it for a bit because he might have recognized how Youngbin deserved that but knew that if Sieun went any further, he would've been severely hurt. (Yeah he got a broken nose but he looked fine by ep 5 or 6 and STILL didn't learn his lesson so...if Sieun kept going, he would not have been walking around and shit)

Even when he was training Sieun, Sooho told him to run instead of 'finishing off' the opponent (which Sieun ignored obviously)

Every fight scene with Sooho before ep 7 have been either in self defense or defense of others and to me, I never saw it as him fighting just to fight or hurt but more to assist or defend. He's never sought out violence or harmed others maliciously...until Sieun got hurt.

(I would analyze all of Sooho's fight scenes but I don't have the words to articulate it and this post is getting too long)

We can also argue that he was defending Sieun when he lined up all the bullies and punched them in the gut one by one but Sieun wasn't there to witness this and I don't think he ever found out. Like this Sooho wanted to HURT those dudes. He wanted them to feel the pain that Sieun felt. Still, the Sooho in ep 7 was a vengeful one. The moment he saw Sieun and was hiding his cast from him, Sooho was on a path of revenge.

Then he sought out Yeongbin and broke his fingers and arm and was sending really threatening texts towards Bumseok. If I watched that scene out of context and without subtitles, I would assume Sooho was the bad guy. And then when he hit Bumseok, he probably would have kept going if it weren't for that other ufc dude interrupting. And tbh, I feel like the only fight that didn't cross the line was w that dude bc it did kinda feel like a spar for Sooho, like they both even wore the gloves. Like I don't think Sooho came in there wanting to hurt that dude, only Bumseok, and it was more like a sidequest for him. If the other bullies didn't get in the way, Sooho deffo would have won then he probably would've reverted his attention back to Bumseok.

But the moment he crossed that line, Bumseok decided to cross that line as well and then in ep 8, so did Sieun (until he faced Bumseok in the end and held back but that's another thing)

Idk what I'm really getting at here, just know that Sooho's fights in ep 7 were to HARM others intentionally whereas the fights before were not and maybe you could say it cost him his life (I know he's not dead but....yknow..)

[auslanderka]

fandom : Daiya no ace

ship : Yuuki Tetsuya x f!reader

note and warnings : reader is a seido manager, going through a breakdown caused by a breakup with boyfriend (I named him xyz because I didn't want to use someone from daiya and I'm not good at giving names).

— contains eng grammar problems and mistakes as well —

It was already getting dark outside. You were sitting on the steps between the chairs that surrounding the school field. Lights suddenly flashed in the field in front of you, casting a small glow in your direction. For a moment, you wondered who went to turn them on. Probably Kanemaru. Or Toujou....

You put your arms around your knees, sighing quietly. The air was unusually cool for the first weeks of spring. You sat in silence watching from above a group of third years swinging their bats. As always, they didn't waste a moment.

You knew you should go and yell at them. They should go to bed already because tomorrow is another important game. If they get tired today, they will be useless tomorrow. That was your duty as a manager. However, you didn’t move.�� Your body seemed paralyzed and the pain in your chest kept you awake. It distracted you and prevented you from continuing to function. In front of the team, you tried to keep your face, although you had the impression that Jun noticed the red abrasions under your eyes. Every day you tried to cover them with concealer before leaving the house, however, the boy was much more savvy than he seemed.

"(name)." You twitched and turned your head at the sound of your name. A slight smile appeared on your face as you saw a dark-haired boy with beer-colored eyes, always serious, standing at the top of the stairs where you were sitting. He looked at you inquiringly while pointing a finger at the seat next to you. Without a word, you patted the concrete with your hand signaling him that he could sit down without fear. When he took the indicated seat, silence fell between you.

For several days it seemed to him that you were absent. Several times you were hit on the field with a ball that you didn't notice because you were wandering somewhere with your thoughts. When Jun told him that he saw red marks under your eyes, he became concerned. Tetsu was also worried that Isashiki had noticed it first. Not him.

"They are amazing." You said quietly embracing your arms. 

"Yes," he muttered without taking his eyes off the baseball field. However, you saw out of the corner of your eye that Tetsuya glanced at you. He looked a little nervous even though he tried to keep a serious expression on his face. 

"What's going on?" He asked after a while leaning his elbows on his knees. He intertwined his hands loosely in front of him. You have become tense inside. “guys say you've been sad for days and absent-minded. I noticed it myself, I thought it was a matter of Japanese exams, but it was a week ago and Kataoka-san gave us the results today. You said you passed and yet your mood hasn't changed.”

"I broke up with xyz." you said quietly lowering head so hair covered your sad face.

"Wait what?" he choked out. He didn't expect such a quick answer. As the captain of the seido team, he was ready to make a speech that you were a part of the team, as they were, that's why they were worried about you and you could talk to them whenever you had a problem.

As an ordinary Yuki Tetsuya, he expected any answer but not this one.

"To be honest, he broke up with me," you added at which Tetsu's eyes got even bigger. You intertwined your fingers together and squeezed them so tightly that your knuckles turned white.

"Why? You two seemed like a harmonious couple." These words struggled to pass through his throat. He was always jealous of xyz and the fact that he had you to himself. From what he counted quickly in his head, you were together for two or almost three years, because you started dating in first grade.

You never talked too much about him but there were days when you walked around feeling frisky which could indicate that you had seen each other the previous day or were supposed to see each other after class.

He didn't want to admit it to himself at that moment, but the fact that you and xyz had broke up made him happy. 

"Is there something wrong with me?" You asked suddenly lifting your head up. In the dim light of the stadium lights Yuki saw tears streaming down your cheeks. He didn't want to think how many you had already cried.

"Why?" he got up from his seat and squatted in front of you catching your hands in his, entwined on your knees." did he say something to you?" you shook your head. "so why do you say that?" you just shrugged your shoulders. 

You suddenly snatched your hands away from him and hid your face in them. You didn't want him to see you crying even though it was too late. 

Yuki was tearing up inside. He didn't know why xyz broke up with you, he knew he wouldn't do something like that. For two or three years you had been his dream that he couldn't fulfill.  Something he couldn't grasp. A goal he couldn't reach. He felt insufficient all the time. It pissed him off that you would never look at him the way you looked at xyz that one day when Tetsu saw you together in the park. He muttered quietly disgruntled while pressing his fingers to the back of his nose. He was selfish. At the moment when you were going through a breakdown he was thinking only about himself.

You suddenly threw your arms around his neck. Tetsuya stiffened in surprise at your proximity but after a moment he grabbed you in his arms and pulled you close in the strongest hug he could offer.

If it had been him, he would never have let you part. He would never have made you feel inferior and insufficient.

[catlovertrihead]

Animation idea that will never be made because my hands are as stable as my mental health, and my patience is as short as my will to exist (part one).

Since I can't do art, I've decided to write down the ideas I have for art/animations.

This idea is for the song: "Please Don't Tell My Father That I Used His 1996 Honda Accord To Destroy the Town Of Willow Grove, Pennsylvania in 2002" (yes, that's the actual title, look it up (i say knowing no one's going to see this))

(opening):

(lyrics 1): "the last time I stole my father's keys"

(scene 1): the song opens with a girl, wearing a face mask, jeans, skirt, plain white shirt, and jacket draped on her shoulders with some hair covering her eyebrow, sitting on the edge of a cliff as she plays the guitar and sings the lyrics.

(lyrics 2): "I couldn't have been older than nineteen"

(scene 2): the previous scene is covered in smoke which fades to show a young man with stubble wearing a jacket and jeans siting on the edge of his bed before he quickly gets up.

(lyrics 3): "I hightailed his car from New Jersey to Willow Grove"

(scene 3): the man approaches his father's car before getting in and putting his hands on the steering wheel.

(lyrics 4): "And you could not see their street signs through the smoke"

(scene 4): the man takes a deep breath in and turns the keys as he breaths out before it transitions to the instrumental scene.

(middle):

(instrumental 1): this scene is a scene of the man driving while the background changes before he finally reaches willow grove and gets out of the car.

(lyrics 5): "Between the dumpster diving, vandalizing"

(scene 5): the man is shown digging through a dumpster and then spray panting the building next to the dumpster with a long-haired young woman(wearing a dress covered by a leather jacket).

(lyrics 6): "Suburban streets and disturbing the peace"

(scene 6): the scene shows the man and woman walking through the town before the man(who is walking in the front) starts walking back words while wooing/yelling while the woman laughs.

(lyrics 7): "Everything we passed, we smashed"

(scene 7): shows the man and woman walking through the town before the man hits a trashcan with a baseball bat.

(lyrics 8): "It was broken pavement and shattered glass"

(scene 8): shows a s few different shots of spray-painted buildings and signs, dented/knocked over trash cans, and broken windows.

(lyrics 9): "And you could not read the street signs through the smoke"

(scene 9): a close up of the two young adults laughing, smiling, and dancing (in that carefree, just for fun, mostly just random moving of the arms and head type dancing, and don't forget the pointless spins) while they head towards the car. there are also some shots of the stuff they messed up (like street signs).

(lyrics 10): "Just afterthoughts passing all of the laws we broke"

(scene 10): shows the two in the car driving deeper into the town passing all of the stuff they did.

(lyrics 11): "Considered violent and reckless by North Philly detectives"

(scene 11): shows the man throwing a rock at a window which bounces off and hits him in the eyebrow causing him to put one hand on his eye and one on his leg before the two start laughing before they start walking again, they man's eyebrow bleeding some

(lyrics 12): "We occupied the space where we'd never have a thing to lose"

(scene 12): shows the man walking through the town backwards with his arms behind his head looking at the sky while the woman walks with her hands in her pockets both smiling and looking like they are at peace (hope that makes sense), and then a close up of the man's face with the moon reflected in his eyes.

(lyrics 13): Between the bong rips and knife hits

(scene 13): shows the man smoking and the woman flipping a pocketknife while walking.

(lyrics 14): "Protestant booze, stick-and-poke tattoos"

(scene 14): shows the woman taking a swig of whisky from the bottle while the man cheers her on and then the two running past a tattoo parlor.

(lyrics 15): "We were just over-privileged youth seeking something to do"

(scene 15): shows the two slowing down as they reach the car.

(lyrics 16): "And I could not see my street sign through the smoke"

(scene 16): shows the two entering the car before the man revs the engine and takes off speeding past all the stuff they did.

(lyrics 17): "Just an afterthought rushing past all the laws we broke"

(scene 17): continues to show the two in the car speeding past all of the stuff they did before showing the woman looking at the man with a small smile (*cough cough* crush *cough cough*).

(ending):

(lyrics 18): "When the morning came, I woke up in bed back at home"

(scene 18): shows the man waking up in bed with disheveled hair, a clean-shaven face, bags under his eyes, and a band aid on his eyebrow.

(end scene): as the music fades out the scene fades back to the woman on the cliff no longer wearing her mask looking up at the moon with her hair no longer covering her scared eyebrow.

That took longer than I thought it would. I still have some ideas for these characters so I'm gonna need to come up with some names.

If somehow someone sees this and wants to make it, feel free, just let me see it when it's done and credit me I guess.

If you read all the way to this, thank you.

I listened to that song SO MANY TIMES while writing this.

[indigosabyss]

Hollow Spirit (Nanbaka x JJK) Crossover - Trainee #27

[featuring trans!Megumi & this interpretation of Nina]

An hour before the Goodwill Event was set to start, Megumi found himself back at the vending machines. And of course he had to run into one of the other schools' students. Why did he even come here anymore?

"Oi, brat, what's good here?" The other student asked, "Nanba has its own drinks, so I don't even recognize some of these brands."

They were from the Nanba Training Academy? Megumi didn't recognize this one. He looked carefully at the bright red uniform, and the straight red hair brushing past their shoulders.

"We've got cola. And juice." He said, frowning a little, "Who are you, again?"

The person scowled, "We met a few hours ago! What the hell?"

It clicked in his head. Nina. The one who knew Todo's favorite idol, and then brawled about it.

"Sorry, Nina, you look really different." He walked the statement back before another fight broke out.

Nina relaxed, winding a finger through the hair which had previously been shiny and tied up in twin ponytails, "Oh, yeah that was for a shoot I had before we came here. It's quite the transformation, huh? Been taking T for a year, and a pro makeup artist can wipe it away like nothing. Wouldn't have bothered putting in the effort to get it all out if that weird oaf hadn't made it ugly as shit."

Megumi twitched at the easy coming out. This guy was a lot more chill on his own. He said it so easily, too. Did this guy know Megumi was also-?

"Your Magidru idol career requires you to look like a woman, right?" He asked, getting his own can of soda. He couldn't help but prod further, seeing how different the guy was now.

"Yep." Nina agreed, can cracking open with a hiss, "It's annoying, almost everyone in the industry is a creep, but it keeps the money flowing. And my bandmates are good fun."

He took a long sip. Drained the can in a few chugs, and then threw it across the hallway at the trashcans. The can hit the wall, and then fell neatly into the trash. A sizeable dent was left on the wall.

Why did Megumi get stuck with all these powerhouses?

"Fucking hell, they really skimp out on the corn syrup in ours." Nina snorted, standing up, "See you on the battlefield. Hope you don't mind when I crush your weakling school."

There it was.

Megumi nodded sharply and let him leave, watching the guy saunter away with one hand outstretched, as if used to carrying some type of weapon in that hand. If his regular strength was this intense, he didn't want to see what he was capable of with a cursed tool.

----

The first event went to shit.

The second event was baseball.

"No fair! Nina clearly has an advantage!" Nishimiya called out, pointing to where the boy was practicing strikes with his nail-tipped bat.

"Die mad." He snapped back.

"Ah, maybe you should take a break, Nina." Murakami hummed, "You can't have recovered from the way you overworked your cursed energy back in the first event."

"What? I'm fine." Nina replied, frowning.

Yuuji nodded along, suddenly looking concerned, "You were awesome there, Nina! But, pulling up a full tree like you did- I bet it took a lot out of you. Just rest for now."

"You're just trying to get out of facing me!" Nina accused, but it was of no use. He was benched.

In the end of the bleachers, he saw Murakami standing with crossed arms, grinning wildly at the stadium. But his eyes were fixed firmly on Nina's.

After his showing two days ago, and the reactions from Gakuganji, it might not be smart to associate with the guy, but Nina stood up anyway to go approach him.

----

"Aw, here to keep me company?" Murakami simpered, giving him a fanged grin when Nina approached.

"You made it quite obvious you wanted to talk to me." He rolled his eyes as he sat down next to him.

"Did I?" The layabout blinked, not losing his cheer, "Oh, well, you're a perceptive one, so I'm sure you're mistaken on how obvious it was."

He wasn't perceptive at all. Nina scowled and waited for him to explain himself.

"So. You know you're different from the others, right." Murakami finally came out and said it.

Anger pulsed through Nina. He grit his teeth and kept his eyes on the game to not explode entirely, "I know I'm different." He replied lowly, "And I remember it every time someone reacts weird about me being a guy. I remember it with the way they look at me, and whisper about me, and underestimate me to my face. And I don't need your stupid ass to tell me I'm different."

Murakami didn't flinch at all from Nina's seething, simply tilting his head, "I guess your job and appearance can cause some issues as well. But I was talking about something else." He was contemplative as he watched where Megumi had bunted a ball, "You're really strong, Nina."

"My best trait." He preened.

"You know that you weren't channeling any cursed energy when you pulled that tree up by the roots, yeah?" Murakami checked. Nina paused. He knew, of course he did. Question was, how did Murakami know? No human could have done that without cursed energy boosting them.

Taking his silence as affirmation, Murakami continued, "Bet you think you're just that strong. The truth is you've unconsciously given yourself a massive boost with natural energy, a force that can't be manipulated or even conceived by most lifeforms." His purple slitted eyes flicked over to him, "Congratulations, Nina. You're a togabito."

"That supposed to mean something?" Nina was waiting for the other shoe to drop. From what Gakuganji had said, and Murakami's own words, the layabout was being sentenced to death because of the way his technique meshed with natural energy.

But that was because of the threat Murakami posed against Tengen. What did this have to do with Nina?

"See, there's a faction amongst the higher-ups that want all togabito dead." Murakami stuck his tongue out, "We're considered too dangerous. Our biology too much of a risk. All of us must be put to death to keep the world safe. That's why I agreed to my execution."

Then his eyes softened a little as he put a hand towards Nina, "But that doesn't mean I get to make that decision for everyone. Which is why I'm warning you, since my execution is only a week away."

Kugisaki was throwing a fit over Mechamaru's inclusion in the game. Nina's mouth as dry as he swallowed.

"I see. This world... really sucks." His mouth tasted bitter when he smiled, "Thanks for warning me, Tengu."

Murakami's laughter was a surprise, "You're such an asshole! Never change, man." He hesitated for a second, "Or change however you like. Just stay true to yourself."

----

They left that day to head back to the Nanba island.

Murakami didn't come with them.

Nina's mouth still tasted bitter when he told the news to Yamada and Midzuchi, and their faces fell.

Murakami had been right, he realized as he walked through familiar walls. He was different from the others. And he was being hunted. Herded like sheep. Or victims of Murakami's tree maze.

[astralkoo]

The Snack Thief (M)

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Genre: neighbors au, smut

Rating: 18+

Words: 6.4k

Summary: in which your annoying, younger neighbor has a nasty habit of breaking into your apartment late at night and stealing your food.

Warnings: strong language, technically breaking & entering, broke college student struggles, older!reader, Jungkook saying noona, explicit sexual content; sub!jungkook, dom!reader, blowjob, kitty gets ate, sixty-nine, very mild degrading (jk gets called a slut like once), needy jk, fingering (m. receiving)

— author’s note; it’s been a minute, hasn’t it? i’ve been trying to get back into my groove so hopefully this is the start of a very active and productive summer for my writing. also! this is cross posted on my new wattpad account bckupbabies so if you see it on there, that’s me don’t worry!

You woke with a start, heart pounding, skin drenched in cold sweat, fear gripping at your chest.

There's someone in your apartment.

It was a split second realization, one that ripped you violently from the gentle thralls of sleep and had thick, stifling terror settling like heavy stones in your gut. Sucking your lips into your mouth to prevent your breath from coming out too audibly, you strained your ears, listening carefully. At first, all you could make out was the soft whirring of the fan above your head. But then—

Thud.

In an instant, you were out from beneath the covers, a shiver rushing down your spine as the cold night air nipped at the exposed skin of your arms and legs. Instinctively, your hand shot to the nightstand, rushing over the smooth wood surface, seeking out your phone. Only— it wasn't there. Shit. You must've accidentally left it on the counter last night. Shit.

Gritting your teeth, you stumbled through the darkness, bracing a steadying palm against the wall to guide yourself across the bedroom.

"Where is it, where is it, where is it?" You hissed, searching blindly for the item you're always sure to keep near your bedside in case of a situation just like this. It didn't take long before your fingers grazed the smooth rubber grip of your old-reliable baseball bat. You let out a cautious exhale and moved silently towards the door, careful to avoid the floorboards that squeak.

Keeping your back against the wall, you stepped into the short hall. You could hear more clearly without the separation of your bedroom door; the heavy footsteps and low grumbling voice. It wasn't just your sleep hazed mind playing a nasty trick; there was someone in your goddamn apartment. A combination of fear and rage heated the blood currently rushing through your veins, the thundering of your pulse almost deafening in your ears.

Another loud bang sounded through your apartment and your shoulders tensed.

Were they even trying to be quiet? What a shitty burglar. They should've done their research before busting in. You were a broke college student working at a freaking campus cafe just barely able to afford paying your rent every month. The most valuable thing in your apartment was probably the ultra soft two ply toilet paper you'd splurged on last time you went shopping for basic necessities.

And you'd be sure to bash the bastard's head in before he could lay his greedy fingers on your precious two ply.

Letting out your fiercest battle cry, you swung your bat over your head and launched yourself out from behind the wall, poised for the attack. The man in your kitchen, who was elbow deep in your snack cabinet, shrieked (incredibly un-burglar-like, you might add). The sound was so high pitched and sharp that you flinched, startled as he whirled around clumsily, not only banging his elbows but tripping over his own feet in the process. You were barely able to catch a glimpse of his face before he fell, disappearing behind the counter.

But something about that scream was vaguely... familiar?

"Jungkook?"

The top of his head peeked out from behind the countertop, familiar doe eyes blinking back at you sheepishly. "Hi, noona."

The tension in your shoulders immediately melted upon realizing that you in fact not being robbed by an armed lunatic— rather, you were being robbed by your annoying next door neighbor. Again.

"Are you out of your mind?!" You hissed sharply, frustration flaring, "it's fucking three in the morning! Why the hell are you in my apartment?"

"I was hungry!"

"That doesn't explain why you're here!"

"I was craving ramyeon but I ran out! And– and you always have extra anyway so I thought you wouldn't mind!"

"Ha! You thought I wouldn't mind—" You gritted your teeth, on the verge of seething when you noticed he was still ducked behind the counter. "Why are you still hiding? Get over here." So I can beat your ramyeon stealing ass, you added in your head.

"Drop the bat— then we can talk." He bargained, nodding pointedly towards your weapon, still poised for attack.

Grunting, you reluctantly released the handle, letting it fall to the floor with a sharp clang.

Jungkook let out a low breath of relief, before meekly stepping out from his position behind the counter. Your eyes immediately dropped to his hands, still desperately clutching onto two packets of ramyeon.

Pinning him with a glare meant to reprimand, you crossed your arms firmly over your chest. "Jungkook, you can not keep—" your scolding was abruptly interrupted by a low, thunderous rumbling, your gaze jumping in surprise to the younger boy's face, which was now donning an embarrassed blush. "W– was that your stomach?"

Sucking his lips into his mouth, he nodded, head dropping in shame.

A wave of sympathy washed over you upon realizing just how hungry he must be. Any anger at having your sleep ever so rudely disrupted quickly fizzled out, the tension in your shoulders dissipating as he shuffled his feet shyly.

"Geez, this brat." You muttered under your breath, trudging over to where he stood and snatching the ramyeon packets from his grasp. He looked up at you with wide, pitiful eyes, and you could tell he thought that you were going to kick him to the curb. Instead, you jerked your chin into the direction of the couch and said, "go sit down while I make these. Don't need you hovering over my damn shoulder."

It would be a lie to say your heart didn't flutter a little at the sheer amount of excitement that lit up his face, pink lips breaking into a wide, uncontainable grin. Deciding not to push his luck, he quickly bobbed his head and scampered over to the couch, tossing a bubbly, "thank you, noona!" over his shoulder as he went.

You scoffed, though the corners of your mouth tipped upwards in spite of yourself.

The kid was cute. You'd give him that much. With those big shiny eyes and that stupid bucktoothed grin. Even if he was a perpetual trespasser and a food thief to boot, you'd let his little indiscretions slide... for now.

The ramyeon didn't take long to make, but, even all the way across the room, you could practically hear Jungkook's stomach growling up a storm by the time you were pouring it into two separate bowls. He was squirming on the couch, peaking over the back of it with wide, wanting eyes, damn near drooling at the mere smell of the sodium soaked noodles.

"Don't spill," you warned with a click of your tongue as made your way to the couch, handing him one of the bowls, "eat this, then go home, alright?"

Jungkook was already stuffing his cheeks before you'd even finished speaking, but he paused to pout over at you upon processing your words. "Noona..." he gurgled in soft whine around his mouth full of noodles, making sure to swallow before he finished, "why do you want me to leave so badly? You're hurting my feelings."

You scoffed as he pressed a large hand to his chest, wincing dramatically as if your words had somehow truly wounded him. "Do I have to remind you that it's 3am? I was sleeping. I would like to go back to sleep. I was having a very good dream before you fucking broke in to my apartment and tried to rob me." You hissed, plopping down on the couch beside him and shoveling your ramyeon into your own mouth.

Damn. That shit was good.

"I wasn't robbing you." He protested weakly. You raised an unconvinced brow.  "Just... borrowing."

You barked out a laugh. "Oh? So you were planning to return all the snacks you were about to steal?" His eyes lowered, a guilty pout turning the corners of his mouth downwards. "Yeah, didn't think so."

"Still..." he grumbled bitterly, looking up at you through his thick lashes. "I'm much more fun than sleep."

You snorted. "I beg to differ."

There was an uncharacteristic lull of silence, and you spared a questioning glance in Jungkook's direction, not expected to be greeted by the astonished expression painted across his face.

He looked... genuinely offended.

"Noona," he sounded rather distraught as he set his half eaten bowl down on the coffee table before turning his body fully towards you, "how could you say that?"

Your brows lifted expectantly, confusion swimming in your gaze. "What?" You laughed lightly, not understanding why he suddenly seemed upset. You were just joking around... had you accidentally hit a nerve?

"You have fun with me." He insisted once more, a certain desperation to his words.

"Yeah... when it's not 3am."

"Liar." He scowled, gaze dropping to where his fingers were tracing miscellaneous shapes on the fabric of your couch. "That's when you have the most fun with me."

His voice had dropped into a low whisper at that last part, so you had to strain your ears a bit to make out exactly what it was he was saying. At first, you were confused. The most fun...? But then you saw the faint blush coating his cheeks, the shy fluttering of his lashes, the nervous fidgeting of his fingers...

And it clicked.

A few weeks ago, you did something stupid. Something you shouldn't have done. You'd given into urges that should have remained buried deep, deep inside of you.

"Jungkook." Your voice held a warning pitch as you growled his name. He shuddered ever so faintly at the shift in your tone and quickly turned away from you, snagging his lower lip tightly between his teeth.

"It's true..." he grumbled petulantly, kicking his foot lightly against the leg of your coffee table.

You stared at his profile through furrowed brows, gaze hard and unwavering as you set your own bowl onto the table. "We talked about this, Jungkook. We agreed not to bring it up again!"

"No, you— you made that decision all on your own." He protested quickly, thrusting an accusing finger in your direction. "I made no such promise."

"Jungkook," you sighed heavily, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your fingers into your temples as they throbbed, "what I did—"

"We," he corrected, leveling you with a stubborn glare, "what we did. Stop acting like I wasn't a willing participant."

"You're a kid—"

"I'm nineteen! I can make my own decisions!"

"No. You can't."

At that, his expression hardened, lips pursing, fingers curling into tight fists, eyes flaring with determination.

"Watch me."

In the next second he was on top of you, straddling your lap, large hands cradling your jaw as he pressed his warm lips purposefully to yours.

Startled, your hands leapt to hold his waist, instinctively steadying him. The rest of your body remained stiff and unresponsive, frozen in shock from the sheer unexpectedness of the kiss. It wasn't until Jungkook let out a soft, pleading whine against your unmoving mouth that you were kickstarted back into motion.

"Jungkook," you gasped out his name, somewhat more breathlessly than you intended, hands rushing between your bodies to push him away by the swells of his firm chest, "w–what are you—"

"You want me." The younger boy swiftly interrupted, his warm breath caressing your lips as his fingers gripped gently at the back of your neck. "You want me. You can't deny it. You said so."

You were goddamn dizzy. "When did I—"

"Fuck, Jungkook. You have no idea how long I've wanted this. How long I've wanted you." It took you an extra second to realize that he was quoting back your words from that night. Word for fucking word. Heat rushed to your face, your hand gripping harder at the thin fabric of his top.

"How do you even remember that." You grumbled bitterly, embarrassed at having been called out.

The corner of his mouth curled into a small, teasing smile. "I have a pretty good memory."

"Bullshit," you scoffed, "I can't count the number of times you've forgotten to bring back the shit that you 'borrowed' from me. I bet you have a fucking closet full of my sweatshirts."

"I didn't forget... I just didn't want to give them back." He informed you in a soft, lilting hum, running his thumb over the smooth cut of your jaw.

"Thief." You spat, but the word lacked any real fire. It sounded weak on your tongue, a soft fluttering of breath that easily could have been mistaken for a moan. You saw his eyes drop to your mouth, desire pooling within them, so thick and dark that you felt it polluting the air around you, polluting your lungs with every jagged inhale.

He shifted on top of you, strong thighs squeezing around your hips. You tried to pretend that you didn't feel the press of something hot and hard against the top of your leg, but the tremble of your eyes and the clench of your fingers were not easily mistaken.

Jungkook sunk his teeth into the delicate flesh of his lower lip, and your gaze followed the motion unconsciously. You didn't even realize you were staring at his mouth until he spoke in that low, hoarse whisper, ripping you violently from your trance.

"Can I take a little more?"

Your brain was screaming at you to say no, screaming at you to not be selfish, to not be greedy. To not want something so terribly that you felt it trembling through your very bones. You shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want him. He was too young, too naive, too sensitive. You'd break the poor boy before he even realized what happened.

You should say no.

Mind made up, you opened your mouth, fully prepared to reject the boy and put a stop to whatever the hell this had become, right then and there. You were prepared to be the responsible senior that you needed to be, for both his sake and yours.

But what actually came out was something entirely different.

"Yes."

Jungkook barely had time to let out a happy whimper before his mouth was back on yours. A soft groan rumbled in your chest as your arms curled around his slim waist, tugging him ever closer. Long fingers tangled in your hair, he gently tugged your head back, leaning himself over you in order to deepen the kiss. You permitted him to do so without resistance, lips parting to allow his eager tongue to invade your mouth.

His body was hot and heavy above yours, but you didn't mind the added weight, the pressure on your thigh probably the only thing keeping you grounded. Because the heat between your legs was a anything but grounding. Sticky and wet, an accumulation of unspoken need and neglected lust that refused to be ignored for even a moment longer. A bleary haze fell over your mind, all the blood in your head suddenly rushing downwards to feed the growing flames in your groin.

The first roll of his hips was so minute, so slight that you would have missed it completely had it not been for the soft, airy moan that escaped his throat. The second was less than subtle, a hard, deliberate grind that rocked his already half-hard erection against your stomach. You felt it there, where your shirt had ridden up to expose a thin strip of skin, the front of his sweatpants growing thick and damp with his steadily increasing arousal. Your grip around him tightened, nails biting into his clothed hips hard enough to have crimson flowers blossoming across his golden flesh.

The sting coaxed a strained moan from Jungkook's inflamed lips, the rolling of his hips growing more frantic. You were quick to steady them, not wanting him to overexcite himself too soon.

"Calm down." Even in your own ears, you voice sounded thick and unstable, and you silently cursed yourself for having gotten so worked up by a mere kiss. But, in your defense, it was one hell of a kiss.

"I'm calm." He insisted unconvincingly through harsh pants, fighting for oxygen but not willing to pull away from you lips long enough to actually breathe. Quite the dilemma.

You chuckled softly, sliding a hand up to grip his jaw, preventing his mouth from finding yours for just long enough to soothe the fierce burn in your lungs. He took that opportunity to strip himself of his top, tossing it haphazardly to the floor.

You felt your stomach tighten, taken off guard by the unexpectedly display of glowing, sun-kissed skin you found before you, stretched across thick, toned muscle that flexed and tightened with even the most minuscule of movements. Subconsciously, your tongue slipped out of your suddenly dry mouth, dragging over your swollen lips.

Jungkook mimicked the motion, reaching down with ink embroidered hands to grip your wrists, gently guiding them up the length of his fit torso. "Touch me." It was a plea, the low whimper lacing the words a dead giveaway of his unyielding desperation.

You didn't hesitate to comply.

Pushing forward, you set vengeful teeth upon his prominent collarbone, biting down just hard enough to leave your mark. He moaned loudly, head falling back as your nails raked over his sensitive nipples. A violent shiver transversed his body, goosebumps rippling across his exposed skin that was set on fire by your greedy touch. He found the back of your head and neck with trembling hands, urging you closer without use of words. You kissed up the length of his taut throat, sucking and licking until you were content with the colorful array of bruises you'd left in your wake.

"Kiss me." You whispered against the defined curve of his jaw, wanting another taste of those pretty little lips. His head dropped forward obediently, mouth open and ready to be received by you. Fuck, he looked so hot from that angle; dark, hooded eyes pooling with lust so deep you could drown it it, kissable, rose petal lips glistening and swollen and just begging for attention, full cheeks flushed a dangerous shade of red that only enticed you further.

How could he look so ruined? You hadn't even touched his dick yet.

The thought roused a scoff in the back of your throat, and Jungkook pulled back slightly at the sound. "What?" He asked, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

"Nothing..." you grinned lazily, before kissing him slowly, deeply, lustfully; kissing him in such a way that the poor boy was trembling in your lap, gasping and whining by the time you pulled away with a lewd smack, lips wet and stained an erotic crimson. You chuckled as he swallowed, pupils blow and unfocused. Reaching up, you cupped his chin, rolling your thumb over his lower lip. He sighed, eyes fluttering as he teased the tip of the digit with his tongue.

"... just wanna put your dick in my mouth."

At that, his shimmering doe eyes popped open wide, shocked— then excited.

"Don't tease me." He pleaded weakly, hips stuttering over your thighs.

You reach between your bodies, taking the time to revere the fine-tuned slopes and edges of his ridged abdomen, before finally finding the hard outline of his flushed, angry cock straining against the thick fabric of his sweats. He gasped brokenly at the contact, forehead falling against your shoulder as he gripped desperately onto your arms, dull nails digging into your biceps. You turned, smirking lips feathering over the shell of his pink tinted ear.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

And then, he was on his back.

Jungkook let out a squeak of surprise, chest heaving as he attempted to process the sudden change in position. But you didn't give him the chance, slotting yourself between his spread thighs

"W– we didn't do this last time." He stuttered clumsily, staring up at you with those wide, dangerously innocent eyes that made you want to absolutely wreck him.

"No, we didn't." You confirmed, nipping lightly at one of his pert brown nipples. He jolted, letting out a low, unsteady moan of your name, a cry for your attention.

"S– sensitive, noona."

God, he is so fucking cute.

"I'll be gentle." The reassurance did little to soothe the violent thundering of his heart, the heavy thrum of it setting his every limb to shaking.

He was nervous. You could tell. Understandably.

Truth is— Jungkook was a virgin.

Key word: was.

As in, before he broke into your apartment at 3am on that fateful morning where you lost your cool because damn did you he look good in that skin tight black t-shirt that showed off those sexy tattoos and those thigh hugging black skinny jeans that squeezed his cute butt in all the right places. Of course, you didn't discover that until after the deed was done (seeing as he hadn't had the mind to tell you while your tongue was shoved halfway down his throat).

But god, you felt so guilty. You'd never taken anyone's virginity before. And you weren't so sure fucking on a kitchen counter was the most... romantic way of losing it. It had been quick, messy, all sweat and teeth and nails, the blunt edge of the cold counter digging into your ass.

Sure, it felt fucking amazing, and you'd received no complaints from Jungkook's end. But still. Had you known, you would've been... gentler. Or, at the very least, you would have had the tact to take him to bed.

You hadn't even blown him for fucks sake.

So, if you were doing this —and, as it appeared, you were most definitely doing this— then goddamnit, you were going to do it right and make up for all the things you hadn't done his first time.

You descended his body slowly, taking your sweet time licking and nibbling over all his lovely curves and sharp edges, marking the places you'd been with pink, flowering bruises. His head kicked back, mouth falling open around an onslaught of heady moans as he reveled in your unrelenting affections. Distracted, he didn't even notice you slipping his pants down his legs until the cool air hit the sensitive tip of his weeping cock.

"N– noona!" He propped himself up on his elbows, desperate to see you, to find your eyes through the disorienting cloud of lust he found himself engulfed in. Arousal spun his brain into useless mush inside of his skull at the sight of you between his legs, looking right back up at him, pretty mouth hovering just above his hard need, soft breath caressing the feverish skin.

"Relax, Jungkook. It'll feel good." You chuckled, pressing a soothing kiss to his hip.

"I– I know," he swallowed, and you didn't miss the dark blush creeping into his cheeks as his eyes fluttered shyly, "I just— I want to make you feel good... too... b- because last time you didn't..."

Last time you didn't...?

Oh.

Oh.

"Okay," you hummed simply, pushing yourself up with an easy smile, "I can think of a solution."

Jungkook watched with bated breath as you stood, damn near choking on his own spit when you abruptly shoved your pajama shorts down your legs. "N- no underwear?" He whispered, voice hoarse and strained as he stared unabashedly at the bare expanse of smooth skin between your thighs, glistening with sticky wetness.

You smirked faintly, appreciating the reverence glistening in his melting brown eyes. "For convenience sake," you teased.

He flopped down on the couch with a dramatic groan. "Fuck, you're killing me."

Leaning over the younger boy, you pressed a deep, purposeful kiss to his delicate, lovely lips, eliciting an appreciative moan from his burning chest.

"Don't worry..." you pulled back, breathing the words into his open mouth, "I'll do it slow."

"Fuck..." he squeaked.

Laughing softly, you dropped your knees to the edge of the sofa and splayed a hand over his toned stomach. He was hard and warm to the touch, and you liked the way his muscles flinched and fluttered beneath your palm.

"I'll tell you what I'm gonna do," you pressed your lips to his throat, feeling the way it bobbed as he swallowed, "I'm gonna get on top of you..." you walked your fingers down towards where his dick lay, red and leaking across his belly, "and you're going to eat me out," he moaned shakily against your cheek, hands lifting to grip your arms, "while I suck your pretty little cock. How's that sound?"

"S– so good. Fuck, that sounds so fucking good." He pulled at you greedily, begging you with wide, wanting eyes.

You caved to him all too easily, carefully maneuvering your body until you were situated above him, knees planted on the cushion on either side of his head. Hot breath rushed over your exposed core, sending shivers ricocheting down your spine. Hands gripped at your thighs, rough and calloused against your skin. He was pulling again, whining out soft, shuddering "please, please, please" as he tugged at your hips, trying to get you closer. Closer.

Teasingly, you kept your hips raised, just out of reach of his ravenous mouth, so eager to steal a taste. "Noona," he whined petulantly, "don't be cruel."

Cruel? You nearly scoffed. You haven't even begun.

Regardless, you decided to end the torture there, lowering your hips until you were within his reach. He didn't let a moment pass before his tongue was on you, lapping eagerly at your wet slit. You gasped, clutching tightly onto the thick muscles of his thighs, your own legs growing weak under his relentless ministrations.

Holy shit. You didn't expect it to feel that good.

It was only when Jungkook's hips bucked beneath you, a pleading whimper vibrating through your center, that you realized you weren't fulfilling your end of the deal. Stuttering back into motion, you encircled his hard length in an unsteady hand, feeling the raw heat of it throbbing angrily within your grasp.

"You're good with your tongue, baby." You chuckled breathlessly, pumping him slowly with the help of his spilling precum. He moaned in response to the praise, long fingers digging in hard to the flesh of your ass. Another, more violent tremble wracked your body as his tongue dragged over your sensitive clit, the responding rush of pleasure pulling a low groan from your chest.

Shit, if he kept that up—

Feeling that you'd given him enough of a head start, you dipped down, swiftly engulfing his glistening tip in your lips. Jungkook gasped against you, and you could almost picture his eyes snapping wide open, jaw going slack. The blissful pressure of his tongue gave way to cold air as he tensed and shuddered beneath you, all those hard, rigid muscles turning to jelly as he processed the mind numbing sensation of your mouth around his cock. It was an unwelcome absence, and you quickly found yourself growing impatient and —shamefully enough— needy, your aching core craving attention.

But Jungkook was a mess beneath you, moaning and whining pathetically as his hips bucked and spasmed, entirely overwhelmed. His arms were wrapped around your waist, holding you so tightly you were certain you'd be feeling it tomorrow. You felt his tongue, sloppy and uncoordinated lapping at your folds with a desperation that set your blood to flames. The vibrations of his sounds resonated through your clit, and you hastened your own movement, feeling yourself clench and throb with your impending release.

You pulled off of him with a lewd pop, a thin string of saliva connecting his swollen tip to your lower lip, before sliding your hands beneath his ample thighs and tugging.

"Lift your legs for me, baby."

He obeyed immediately, feet rising from the cushion, too lost in your intoxicating taste to second guess what you were planning. At least, not until he felt your touch shifting from his thighs to his ass, and a warm, wet dribble of saliva sliding over his hole. He flinched violently, a gasp shooting from his lips at the unfamiliar sensation.

"Ah–! N- Noona, where are you touching—" he yelped, trying to sit up and catch a glimpse around the shape of your body. Swinging your ankles up to rest against his shoulders, you forced him back down, looking back at him from over your shoulder with a cocked brow and a seductive grin.

"Where do you think?" You chuckling teasingly. "Are you clean?"

"Yeah..." he whispered shyly, and you could practically feel the heat of his blush radiating against your skin as he confessed, "I– I showered before coming over..."

"Good." You slid a single finger over the ring of muscle, watching in amusement as it fluttered and clenched in response to the unsubstantial caress. "Tell me if you need me to stop, alright?"

At first he only nodded, but choked out a soft "okay" when you pinched his thigh, urging him to use his words.

Purring out a low praise, you returned to his cock, licking a thick strip from base to tip as your index slowly circled his entrance. Jungkook whined and squirmed, still trying his best to keep up with pleasuring you. It was cute, feeling and hearing him struggle.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered what kind of face he was making beneath your dripping cunt. Were his eyes rolling to the back of his head? Was his tongue hanging out of his mouth? Was his feverish skin glistening with a mixture of his sweat and your arousal? Fuck, you were so curious.

In an attempt to stifle your frustration over not getting to see what kind of fucked out expression he wore, you sunk the tip of your digit into his hole, down to the first knuckle. Jungkook gasped at the unexpected intrusion, his already hard grip on your thighs tightening further. Even with just the tip in, he was clenching hard, and you allowed him a handful of moments to adjust to the sensation. You hummed around his length, swirling your tongue expertly over his sensitive tip to distract from any momentary discomfort he might've been feeling.

It seemed to work well enough, his body gradually relaxing around you as he let out soft, airy moans, delicate whispers of your name fluttering from his lips. "You can—" he whimpered as you licked his slit, "you can put it in deeper."

Heat coiled in your gut, a wicked smirk spreading across your face. "You want it deeper, kookie?" There was a taunting pitch to your words that had the boy curling in on himself, skin hot with embarrassment. When he made no effort to respond, you squeezed your free hand around the thick base of his dick, wrenching a cry from his throat. "If you want it deeper, you have to ask nicely."

"You're so mean, Noona." He whined hoarsely, the muscles in his legs tensing sporadically from the effort it was taking to not fuck himself into your closed fist.

"That didn't sound like a question..."

Jungkook groaned weakly, head tossed back in a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. There was a beat, and then you felt the shy press of his lips against your clit accompanied by a light flick of his tongue.

"P– please put it in deeper, Noona..."

"Mmm, good boy," you emphasized the praise by slipping the rest of your finger into his tight heat, spitting once more to ensure substantial lubrications.

"Ngh— oh f– fuck—"

"Does it hurt?"

"No it just..." he swallowed thickly, "feels a little weird."

"This should help with that," you murmured, more so to yourself than him, curling your finger in search of that small bundle of nerves that would make him—

"Ah! Oh fuck!"

A smug grin settled across your lips. Found it.

Jungkook moaned loudly, tossing his head back, hips bucking violently as you rolled your finger against his prostate, sending tendrils of white hot pleasure bursting through his body. That's more like it.

"Feel good?"

"Yes! Yes! Feels– ah! Feels so good, noona," he sobbed brokenly, clutching onto your legs. You thrust your finger into him slowly, making sure to ease him into the feeling of having something inside of him. If you played this right, perhaps he'd let you do more than just finger him. You had toys sitting in your closet that you were just dying to use. Who better on than the cute snack thief next door?

"Think you can take another?" You asked, a bit eager to stretch him out, to see how much he could handle.

He nodded quickly, grinding his hips greedily down onto your finger, wanting it deeper, harder, faster. "Please. Please. I want more."

"Needy little slut." You laughed dryly, nudging your middle finger against the rim of his wet hole. You sure as hell didn't miss the way his pretty cock twitched in response to the degrading words, and a whole new round of excitement festered inside of you.

You were going to have so much fun with him.

It took a bit of careful prodding before you managed to press the length of your second digit inside of him, his tight walls clamping down around the invading appendages.

"Please move." He begged pathetically.

You planted a steadying palm to his hips as they began to buck, holding them down against the cushion. "You're too tight, sweetheart."

"I– I can't help it." He whined, a distressed cry breaking from his heaving chest.

Sympathy swirled in your belly. You could damn near feel the desperation radiating from his body in thick, hot waves. Dipping your head, you pressed a light kiss to the swollen, red head of his shuddering cock.

"Then let me help you relax."

Jungkook sobbed as you took him into your mouth, the warmth of your skilled tongue tracing a slow ring around the underside of his tip sending his head into a tailspin. It wasn't long before you felt the tension in his muscles melting away, quickly snatching the opportunity to start fucking your fingers into him. The pace you set was slow and steady, but you made sure that with every thrust you were brushing against his prostate.

The amount of pleasure rushing through his body at that point was overwhelming, and he'd been reduced to a moaning, crying mess beneath you. Any words he managed to choke out between his sounds of bliss was broken and unintelligible on swollen lips. A small corner of your mind was concerned about your neighbors, wondering if they could hear his wailing through the dangerously thin walls.

"N– Noona— it's so good, oh my god feels so fucking good—"

Fuck. To hell with the neighbors. They should be goddamn grateful.

You sped up the pace of your fingers, burying them down to the knuckle with each thrust. He was writhing now, unable to control his body let alone keep still as he was engulfed in a mind numbing heat. It wrapped itself around his every limb, his every sense overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his impending release.

"I– I think I'm gonna—" he couldn't even make it through his warning before he was cut off by his own whimpers. Luckily, you didn't need him to finish his sentence to know what he was trying to say. The signs were obvious enough, especially with the way his wall were throbbing around your fingers, the way he was pulsing between your lips, lathering the back of your tongue with an onslaught his salty pre-cum.

You hastened your ministrations, taking him off guard as your plunged down on his cock, stopping only when your lips met the sweat-slick skin of his pelvis. Jungkook cried out a shattered version of your name, unable to stop his hips from jerking up violently at the feeling of your throat constricting around him as you swallowed.

That seemed to be the last push he needed, because within the next second he was writhing and spilling hot cum down your throat, walls clamping down so hard around your fingers you worried they might break.

It was like nothing he'd every experienced before, he could feel it in every single part of his body. From his curled toes to his trembling finger tips, every last inch of him was devastated by the hurricane of erotic bliss. And unlike every other orgasms he'd experienced in the past, the high of it last way longer than just a few seconds. By the time it finally began to fade, he was still shaking.

You pulled your fingers out of him as gently as you could, but he still whimpered at the sensitivity, quivering legs squeezing shut. Maneuvering around so that you were draped over his chest, you whispered soft apologies against his throat and jaw, spilling soothing kisses across the flushed, perspiring skin. Jungkook curled into you, nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head.

For a while you stayed like that, letting him bask in the post-orgasmic bliss as you bathed him in the kind of tender affection that he wasn't used to receiving from you. But, you'd always considered aftercare a vital part of a good sexual experience so, even if it was a bit out of character, you were more than happy to tell him just how good he'd been for you. And he was more than happy to relish in your praise.

"Noona?" He called for your attention suddenly, after his breathing had finally evened out and the deep crimson coating his cheeks had faded into an endearing pink.

"Yes?"

Against your lips, you felt him swallow.

"You didn't cum, did you?"

"I didn't." You admitted after a beat, suddenly reminded of the ache between your legs. You'd managed to be distracted from it, entirely too focused on breaking Jungkook in all the best ways to be concerned with receiving any pleasure. But now, you found yourself very much aware of just how badly you were craving your own release. Subconsciously, you squeezed your legs together.

There was a pause.

"Noona."

"Hm?"

"Sit on my face."

The demand had your hooded eyes flying wide open, mouth freezing mid-kiss.

"... please." He remedied in a bashful whisper.

For a moment, your brain went blank, not fully processing the request. But when it finally did, there were only two words that flooded into your mind and rushed from your lips in a breathless, excited murmur.

Fuck yes.

[romanarose]

November 2nd, 2016

Marc Spector x Layla El-Faouly

Summary: Marc and Layla watch the final few minutes of the World Series between Chicago and Cleveland.

A/N IDK timelines of Marc and Layla's relationship, or Marc's time as Moon Knight. But for the sack of this fic, Marc and Layla are married, Marc is Moon Knight, and they are living in Chicago. I know realistically Marc would never live in Chicago again, but I need this okay? Also! If you aren't from the Chicago area you simply would not understand. but my Chicago peeps will get it. It was an emotional day for all of us.

****************

November 2nd, 2016

“Marc, I think it’s happening” Layla was sitting on her knees on the couch, looking between the tv and her husband, nervously. 

“SSSSHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! You’ll jinx it!!!” Marc was on the edge of his couch, eyes glued to the TV as he waved off Layla, then muttered. “I’ll believe it when I see it…”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re so goddamn superstitious.”

“I’m not superstitious!” He practically bounced as he watched the baseball game on the small TV in their tiny studio apartment. “I am… a little sticious…” He muttered once again, under his breath. It was close. So close. Too fucking close. He told himself he wasn’t getting his hopes up… and yet…

“Baby, if they don’t win…” Layla nervously started.

“I’ll be fine, I promise” Marc would not be fine.

Layla knew he’d go for a walk and freeze his ass off, working out his frustration and come home, pretending he was fine, and everything was okay, but he’d mope all week. She knew Marc was in a fragile emotional state, she didn’t want this to be the thing that set him spiraling. Layla knew how much this mattered to him. Baseball was Marc’s escape. Growing up, he didn’t have much after his brother died, but he had sports, especially baseball. His knowledge was damn near encyclopedic. She envisioned him alone in his room for hours on end, trying not to catch his mom's attention, quietly pouring over books and cards and stats.

This year, the rumblings of the league were of a possible world series win for the cups after over a hundred years. Marc had sworn he wasn’t getting his hopes up this time, but she knew. She knew he was banking on this.

And god, didn’t Marc deserve a win? Felt like he had been waiting on a win longer than the Cubs.

Marc was fucking bouncing in his shitty $20 couch. It had looked bad at the start, but the Cubs had caught up, soon enough taking the lead. Cleveland was up to bat with two strikes, Cubs only one point ahead. Cleveland fucking hits the ball.

“Layla… LAYLA!”  Marc felt like he could throw up.

“Hold on!” Layla was on her feet on the couch, crouching. Marc’s excitement was palpable, she was feeding off his energy. 

The ball was thrown.

“LAYLA?!?!?“ Marc shouted, as if Layla had any control over the outcome of the game.

Rizzo catched it.

The Cubs won the world series.

“MARC!!!!!!” Layla screamed, standing up on the couch.

Marc stood up so fast he amost knocked over their coffee table. Fuck were those tears? He was too stunned to speak, it didn’t feel real. “Layla? Did that just happen?” He was still staring at the TV in shock.

“Yes! We won baby! They did it” 

Marc turned around to see his beautiful wife. She didn’t care about baseball, but she cared about him. A win for the Cubs was a win for him, which was a win for her. He threw up his arms and screamed, smiling wildly “WE DID IIIIIIT!!!”

Layla began cheering as she jumped on the couch. The piece of junk folded in onder her, and he immediately dove to Marc, knowing he’d catch her. He did, and she wrapped her arms and legs around him as he spun her around, whooping and cheering.

“Wait! Baby I broke the couch!” She tried to tell him.

He stopped, taking her in for a wet, passionate kiss. “You think I care about that? Right now, this” Marc waved at the celebration on the TV “Is all I care about!” 

108 years. He thought it was over in 2008 when the course was supposed to be broken. Layla was right, he was superstitious. Marc Spector had been waiting for this moment his entire life, waiting to see the Cubs win. He had wanted it to be with Randell. The world series before his death, when the Cubs inevitably lost, Randell talked of his bg plans for ‘next year, when they win’ He said he wanted to going out in the street and shout and cheer like he’d seen the winning team’s cities do on TV. Randell, of course, never lived to see this. Marc did. Why him, he’d never know.

If you had told Marc in his teens, his 20’s or even most of his 30’s that he’d be alive in 2016, he would believe you. He always figured he’d die young. By his mom, marines, Khonshu’s biding or wrath, suicide a few times. He had long given up hope of seeing this moment. On seeing any semblance of happiness in his life. But here he was with his drop dead stunning wife and his favorite team winning the championship for the first time in his lifetime.

There was a lot else going on. Layla’s father, Steven, his mom still causing him problems, Khonshu always in his ear…  but those were tomorrow's problems. Right now, his entire world seemed put together as he kissed the woman he loved.

He set Layla down, but held her hand as he dragged her out the door, only stopping to grab his keys and wallet.

“Marc!” She squealed “Where are we going?!”

“To celebrate with our city” the way Randall wanted… He felt giggy, the kind of unfiltered joy he rarely allowed himself to feel, rarely felt deserving of.

He pulled her down the stairwell and joined the mass of crowds in the street, buying shots for him and her and a few people that were standing nearby. Marc Spector was not one for crowds, not one for touching or shouting. And yet, he found himself cheering and hugging and drinking everyone in sight.

3 hours later, he and Layla giggled as they stumbled their ways back into the apartment, colpaping on the broken couch. Again, tomorrow's problems.

Layle laid on top of Marc, kissing him. “I’m so happy for you baby, you deserved this”

His hands found her hair, and he entangled his fingers in her as he felt Layla drag her body between his spread legs. She kissed down his neck, only to pop up, making eye contact as her lips quipped up in a cheeky smile. “Celebration blowjob?”

********************

I was working in McDonalds in South Dakota my sophmore year of college that night, slow day. I kept popping back into the kitchen to ask how the game was going. They were listening on the radio. I ever thought it would happen, I didn't pay much attention. Suddenly shouts came from the kitchen, they called me over and informed me that it happened. It finally fucking happened. I had an awful year. Like I can never 7 traumatic events that happened in the course of 18 months prior. I broke down crying in the middle of goddamn McDonalds.

I needed that win, and so did Marc.

@aduckinpain

[fireflykaizoku]

Lari my love, my Queen, my darling may I request a scenario of Ace being a daddy to his kids 🥺🥺 please thank you so much baby girl!!! xoxo *aqua tofana*

Val mi reina, my love! thank you so much for requesting this 😭❤ it turned out pretty cute awww *aqua tofana*

Ace liked being a father, he really did, but it was much easier when you were around. When you had to travel for a week because of work, the first day went fine, but after that, it was downhill. Thankfully, you’d be home in just a day.

Your oldest daughter, Rouge, was already a teenager, and while you knew how to deal with her, your husband didn’t. To him, she was still his child who would never grow up. The younger daughter, Ann, was six, and she was an angel, and was daddy’s girl. And your youngest child was Sabo, your three year old son who spent most of his time with Ace.

— Hey, dad. — Rouge said while walking in the kitchen where her father was. — I’ll go out with my friends tonight, but I’ll be home before my curfew.

— Ah, sure! — he smiled. — Do you want me to drive you there? I’ll finish dinner and we can go.

— No, no! It’s not needed.

— Is it far from here? Don’t worry, I’ll drive you.

— Dad, my friend’s parents don’t drive them anywhere. It’s… embarrassing. — the girl rolled her eyes, heading to the door. — Bye.

Ace knew how teenagers were, he knew they don’t want to be seen around their parents and would eventually have their own lives. But it felt like it happened so fast, it felt like she having tea parties with him just yesterday. The man couldn’t help feeling a little sad, until Sabo and Ann arrived in the kitchen, showing the drawings they just made.

Before dinner, the kids asked for a candy, just one. And your husband couldn’t simply say no to their puppy faces. He also tried to make their favorite meal, which wasn’t as good as you made, but it was decent. Ann and Sabo said it was delicious! The two always made him feel better even when he wasn’t doing the best job.

They watched a few Disney movies until bedtime. This time, the two didn’t want some story from a book. Instead, they asked the story of how you and Ace met.

Just a few hours later, the raven haired man was sitting on the couch watching TV, when he heard the door open. He saw his older daughter finally arriving, just before her curfew, the young woman was very responsible after all. Rouge seemed to be drying her tears, which made Ace worry.

— What happened, baby? — he widened his eyes. — Are you hurt?

— No, dad. I’m just… Tired. I’ll go to bed. — she was about to go upstairs, but Ace wasn’t buying her excuse.

— Tell me, who do I need to hit?

The girl couldn’t help giggling a little, her father was the sweetest person, but if anyone dared to hurt one of his children or his loved ones, he would turn into a completely different person. She knew his question was no joke.

— It… Doesn’t matter. It’s alright. — her voice started to break.

— Rouge… I’ve known you since the second you were born. I know when you’re not alright. If you tell me, I promise I won’t hit anyone. I know I’m not your mom, and she probably knows how to deal with some emotions better than I do. But… I can try.

She sighed and sat on the couch next to her father, head resting on his shoulder and she started crying quietly. Ace tried to dry her tears and waited until she felt comfortable enough to open up.

— This boy I was seeing… — Ace gasped. His baby, his precious daughter was seeing a boy?! — He just… called me and dumped me. He didn’t even say it face to face!

— Give me his name and address.

— Dad, no! — she held his arm when he was about to get up. His intention was to get the car keys and have a little conversation with the boy who hurt his daughter. — Don’t get in trouble. It’s not worth it. I’m just… So sad, feeling like I can’t be loved.

Hearing this broke Ace’s heart. You and him loved her so much, even before she was born. You two took care of her, loved her, just so a guy could hurt her like this?

— You can be loved, you’re already loved. This fool just doesn’t see how amazing you are! He’ll regret his decision soon.

— You’re just saying this because you’re my dad. — she softly smiled.

— Yes, but it’s still true. And if whenever you want, I can just get baseball bat and… — the girl interrupted him.

— No need, dad. But thank you for listening.

— Besides, you’re young… You have your whole life to find the right person. It took me a while to find your mom, but it was worth the wait. So be patient, and now just… Study and don’t grow up just yet.

The next morning, Ace was asleep when the three kids entered the room, telling him to wake up and screaming “happy father’s day” while the two youngest kids jumped on the bed. Sabo was holding a little box carefully wrapped and a cute bow; Ann held a small poster they made, decorated with hearts and glitter; and Rouge brought breakfast, with some pancakes, coffee and cupcakes she probably bought this morning. Before the man could even understand what was going on, the three kept saying how he was an amazing father.

With everything that has been going on, he even forgot about the father's day, but his kids remembered. It meant so much to him.

The freckled man tried to hide his tears, but this was one of the moments where he remembered when he was growing up, thinking he couldn’t be loved, and now he has a family of his own. An amazing wife and three beautiful kids. He was a very lucky man.

[soldrawss]

Sol i need headcanons for the brothers, please im begging you

BRUH I GOT YOU

I’m currently working on some little fics for them BUT I CAN GIVE YOU SOME DETAILS BECAUSE I’M DYING TO SHARE

(Warning, gets a little dark towards the middle, but overall fine. Sorry for the long read. I went for a DEEP dive on the Age Gap Au)

Ace was put into foster care 4 hours after his birth. His father died before he was born and his mother died during childbirth. Ace had nothing to his name but physical traits of the dead (Like his father's sharp eyes and his mother’s freckles) He grew up with a need to prove himself and to gain something that truly belonged to him all on his own.

Sabo was placed in foster care when he was 5 because of an altercation with his abusive and possesive parents, involving him having broken ribs and running away.

Ace and Sabo met in a halfway home for troubled youths when they were 6. (They both had issues with authority and past placements in foster homes, so they quickly bonded over that, and decided to stick together ever since)

Their bond was so strong that ‘honorary’ brothers didn’t really fit them. They were brothers. And they stuck together and stood up for one another like it was them against the world (which sometimes it was)

They would often run away from the halfway home they were at, trying to earn a living on their own on the streets, and often commit petty thefts in order to survive. 

These little runaway trips wouldn’t last long though, because they were always caught by Officer Garp, a police officer that happened to have a knack for catching little runaways.

However tough Garp acted though, he had an incredibly big soft spot for these two little brats that were only trying to make their lives better. These two kids, barely 8 years old, who had so much hatred for the world because of adults in their lives that failed them. Adults that hurt them, giving them scars and bruises on their hearts just as easily as the scars and bruises on the little frames. 

After a particular runaway incident, Ace breaks down and confesses about all the horrible placements he and Sabo had been in before. How social services always judge Ace’s sharp eyes and label in a problem child, how Sabo’s quick wit always get him in trouble with the adults, how they both have scars and bruises from past foster homes they were placed in, and that's why Ace and Sabo runaway. They’re tired of getting placed in bad homes. They’re tired of having adults try to separate them. Ace is all Sabo has and vice versa because that's the only person in the whole world who they trust to not hurt them. And Garp thinks that’s the last fucking straw.

Garp, much to Ace and Sabo’s but nobody else’s surprise, adopts both the boys, and takes them into his own home. Because dammit, if they’re just gonna runaway, they might as well stay with someone who will at least love them enough to always look for them and bring them back to a good home when they do.

And it’s weird at first, because Garp is the rough and loud and nosey officer that used to grab them by the scruffs of their shirts and drag them back to that awful halfway home kicking and screaming. But then it gets better. Because he still yells at them, but it’s with a tempered and fiercely protective love it when he does. He still grabs them, but it’s just to pull them into a rough bear hug that they fervently pretend they don’t like. And every dinner is spent with tears of laughter in their eyes and cheeks warm with delight at the stories he tells them. (They call him old man with affection and he’s their father figure even though they treat him like their grandpa.)

Sabo joins his school’s baseball team! Which is so freaking cool! He’s a really strong batter, can weild a bat like it’s an extension of his own arm, and Ace and Garp are always the loudest cheers on the bleachers every home run hit Sabo makes.

Garp makes Ace take up boxing, because the kid’s got a lot of pent-up rage and aggression, and he figures it’s a good constructive sort of therapy for the rowdy brat.

The two still get up to mischief every now and again, though. Nothing illegal, but Garp is still having to wrangle up his two little idiots before they do something stupid. (They get into a lot of fights with local gangs because they have smart mouths and are still a little reckless)

Garp has a biological son that Ace and Sabo never met due to Garp’s and Dragon’s strained relationship. Garp had always bad-mouthed him whenever his son was brought up, but it was always with words that had no heat behind them, and Sabo and Ace could tell there was a sadness behind his eyes whenever he looked at the picture of his son in his wallet.

The boys were 10 when they got the news of Dragon’s death a week after it happened. Garp had gotten the phone call when he and the boys were watching some late-night trash tv on the weekend, and he had all but strangled the phone in a grip that turned his knuckles white. He didn’t say what had killed his son, (he never did), but he had told the boys he needed to take care of something, told them to pack up some of their things, dropped them off at his friend Newgate’s house, and got the quickest flight out that night.

He came back 3 days later, and when he did, he had a tiny little baby with him.

Ace and Sabo were no strangers to babies. There was always some snot-nosed kid that would get dropped off at the halfway home (and then adopted that week, because everybody loved babies), and they were pretty sure this baby wasn’t gonna be any different. Because babies were loud and gross and never stopped crying, and Ace and Sabo were prepared for the absolute worse.

But then they stood over the baby’s crib to get a good look at him, and the baby looked back.

And smiled the biggest and happiest smile Ace and Sabo had ever seen.

And Garp had said “His name is Luffy,” and Ace and Sabo had been hooked around his little finger ever since. 

Luffy was barely 6 months old, and was a bundle of chubby cheeks and contagious giggles. With big brown chocolate colored eyes that melted all the sharp corners and edges of Ace’s and Sabo’s hearts.

Because Sabo and Ace were the same age, and neither one of them felt like the older or younger brother. They were equals in every way. But it was different with Luffy. Because Luffy was tiny, and soft and could barely wrap all 5 of his little fingers around one of theirs, and it hit Sabo and Ace like a bullet train because oh.

 Oh this is what it was like to be an older brother. This was what it was like to have a little brother. And Sabo and Ace have always looked out for each other, of course. But Luffy was something they had to protect fully and with their entire being. His smile, his laughter, his heart. All of it. Sabo and Ace knew all the horrible things in the world, knew all the hatred and fear and heartbreak the world could throw at you and it was like a silent promise to each other they never verbalized, that Luffy should and would never have to go through the things they went through. He would never feel unloved. He would never feel unwanted. He would never feel like he had to prove his worth or reason for existing. (He was worth more than any price anyone could give anyway)

Sabo and Ace stopped getting into trouble. They got good grades, excelled in their respective clubs, and didn’t give Garp any reason to chase them down in his old cop car and bring them home. (They were always at home anyway, giving Luffy piggyback rides and teaching him how to ride a bike and do one-handed handstands and cartwheels, and basking in the warmth that was Luffy’s endless love) And they lived in peace like that for 5 years.

Then the fire happened.

Garp was a good police officer and an even better Deputy Chief, and for almost 40 years, he served on the Foosha County Police Department. He had put away a lot of bad guys and saved a lot of people in the process and was an honored and highly respected man. However, this also made him a big target and earned him quite a few enemies. He was 3 weeks away from retirement and spending most of those weeks staying at home, playing with Luffy, and ingnoring the last of his paperwork left on his office desk.

When the fire broke out, Ace and Sabo had just turned the corner from the bus stop on their way home from school. They had seen the smoke, but didn’t know where it was coming from till they saw the towering blaze of fire that used to be their 2 story home and the group of neighbors surrounding the outside. 

They managed to push their way to the front, hands shaking and eyes wide and absolutely breathless, because that was their house! That was their house that was one fire and where was gramps?! Where was Luffy?!

The only thing Ace heard Sabo whisper among the roar of the fire and the loud murmur of people around them was “Do you hear that? That... crying?” Before Sabo surged forward.

Ace didn’t have time to reach out and stop him, and by the time he could, Sabo had already disappeared into the open front door, which was covered in flames. He had screamed out, tried to race in and follow his brother into the flames, but the neighbors around him were quicker than he was and pulled him back. 

Edward Newgate, one of their neighbors and close personal friend of Garp’s was in the crowd, and he was holding Ace to his chest with an arm like an iron bar, as he was on the phone with the local fire department. (Newgate was also the Foosha County fire chief, and was shouting at his lieutenants to “get your asses out here now!’) But Ace didn’t hear a word he was saying. All he could do was struggle to get out of the older man’s grip, reach out for his brother and best friend, and scream his lungs out.

What felt like hours went by, and Ace felt like his heart was shattering into a million piece, the glass shards falling around him, as he sobbed into Newgate's chest, thinking he had lost everything. His home. His family. His only purpose and reason for living.

And then some of the neighbors were shouting again, only this time in surprised alarm and Ace looked up with hazy eyes blurred by tears, to see something was coming out of the front door.

And it could only be Sabo. Ace knew it was him before he could even register it, and bolted out of Newgate's grips that had slacked at the surprise and towards his brother.

Ace met Sabo only a few feet from the door, Sabo collapsing into his arms, and Ace had to pull him the extra few feet away because the flames were still too much to bear even at that distance.

And Sabo’s skin was hot and red and covered in smoke and ash alike. There was a giant welting red burn against the side of Sabo’s face that looked like it would leave a scar forever, but Ace was having a hard time focusing on it because he was too bust focusing on the bundle of blankets that Sabo was desperately trying to push into Ace’s arms.

And Ace was already crying before, but he began crying even harder when he removed the fold of blankets to reveal a muffled Luffy, covered in ash but unharmed, crying his eyes out. 

Sabo had a coughing fit that rocked his whole body, and burns that looked like they'd hurt forever, but he was smiling when Ace broke into a sob, clutching both Sabo and Luffy into his chest.

The firefighters and paramedics came a few minutes later, and they had to physically pull Sabo and Luffy from Ace’s arms to check and treat them. Luffy only ended up with a few mild burns and cuts on his arms and legs and some burning of his throat from inhaling so much smoke, but Sabo had to be taken to the hospital immediately for his burns, especially for the one on his face. Ace pleaded to let them all ride in the same ambulence on the way to the hosipital, and held on to Sabo’s shirt sleeve with a grip that would take the end of the world and then some for him to let go.

Sabo had to get some surgery and treatment to save his left eye, but he was all in all ok, and Ace and Luffy were allowed to visit his hospital room for as long as they needed.

When Ace finally confronted Sabo on why he had ran into the house in the first place, it was on the first night of their hospital stay. Sabo had a giant white gauze wrapping half of his head, and he looked at Ace with tired blue eyes that looked a little fuzy, still a little drugged from all the medication he was on to ease the pain. 

And Ace felt bad about it, he really did, because Sabo didn’t derserve to be grilled on the matter. Not after he had sacrificed himself and saved Luffy. Their little brother. Their little brother who they wouldn’t even have anymore if it weren’t for Sabo. 

But Ace had to know. He was so mad and heartbroken and scared out of his mind when Sabo had rushed in without word or warning. Because they had lost Garp. They had almost lost Luffy. And Ace could have almost lost Sabo too.

But Luffy was tucked underneath Sabo’s arm on the hospital bed, and Sabo just smiled at Ace with a patience that only Ace and Luffy could pull out of him, and patted the other side for Ace to join them. Ace climbed onto the bed beside him, and even with the two 15-year-olds and one little 5 year old, the bed didn’t feel too small at all.

Sabo explained that he could hear crying from the door and he just moved. Knowing it was Luffy before his mind could really think about the implications behind that. He confessed how the flames hurt at first. Hurt so bad, and it was so hot, and everything, from the floor to the ceiling, was on fire and he could barely see anything through the smoke. But he could hear Luffy’s little rough and horse scream, coming from one of the back rooms that used to be Garp's office, and suddenly all Sabo could afford to think about was Luffy’s crying.

Sabo would tell a watered-down version of this story to the cops in the morning, because they were Garp's friend and companions, and they only really needed the broad details for their report anyway. 

He’ll tell a heroic version of this story, lacking any horrific graphics, to an older Luffy whenever the eternally curious kid wonders and asks about it.

But he only ever told the whole story right then on that night, one arm tight around his baby brother in a toothed and protective love, while the other one gripped his best friend's hands with shaking and bandaged fingers hard enough to leave bruising.

Garp was long dead when Sabo found him. The smell of his skin burning off is something that will haunt Sabo for the rest of his life. (Sometimes certain smells will set him off. Uncooked bacon is not allowed in the house anymore after one traumatic morning when Luffy is six. Campfires are viewed and enjoyed from a distance.)

He was lying on his stomach, clutching something to his chest. Sabo knew it was Luffy by the cries, bundled up in a few quilts and one of this office rugs, and Sabo knew he had to get them out of there before the smoke killed them off like it had a personal agenda against them.

The heat was unbearable, Sabo had confessed, but it was nothing compared to having to drag Luffy from underneath Garp’s grip. The old man was built like a brick house, sure, but even in death, his grip on Luffy, protecting Luffy, like he was daring the world to take anything away from him, was steadfast and almost unbbreakable. 

It was the hardest thing Sabo had ever had to make himself do.

He didn’t look at Garp’s face. His body was burned black and bloody and raw, and Sabo couldn’t live with himself if his memory of Garp’s face was replaced by anything other than with the one of his scruffy beard and the shit-eating grin that he always wore.

When he pulled Luffy out, he didn’t look back, and raced out of the house as fast as he could. Something along the way fell and smacked him in the face, knocking him down at one point, but Sabo couldn’t pay it much mind. He got back up, and continued towards the door. He could barely see, barely breathe, with all the smoke and the ash, and the pain from the fire was almost numbing against his skin, but he didn’t stop.

All he could think about was Luffy, still struggling and crying against the blankets wrapped tightly around him. Next thing he knew, he was outside, and looking up at Ace’s snot-covered face.

Ace had never seen Sabo cry for the almost 10 years he knew him. He didn’t cry when he was 7, and the Anderson family had called him a freak and had sent him back after a failed foster home placement. He didn’t cry when he was 9, and broke his arm falling out of the tree in their backyard that Garp had told him not to climb, so of course he had to climb it. And he didn’t even cry earlier that day, at 15, when he was off medication and feeling the full extent of his painful burns.

So when tears started pooling out of Sabo’s pale blue eyes, falling down his cheeks and staining the cotton white blanket he was under as he told his story, Ace pretended not to notice, wrapped an arm around Sabo’s shoulders, and held him like it was the only lifeline in the world. 

Garp’s funeral was held the following week. Closed casket. All the police departments in the county, and even some outside of it, showed up to give him a full send-off. Ace cried for both Sabo and himself. Sabo spoke a few words for the both of them. And Luffy stood between them, holding both their hands. They explained the night before that gramps was gone, but they don’t think the notion of death really got through to Luffy. He was crying, but only because Ace was crying, and when he asked ‘can gramps come out of the box to give me a hug before he goes away?’ everyone has to clench their teeth and hold their breaths to stop their hearts from breaking. Sabo kneeled down to wrap Luffy in a tight hug. Ace covered his face with his arm and cried harder

(They never bother asking Luffy about how the fire started, or what happened that day. Luffy doesn’t remember, and they don’t push it further. The truth isn’t as important as Luffy’s mentality is, but Garp’s old squad promises that they won’t rest until they get to the bottom of it. And as much as Ace and Sabo want justice and revenge, they have Luffy to think about, so they leave it up to the police)

Sabo and Ace are almost 16, and they suddenly have no parental figure, no home, no anything, and suddenly they’re faced with the horrible notion that even more can be taken from them when a blast from their past threatens to take Luffy away from them too.

They’re no stranger to the foster care system, so when social services show up at the motel they were renting with Garp’s savings, they feel their hearts drop to their stomach for fear of the very real possibility that Luffy will be placed in immediate foster care, and possibly, so would they. 

Ace and Sabo jump into action then, because no way, no fucking way, were they gonna lose Luffy. They had lost everything else. They almost did lose Luffy. They weren’t gonna risk that chance again.

Ace was only a few weeks older than Sabo. Sabo hadn’t paused a second to jump into the fire, risking life and limb, to protect what little they had. It was Ace’s turn to be the heroic older brother. And on the day he turned 16, Ace petitioned legal guardianship and parental rights for Sabo and Luffy.

And it was hard, because of course the courts felt sorry for him, the grandson of one of the best police chiefs in the county’s history, begging the courts to let him keep what little family he had left together. The courts wanted to give it to him, wanted to help him. But Luffy was a child. And Ace and Sabo were practically still kids themselves. Asking kids to raise themselves was something no one should ask them to do. 

But Ace and Sabo fought for it. Ace was 16, and Sabo would be 16 soon enough. They could get GED’s, no problem. They’d get jobs, get a little apartment near Luffy’s school, attend any parenting and child service meeting required of them. They’d buy all the necessities over again and they’d love Luffy where no other foster family could even compare. They’d do everything, everything and anything, to keep Luffy. To let them stay together.

With a couple of vouchers from Garp’s old police squad, including one from an overly enthusiastic Edward Newgate and one from the boy’s homeroom teacher, Makino, the courts ruled in Ace’s and Sabo’s favor, and Luffy was officially theirs until they proved that Luffy was better off somewhere else.

Ace and Sabo were never gonna let that happen.

They got a little 2 bedroom apartment a couple blocks from Luffy’s elementary. They quit school, and worked extra hard to earn their GED’s within the following months. (With the help of their old teachers and a few of their overly enthusiastic neighbors)

Ace got a job at the local fire department, as a rookie in training under Newgate.

Sabo got a job at the local news station, writing reports on top of his interning duties. 

Ace eventually got a motorcycle that same year, which scared Sabo half to death and delighted Luffy to no end. It was cheaper than a car, and easier to travel to and from work on, and no matter how hard Sabo tried, he couldn’t come up with a valid reason why Ace shouldn’t use it to their advantage. So Sabo made Ace promise to always wear a helmet when riding it, and that Luffy wasn’t allowed to ride it until he was much older. (Which Luffy pouted about to no end)

And it’s hard at times, both of them working overtime just to make enough to support themselves and keep them afloat, but it’s good, and it’s theirs.

Luffy makes a friend on his first day of first grade named Zoro Roronoa, another kid that lives just across the street from them, and when Ace and Sabo know they’re gonna be late in getting home, Luffy goes over there and hangs out until they can pick him up (Which is totally fine with Zoro’s father Koushirou, a kendo teacher and single father of 6-year-old Zoro and 9-year-old Kuina. Zoro has a bit of a personality problem and often has trouble making friends (because the child doesn’t see a need to) so when little bright-eyed and endlessly joyful Luffy pops into their life, Kushirou jumps at the chance to have him over as much as possible, because the two small children seem to bring out the best in each other, and are best friends attached at the hip) Sabo and Ace are eternally grateful to the kind man)

A few years go by, and Luffy is 8. Ace is still working at the fire station and is now legally allowed to join them on calls and emergencies. (Fire used to make Ace nervous, because he almost lost everything to it. Now he has a personal agenda with it, to make sure it doesn’t take anything from anyone else)

Sabo has moved up the ranks now, and when he turns 18, confronts Ace with a rare job opportunity he was offered.

“It’s a year-long internship for this really cool company that reports and delivers high-class diplomatic information around,” Sabo starts, rubbing the back of his head like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “I’d be working as like, a cool undercover spy with diplomatic immunity and a messenger bag. It’s not dangerous at all, and pays almost triple my paycheck now, which would really help us out. But it’s overseas, and I’d be gone for a whole year. You’d be raising Luffy all by yourself, birthdays and holidays and skinned knees, with just the two of you, so say the word, and I’ll totally turn this job down on the spot.”

And it’s scary to Ace. Because he hasn’t been alone since he was 6 years old, and he can’t possibly remember a time when Sabo hadn’t been by his side. His best friend and brother. It was always the two of them. Two little runaways that found a home, lost that home, and then built a new home all on their own despite it all. And neither of them had ever been away from Luffy for longer than a weekend, so Ace was sure it would kill Sabo to be away from them for so long.

But he also knew that Sabo was only playing this off like it wasn’t a big deal, when in fact it was the job opportunity of a lifetime for someone like Sabo, a kid who breathed adventure and freedom with every breath. And that when he talked about it, his eyes sparkled with a joy that Ace would hate himself forever for taking it away. 

Sabo was giving Ace the choice, and Ace knew that Sabo would go along with whatever Ace decided without a second thought or complaint. But Ace knew that Sabo would regret it for the rest of his life if he didn't go, so he slugged Sabo in the arm, gave him his best shit-eating, confident grin, (the kind he used to give him right before they were about to steal some food as kids, or about to get into a fight when they were teens) and said, “You let me have a motorcycle. The least I can do is let you go road tripping abroad.”

Because Ace and Luffy would be fine. They’d miss Sabo like crazy, and Ace was pretty sure Sabo was like, 90% of his impulse control, but they’d survive. Sabo had the burn marks to prove how far he was willing to go for their family, and Ace had never thanked him for that. Ace was never gonna live that down, and was going to spend the rest of his life making it up to both Sabo AND Luffy, and prove just how good of an older brother he could be. This was the least he could do for them.

[kittydemon9000]

Alright so I know Literally Nobody asked for this but the idea of leaguers having differnt armor types, speeds, and strengths is so fascinating to me so here’s an entire post about my headcanons about it, staring the Main 7 since they’re the ones we see most and have the most evidence for. 

Also, please keep in mind that this is completely made based on memory alone and it’s been a bit since I last saw the show. If I missed something or remembered something wrong feel free to correct me or add your own thoughts.

Also also, I made a chart (the chart is based on the strongest for the leaguer, not out of all of them, ex: Top Joy’s strongest is different from GZ’s strongest)

First off, the leader of Silver Castle himself, Magnum Ace, a Baseball Leaguer. Right off the bat(hah puns) I immediately knew his arms would be the strongest points. He seems to have been created with him being a pitcher in mind and his 44 Sonic has clearly been shown to posses a lot of power which he would need the strength to handle. There’s also how he was shown to be a decent hitter in Gold Arm’s flashback, sending every ball into the outfield. As for his weakest points, they were also pretty easy. The joints are a bit of a constant with all of the leaguers I showed, but the fins are because they seem to be rather thin and probably can’t hold up very well under pressure. There’s also the shoulder joints, which I wasn’t able to put on the diagram, since as shown during the end of the series, if Magnum repeatedly pitches his 44 Sonic without rest the stress on his shoulders start to cause them to break down, to the point where he was forced to sit out for the next few days for repairs. Speed wise Magnum is nothing special and in my eyes pretty average amongst the team.

Next up, we have Mach Windy, a Soccer Leaguer. Similar to Magnum, I knew almost immediately his strongest point would be his legs since, y’know, soccer. Everything(physical) we see coming from Windy is almost always centered around his leg strength and speed. This is outright said when Silver Castle is resting after some baseball training and Magnum tells Windy(I shit you not) “We believe in your leg.” There’s also his Mach Spin which depends entirely on his ability to kick to ball at an extremely high speed. There’s also a scene when trying to help Gold Foot during the Forced Retirement Arc where his kicks a ball of solid rock without any issues. The scene also brings me to why his head is a strong point. Heading is also something Windy has been shown to be able to do, and referencing the Forced Retirement Arc again where he head butts the aforementioned ball of rock. For speed, as mentioned before, when it comes to running Windy seems to be the fastest amongst Silver Castle. The weakness I feel is pretty self explanatory since soccer doesn’t really require use of your arms unless you’re a goalie. There’s also how in the Jet Setter episode Bull sees Windy loose an arm wrestle almost immediatly with Ryuuken, but that might just be since Ryuuken is ridiculously powerful. As for durability, he seems to be not very strong, instead having lighter armor for more speed.

Speaking of Ryuuken, let’s talk about the Karate Leaguer. As you can see, his strongest part is his armor, aka almost all of him. As a karate leaguer, Ryuuken was probably created with the intent of being able to take a lot of hits. There’s also the running joke of a member of another team attacking him with all their power and him not budging and saying something along the lines of “I feel nothing.” Strength wise, we get a taste of his crazy power is during his first spotlight episode where he was practicing kicking with Windy, to which he accidentally broke the stone wall surrounding the field. He then unlocks more of his power when rescuing Ruri from the factory, but we don’t see his real power until the Forced Retirment arc. There we got to see when going to rescue Magnum, Windy, and the Gold Bros how he opened a literal chasm into the ground with a single punch, though I can’t remember if it was rock, metal, or both, but that’s still pretty impressive, and that was before he unlocked his Heart Kit in the Death Football Arc which only increased his power. And then during the OVA when the Fighter Brothers try to fight Windy’s new team and they use their pitch, a pitch that nobody had been able to hit before, Ryuuken straight up punches it with seemingly no backlash and getting a home run all because they made him mad.….maybe it’s a good thing Ryuuken is so innocent and calm. Speed wise, Ryuuken seems to be on the slower side of the team, however I do think Ryuuken(alongside Juurouta) would have the best reflexes. This one is completely headcanon and I don’t have much proof, it just makes sense to me.

Next up, we have Bull Armor, a Football Leaguer. His armor and helmet are easily his strongest parts, for mostly obvious reasons. Multiple times throughout the series he is seen tanking blows that would normally knock another leaguer to the ground, most notably when he’s Silver Castle’s goalkeeper in soccer and catcher in baseball. However, his durability seems to be different from Ryuuken’s since he is still moved by the attacks but can bounce back from more. His durability seems to be pretty tied to his strength too since he is one of the only leaguers who has been shown to catch Magnum’s 44 Sonic. There’s also how when he was first introduced he stopped and lifted a truck much larger than himself with relative ease in order to stop it from hitting a young boy. His speed however is admittedly a bit harder to figure out. He seems to be much larger and heavier, however as shown when he lost control in his past he still has the ability to charge down opponents at a speed in which they can’t properly evade, though it’s up for debate whether they were trying to properly evade or trying to reason with him.

Juurouta, a Kendo Leaguer, is next. His durability is more basic compared to the others, mostly focusing around his Armor Armor(no that was not a typo). Said Armor Armor also seems to be protecting the joints which may or may not be intentional, but I’m going with it. His fins share the same logic with Magnum, as do his joints with everyone else. His strength mostly seems to be localized in his arms, which makes sense since he is a kendo leaguer. His strength was first shown in comparison to the others when he was the first person to hit Gold Arm’s Genocide Screw with a hit(discounting Bull since he technically kicked it). There’s also how in the Arctic he was able to cut down the  blizzard machine, however that spent all his energy. Speed wise I think he’s in a similar i boat to Ryuuken: slow overall, but incredible reflexes.

Now, Top Joy, a Basketball Leaguer, was a fun one to do for no reason more than I like the character. Strength wise, nothing very impressive, he show much. Durability though….it’s not the best. The only points that seemed to be able to hold up were his arms(sort of) and feet, and they’re less based on actual proof and more on logical thinking but I digress. Hand and arms because he’ll need to be able to catch balls thrown his way, but they’re still relatively weak compared to other members of Silver Castle. I highlighted his feet because they would probably be needed to make they don’t break once Top Joy lands after jumping high. If they were weak the repeated slamming into the ground would cause them to break and then Top Joy(and any other basketball leaguer) would be relatively stuck. But where I think Top Joy shines is his speed and maneuverability. As he has demonstrated many times throughout baseball and soccer games alike, his spring legs can be used in a variety of situations, from avoiding attacking players to catching balls that would normally be too far out of reach. And there’s also the possibility of using the force from the spring to propel himself faster when running, thought it’s unclear if he does this already. However, they are not without weakness. As shown in the episode with Gebara, they are easily damaged when seemingly a single coil is damaged and prevents him from walking without assistance from his teammates. There’s also his recording equipment and speakers which, while functional, seem like they would also be damaged rather easily since as someone who has worked with recording/video equipment, I am all too aware of how fragile it can be. Also another note, Top Joy also seems to have an incredibly high pain tolerance. When the members of Section X give him a warning shock with the shock circuit, he pleads with them and says how he “doesn’t like punishment,” implying this has happened before. There’s also his questionable relationship with his past team and much later in the Death Football Arc when he flat out says “I’m used to pain,” which in concerning to say the least.

And finally, last but most certainly not least, we have GZ, a Hockey Leaguer. Similar to Ryuuken, GZ has been shown to be incredibly powerful and being able to take a lot. There are three times where his power is shown. First is barely a day after he joins their team when he defends his teammates from attacks that would normally knock them off their feet(sans Ryuuken). The second time is when he’s babysitting the kids and survives an avalanche that took out another group of hockey(?) leaguers with barely a scratch. And then in the OVA where he’s able to deflect almost all of Garret’s dive bomb attacks without took much trouble. This is undoubtedly a combination of some hockey leaguers being incredibly defensive(like Thunderbolt) and his reformatting which led him to be a mercenary. We don’t seem too much from GZ in terms of strength, so I’m going to say he’s just a little weaker than Magnum. Speed though, that one was a bit hard to figure out. Main because of his boosters. His boosters give him an enormous speed boost, fast enough to get ahead of Garret who was literally flying and dive bombing, and on the ice without as much friction it only increases his speed. However, the few times we see him running, he seems to be slower than the other Silver Castle members, likely because of his weight and how he was meant for ice, not land. 

TL:DR, From most to least

Durability: GZ, Ryuuken, Bull Armor, Juurouta, Magnum, Windy, Top Joy

Strength: Ryuuken, Bull Armor, Juurouta, Magnum, GZ, Top Joy, Windy

Speed: GZ(with boosters/on ice), Windy, Top Joy, Magnum, Bull Armor, Ryuuken, Juurouta, GZ(running), but Juurouta and Ryuuken have the best reflexes

[wincore]

wasted nights | liu yangyang

pairing: yangyang x reader

words: 5.5k

summary: firstly, you don’t think you should have survived this long. secondly, this might be the zombie apocalypse but your survival doesn’t feel as threatened by zombies as it does by liu yangyang. thirdly, you’ve chosen the worst time to develop a crush.

genre: zombie apocalypse!au, fluff, humour(?)

warnings: mention of injuries & blood, violence (against zombies), dumbassery, do not attempt during an actual zombie apocalypse

song rec(s): wasted nights - one ok rock 

a/n: october birthdays get halloween specials~ although this one is just full of unnecessary appearances by cats. also campfires because october campfires hit different. (i’m definitely saying this because i was born in october) also not me writing this as a joke and reaching 5.5k words </3

It’s two hours till sundown. 

What would you be doing on a day within the ordinary? Likely getting back from after school activities, chatting with a friend or feeding the stray kittens by the school building, or maybe pretending Liu Yangyang doesn’t exist—the possibilities were endless. Now there’s only one.

“Yangyang,” you call, more worried than not.

On a day out of the ordinary, you wish you hadn’t prayed for your exam to get cancelled the day all of this broke out. You wouldn’t be scavenging like some sort of rodent and you wouldn’t be standing at the gates of an abandoned shrine, though now is undoubtedly a better time to pray. It’s not the best of situations (especially not with a certain little rascal attached to your side). 

And understatements are definitely your thing now.

“Yangyang,” you call a little louder this time, eyes shifting around the shrine area. 

Should you step in? He asked you to wait, the stone steps now looking a little glum without him skipping over them. The only signs of life you’ve seen around has been a family of raccoons looking rather smug and a single spotted dove preening itself atop a branch. The lack of visibility into the forest surrounding the shrine bothers you, like something could jump out any minute and you suck your teeth, growing annoyed. Where is that boy?

You tap your foot against the ground soundlessly. What if a zombie were to pop out? They might be slow but the sight of them is still gross enough to paralyze you. Yangyang has his baseball bat with him, which leaves you defenseless in terms of weapons. Still, it’s not like the bat would have done you any good. You are, in the truest sense of the word, average at any sort of combat and freezing at the limbs comes to you more naturally. Zombies are not fun; whatever nonsense Yangyang has been trying to explain to you for weeks is optional, as is every other suggestion that comes from his mouth. It’s quiet and quiet, creepy shrines have never been your favourite place in the city.

You hear a low growl behind you, stiffening at the sound. Best case scenario, it’s a big rat. You’d rather not think of the worst case. Eventually, you gather some courage and turn slowly only to jump back with a short scream. 

Yangyang takes the old festival mask off to reveal a giant grin on his face, urging you to knock it right off. The anger that follows is natural and he should be used to it by now. Yangyang continues smiling, as if he didn’t just pull your soul right out of your body, and when he opens his mouth to say something, you’re quick to land a swift punch to his gut. He lets out a pained cry, dropping to the ground in a squat.

“Don’t do that,” you seethe. “Why can’t you greet me normally?”

“I’m okay!” He signals a thumbs up while the other hand clutches his stomach. 

“I didn’t ask.”

He moves his hand to place it over his chest. “Ow. Oh, and to answer your question, it’s because you don’t want to do my special handshake with me.”

“Hm. Get up. You said there were supplies here. What did you find?”

He pouts, finally getting up. “I can’t believe you’re just using me for supplies.”

You cross your arms. “Just get up already.”

Yangyang springs up despite the (admittedly) strong blow to his stomach and presents to you the plastic bag he’d been holding. In any other circumstances, it would spark some disapproval on your behalf but it turns out, those things do outlive most everything. For a moment, the ridiculous image of pulling a plastic bag over a zombie’s head crosses your mind. 

Yangyang finally responds, taking out whatever items he recovered. Not everything is useful however; he’s simply taken to collecting knick-knacks. 

“I found toothbrushes! Maybe your breath will stop stinking—”

You raise your clenched fist as a threat.

“—I was kidding. Obviously. You have lovely breath.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose in an attempt to contain your exasperation. 

“Also, I found clean water so I filled up some bottles and yeah, I couldn’t find much else but oh! There was this huge cat and I mean huge like a big chonk kinda guy, you know? And I’m sure he was, like, trying to tell me something, like, he kept hissing when I went near him but…”

You wonder if Yangyang ever gets tired from speaking so fast, his words fading out of your comprehension. You shake your head, clearing your throat.

“Can we leave now?”

Yangyang raises an eyebrow, almost smirking as the gears in his head turn.

“You’re not… superstitious, are you?” he asks. “I heard there’s a lot of reported sightings of ghosts here.”

“No,” you blurt, quick to deny. Yangyang might have seen you crying after getting lost in the dark, almost fainting after encountering a zombie for the first time or even in deep sorrow after you lost your friend—but there’s still part of your dignity to protect before you can admit your fear of ghosts. There’s just something about this abandoned shrine; there are no visitors apart from the caretaker and if loneliness is responsible for anything, it’s making lonely things seem a whole lot scarier. You’d rather leave before the sun sets.

Yangyang laughs. “Who do you think would win in a fight? Zombies or ghosts?”

You roll your eyes. “That’s so stupid. Obviously ghosts.”

“No. Okay, maybe. I just think…”

There he goes again. 

You wonder if he was always this way—when you passed him by in the hallways, when he shot you a polite smile at club meetings or when you saw him being loud with his friends blocking part of the sidewalk. You’re sure he couldn’t have been entirely sane.

“Oh my god.”

Yangyang’s voice jerks you back to the present. You follow his line of sight to a cardboard box beneath a particularly dense shrub; it's a large one—quite possibly a carton of some commercial product which doesn’t matter anymore. However, it’s not the details of the box itself so much as it is the contents that grab your attention. 

You can almost see the sparkle in Yangyang’s eyes as he views the cats huddled together inside the box. They don’t seem to mind each other within their personal space—you count four of them, tightly packed and eyes closed in a late afternoon nap. How the box hasn’t ripped apart yet is quite a mystery, and what’s more troubling is how at ease they seem to be with the entire human race in disarray.

You grab Yangyang by the collar before he can make his way to them.

“Don’t harass them,” you say, massaging your temples. “Jesus, it’s like they’re glued to each other. Do they have to be in the same box?”

“It might just be the last cardboard box left on earth.” Yangyang shrugs.

The cats mind their own business, grooming their fur or closing their eyes in an odd sort of bliss. You wonder what it would be like to be so unbothered by all the chaos. It reminds you of someone.

“Come on,” you urge, thinking back to older times. “Don’t think I forgot how much you used to bother old Louis back then.”

Louis was the university cat, fed with so much love that he eventually started avoiding people like the plague. You wonder how he’s holding up for a brief moment.

“Don’t think I forgot how you were back then too.”

“What do you mean?” you snap, glaring at him.

“You were already a zombie,” he says before engaging in a cheap mimicry of you, drooping his eyelids and taking slow steps muttering, “I… must… maintain… gpa… grr.”

You almost take off your shoe to throw it at him before deciding it’s not worth your time. Ah, if only you had done that during club meetups, perhaps you’d have felt better about him joining. Everyone treated him so differently, and you hate to admit you now understand why. 

Everyone loves a good troublemaker.

And there happens to be another thing special about your sole competitor for the debate club’s president position. Apart from his strange antics (charms, he says), even this virus—this fuckall literal killer virus can’t infect him. He’s immune—an occurrence with a possibility lower than you finding him attractive. (There, you said it.)

You look at Yangyang still talking about Louis and a small smile crosses your face. You’d feed your right arm to a zombie before you admitted it but it’s nice having him around. You furrow your brows at the sudden familiar bubbling in your chest and shove it away in a flash before your conscious decides to tell you what it is. 

Your heart jumps to your throat when you make eye contact with Yangyang, turning away in a rather awkward manner. Oh, the end of the world does awful things to you.

“Are you listening?” Yangyang raises an eyebrow. “Oh my god, you weren’t listening at all.”

You roll your eyes. “I was distracted.”

“By me?” he offers in a sing-song voice, prompting a smack from you. It’s easier to pretend this way.

Yangyang massages his shoulder with a huff. “Why are you hitting me so much today? I’ve counted like eight and the day’s only just over.”

“Sorry,” you mumble before clearing your throat. “I mean, you’ve also said something annoying, like, more than eight times today.”

“I’m not annoying.”

There’s a pause.

“Okay, maybe a little bit.”

The sun starts to lay in rest by the time you reach the city. Compared to the green, red and yellow of the yet standing shrine, this place is in dull monochrome with the occasional coloured signs that flicker to life. You force yourself to think but have a hard time remembering if it was always this way. Was it any different with the rushing cars or apathetic crowds? You can’t tell. You were part of them, after all. 

“Hey, how about a bottle flip challenge but with traffic cones?” Yangyang thinks aloud, walking backwards as you pass by a particularly well-lit alley. 

You roll your eyes in response. Is it the lack of people making him that way? Your unflustered companion looks at home among neon lights, all of them seeming to point towards him as an answer to a question you haven’t quite figured out yet. 

You glance at the alley just a second longer. The electric lanterns still glow red, and although dim, there are many. The shops almost look like you could enter and be greeted with a crowd of university kids or a group of office workers drinking away in celebration of the weekend. You sigh. It’s most certainly deserted inside; there’s no doubt. At the most, the tables are still arranged neatly and the meat grills aren’t completely rusted. You wonder if it’s a Friday.

There was never much grass in the city but whatever growth there was has withered into a mustard yellow or a lamenting grey. An empty city is hardly appealing, but you can’t deny the ill-favored things you’ve done the past few months in the absence of people—a part of you questioning whether breaking into supermarkets is still against the law when no one’s around to keep it. You smile at the memory of Yangyang pushing you around in a shopping cart, though you’d gotten drunk off the (stolen) liquor prior. The neon lights hanging as a banner over sketchy shops sometimes spark alive before dying down over and over again, and to be fair, you don’t think they ever shined too bright. Ironically, they’re the liveliest thing about the city now. 

The sky’s soaked in ink at a time you assume to be around seven in the evening. You walk closer to Yangyang without realizing; it’s not often you’ve been out this late the past few months.

“Hey.” Yangyang snaps you out of your daze. “Be careful.”

The words are strange coming from him but you understand why. You look up ahead with caution and a shiver runs down your spine as you stare at the intersection, a lone, tattered figure droning aimlessly. It’s only one, you tell yourself. And they’re slow.

The memories of your previous encounters send warnings over your skin, shivers begging you to run as fast as you can. You would if it weren’t for Yangyang’s grip on your hand, tugging you forward gently and though it’s something he does every time, you wonder if he knows how you’re really feeling. His footsteps are soundless, with the same red sneakers he’s worn since the beginning of this but something tells you it’s not the shoes that give him a cat’s footfall. The purple lights flicker on and off over the shop on the opposite street, the suddenness of it making you latch onto Yangyang for a short-lived moment. You’re quick to let go, throat too dry to make any sound. 

You curve around what would be a straight path, careful not to be in the creature’s line of sight when you cross. The streets seem wider when they’re so empty, and somehow it feels more unlawful this way. Yangyang signals to you to stay closer, and you follow before bumping into his back when he stops abruptly. There’s absolutely no sound, the feeling in your gut much worse than at the shrine.

“Something’s wrong,” Yangyang whispers.

A strangled shriek erupts from your mouth when something launches itself onto the two of you, making you land on your butt. You would’ve placed your hands over your eyes, but you’ve learned how to be less of a coward these past few days. 

A shaky breath leaves you. A cat. It was a stray cat. The little asshole looks at you with almost twinkling eyes, tail swishing from side to side before deciding you’re not worth its time. Your shoulders sag, a moment of relief despite your stiff muscles.

“Uh, (name)?”

You look up only for your stomach to fill with dread. The zombie from before is staring directly at the two of you, the same vacant look in its eyes that has haunted you for the entirety of the apocalypse.

“It’s okay, he’s too slow,” Yangyang reminds you, voice barely a whisper as he helps you stand.

“We can just take the other street—it’s a little longer but it’s mostly safe and there’s no way he can—”

Yangyang is interrupted by a sickening growl from behind you and you jump back. There’s another one. And another. You count four more before holding back a swear. Yangyang grabs you by the shoulder and the two of you take a step back, onto the sidewalk. There’s a shop behind you; you read a smeared sign above the plastic door curtains indicating a dumpling place. Even if you were to hide in there, there’s no guarantee you’d be safe. 

But if you’ve learned anything in these months, it’s that anything is always better than nothing.

The night has settled in completely, you realize. You’re about to tug Yangyang to the inside as you turn around, only to freeze up in your spot. A pale woman emerges from the store, her makeup still fresh but you know that look, the look in her eyes. How cruel.

“Please,” she mumbles, taking a step towards you and you think you might just cry. It’s not long before she turns, you think with dread.

You stumble back to Yangyang when she emits a blood curdling screech, lunging at you and to either your alarm or worse, relief, Yangyang pushes you back. You watch with wide eyes as the woman sinks her teeth into his arm, nausea growing at the sight of blood. He moves fast though, his arm swinging the baseball bat to meet the woman in the head, hard enough to knock her out. In these few moments, one of the zombies is close enough to reach an arm out towards you and you swear you can hear the horrid sound of his bones cracking when you step back. The longer you remain in this state, the slower you are. You suppose you should take comfort in these words but when you look at it, you still see a man.

Hollow. They’re all hollow. 

You take a deep breath.

Just as the thought crosses your head, you see Yangyang swing his bat again, meeting the zombie on the head and much to your wide-eyed horror, the head flies off into the dumpling shop and the body reacts with just about as much confusion as you do. It wildly waves about its hands in the now vacant spot before crumpling onto the road with a quiet realization.

Yangyang makes a face, pressing his knuckle to his mouth to prevent himself from what you presume is gagging. However, when you look closely, he seems to be holding back a laugh instead and very painfully so. You know he has a habit of laughing at the most inappropriate times but this, it really takes the cake.

“Home run?” he suggests, turning to you with a sheepish half-grin. There’s no hint of malice in his voice and you think that it’s probably not that he enjoys swinging his baseball bat at zombies. 

“You’re disgusting,” you reply, shaking your head.

“Maybe I should leave you here then.” 

You can’t believe he has the gall to be cheeky with blood running down his arm and four of the undead drooling at the sight of you two. 

“Do you think we can find ingredients that aren’t stale here? I miss having dumplings.”

“Yangyang.”

“Okay, okay.”

The other ones are still far enough and the two of you take this chance to run off towards the street Yangyang mentioned earlier and safely out of view. You notice him panting heavier than before, and your eyes scan over his arm in worry. The bite is ugly, red with oozing blood, and you hold back the urge to ask him if he’s anaemic. 

Yangyang follows your eyes before an ‘ah’ leaves his lips. He spins his head to the right, trying to catch a glimpse of the wound in the same manner a dog chases after its own tail. He puts the bat down to try and twist his arm to see the injury but you stop him, clicking your tongue at his silly behaviour.

“You’re not twelve, Yangyang,” you scold. “Let’s get back to the hotel first.”

He shrugs, and you think some provoking words are ready to leave his mouth when he simply picks up his bat and walks off. You blink before quickening your steps to catch up with him. The blood dripping down his forearm makes you feel a little unwell but you know better than to touch infections.

It takes around fifteen minutes longer than usual to reach the hotel—Yangyang was right. It is safer here, with no zombies lurking around the corners. He must have been out late when he was scouting, you think with distaste.

You reach the now-rusting gates of your haven without trouble and the moment you reach, Yangyang falls to his knees, heaving a breath he seems to have been holding. You rush to him, eyes frantic when you reach your hand out to him, and he flinches, moving away from you.

“Don’t,” he mutters before getting up. “You turning into a real zombie would be my personal nightmare.”

It’s not enough to curb your worry but you follow him nonetheless, the stupid, wavering grin on his face making you unable to decipher what he’s really feeling. 

The familiar smell of honeysuckle washes into you as you pass by the entrance, locking the door behind you as Yangyang falls onto one of the chairs in the lobby. Kunhang happened to be passing by, a muffled swear leaving him when he sees the blood on Yangyang’s arm.

“You didn’t touch him, did you?” he asks, pulling on his gloves to further see the wound. A former med student is the best you have here, and somehow, you’ve never seen him complain about having to take care of someone as bothersome as Yangyang. 

You shake your head in reply to Kunhang and watch as he runs from shelf to shelf to procure more bandages than you’ve ever seen in your life. You’ve been seeing an awful lot lately. 

“We’re going to run out of bandages in a week if he keeps this up,” Kunhang says with a frown, moving so fast you can barely see his hands. “He’ll be okay, I guess. The virus just makes him dizzy.”

He’s probably thinking the same thing you are. Something serious happening to Yangyang is a little bit of a miracle. Maybe he’ll finally be set right in the head. 

Even so, you know Kunhang is worried despite his quick response, his frown lines deepening once he’s done wrapping up. He sighs before waltzing off to discard his gloves.

It’s not that you aren’t impressed by Kunhang; you’ve just seen him do that too many times to count. And of course, it’s mostly Yangyang on the receiving end. They might be good friends but this also happens to be the only time they're serious together. Moreover, Kunhang seems to beat Yangyang in the talking-for-twelve-hours-straight department. You have to admit though, being in charge of first aid for the few people stuck in this hotel is not an easy business. 

You take a seat opposite to Yangyang, dozing off in his chair and wonder if you should wipe the drool off his chin. Disgusting, you think to yourself, but another part of you dares to offer the word cute. 

The best thing about barricading yourself in a hotel during the apocalypse is not having to worry about beds. There’s at least five hundred rooms in this skyrise, more than enough for, what, sixteen people? The place is so big that you hardly run into the others. The only rule around here is regarding the pantry—to write down who’s taken what on the notepad stuck to one corner. Despite what movies show, people are far more helpful to each other in times of need, more so than usual even. You relax into the chair, the velvet cushion feeling comfortable against your back. 

There’s a nice communal feeling in this place. 

You frown. It’s not like you can stay here forever. 

At the very least, you can pretend each sundown and sunrise is ordinary here. You close your eyes, and slowly, thoughts of why you’re trying so hard to remember life before this drift away.

//

Yangyang wakes up before you do, grinning like crazy as he shrugs you awake. You stare at him through groggy eyes, untangling your limbs from yourself. The cold seeps into you and you shiver, hugging yourself.

“We found the keys to the lounge,” he rushes, albeit in a gentle voice. “Guess what?”

“Unh?”

“There’s a campfire spot over there! The others already started but I thought I should wake you up.”

It’s just like him to be excited about something like that. You get up nevertheless, Yangyang pulling you through the stairs and onto the only elevator that seems to work around here. There’s quite a few things about this hotel left to be figured out. You’re going to have to start worrying anyway when the power from the generator runs out.

Kunhang and an older man, Mr Kang, are the only ones there once you reach. You had expected it but the lounge is gigantic and a small part of it provides the artificial campfire area. There are paintings of wild animals and trees for children, you assume, on the walls only cut off by a large vent on the ceiling. The fire burns bright over the large circle of soil and firewood, whose authenticity is debatable. You sigh at the warmth, having grown tired of the autumn weather’s mood swings.

Kunhang greets the two of you with a grin before delicately poking Mr Kang to at least acknowledge your presence. It’s funny, the lot of you.

The place is a little small, considering there’s a literal fire in the middle of the room. You almost sit on Yangyang because he shifts too suddenly at Mr Kang’s disapproval of proximity, a small yelp leaving you whereas Yangyang, for the first time, looks like he’d rather die. He mutters an apology, and two of you manage to sit a good two feet apart, sudden awkwardness rising in the air—all of it unnoticed by Mr Kang. You heard he was a banker but if Kunhang and Yangyang had a polar opposite, it would most certainly be him. You can’t even remember the man’s voice.

You think you should say something but Kunhang’s laughter breaks the silence. There’s an unspoken exchange between him and Yangyang, piquing your curiosity though you aren’t sure what you should be asking. You just assume it’s one of their stupid inside jokes.

“I left your gift on your table. You can add it to your dumb shoe collection,” Kunhang tells Yangyang, smiling before standing up to stretch. “I’m going to bed. Mr Kang, won’t you accompany me?”

Mr Kang gets up begrudgingly and you’re about to ask them to stay longer when Kunhang turns to you enthusiastically. “Good night, (name). Don’t have too much fun. Although, I suppose there’s no better time to have too much fun either.”

You watch with furrowed brows as the two disappear into the doorway and down the stairs. You spend a couple of moments in silence before clearing your throat. When it goes unnoticed, you turn to Yangyang despite the warmth on your face. 

“It’s not dumb,” he mutters to himself, a little zoned out.

You stare at him for a few moments and the familiar feeling rises in your throat, now with a little voice to accompany it. 

Cute.

You cough, distracting yourself with any and all thoughts you would rather have, even of the zombies. Now isn’t the time—or is it the perfect time? You shake your head, calming yourself.

“Does it… hurt?” You ask, eyeing Yangyang’s arm.

He looks up as if broken from a daze, the campfire lights still dazzling in his eyes. You hold back a laugh. He really is a child; if he’s so easily mesmerized by fires, that is.

“Probably not any worse than the lady I whack-a-mole’d. Now that must’ve hurt.” Yangyang puffs his cheek before looking straight at you.

You stare back. It’s not the weirdest thing he’s said.

“What? I feel bad beating the crap out of zombies sometimes,” he says, scratching the back of his head. 

You hum in response. The thought of Yangyang developing a conscience is almost as bad as having to think about zombies. Though, you’ll have to admit, it does give you a strange relief. Zombies can’t really feel pain—they are, after all, numb in every possible sense—but some part of you wonders if it’s alright like this. Morals and survival aren’t meant to overlap. 

You feel the need to distract yourself with something.

“Hey,” you call, moving closer to Yangyang such that your shoulders almost touch. Before you know it, you brush the hair from his face, trying to style the mess into something more neat—a thing you’ve been wanting to do since the first time you saw him. Every time you’d see the messy mop of hair at an official event of the debate club, you’d have this strong urge and an almost putrid form of annoyance. You still don’t know how he managed to get in.

“You don’t look terrible with parted hair,” you muse. “You could’ve looked more decent at the debates.”

You look down from his hair to see Yangyang frozen, eyes wide as if a deer in the headlights.

“Are- Are you not breathing?” you ask.

Yangyang sucks in a large chunk of air, fast enough to choke on it and break into a coughing fit as he turns away from you. You reach out to pat his back but he waves his hand at you, indicating he’s fine before he can turn to you.

You look at him with no particular emotion, the night breeze having worked its way to you.

“What was that about a gift? Are you and Kunhang getting things for each other without telling me?” you say, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

There's a short pause, filled with the crackling of fire.

“It’s my birthday,” Yangyang says with a small smile as the campfire lights dance across his cheeks.

And yet, the words come out sad as if he’d been waiting for an occasion to tell you. You look at him, eyes widening ever so slightly accompanied by the loss of words and take a sharp breath.

“I’m not going to ask for a gift,” Yangyang teases. “Don’t look so worried.”

You open your mouth and close it again, unable to explain the gentle wash of sadness overcome you when you see just a boy. For all the talking he does, he never asks for much. 

“I mean, I- I liked spending the day with you. Why do you look so sad? Did I say something? Again?”

You look over his features, from his brow bone to his wide eyes to his lips and the conclusion arrives as gently as the end of the world. What’s the worst that could happen?

You quickly pull him into a hug, still careful of his injury, and a vaguely embarrassing sound escapes Yangyang, something akin to a sheep’s call. He clears his throat which turns into coughing before he can wrap his arms around you, his breathing soft against your shoulder. 

“I’m- I’m alive, you know? I don’t think I’m dying any time soon. I- I can’t even get infected! You know that.”

“That’s not why I’m- I…” You pull back, steeling your eyes so you don’t feel the warmth of embarrassment. 

Just like you prepare for debates, you think to yourself. Maybe Yangyang was right about you being a zombie—the way you follow the same drudging formula.

“I like you,” you say, your words more of a strained whisper but they’re out before you know it. You can fake confidence, you tell yourself. It’s horrible timing and spending your (potentially) last days with someone who rejected you is just another way to shoot yourself in the foot.

But part of you has been wanting to do this for so long that you almost don’t mind.

Yangyang sucks in a breath, pressing his knuckles to his mouth as he straightens.

“That was- Wow. Okay. I- Uh. Wow.”

You let the heat grow stronger in your cheeks, racking your head for an explanation or even a lie. Maybe you can say it was a mistake. 

“I- I meant…” You lose track of your words. You can’t lie.

“I’ve never been confessed to,” he blurts, and if you squint, you swear you can see him blushing.

“Huh?”

Yangyang coughs again, followed by the same embarrassing sound. “That was- That was the first time.”

The silence between you is accompanied by the crackling of fire and the soft path-making of wind. You’re at a loss for words, something that you should be used to by now—they clearly belong to someone else.

“Oh my god, that was so stupid,” he says, pulling a horrified face as he frantically waves his hands about. “I meant to say I like you too but I- I guess I forgot to say it out loud. Ah, crap- I sound even stupider now, don’t I?”

Your lips twitch, trying to contain your smile but you’re seized with uncontrollable laughter anyway. The mortified expression on Yangyang’s face makes you burst into another fit of giggles before you can somewhat compose yourself.

“I think that’s the longest you’ve been quiet for,” you say in between recurring laughter. “Did anyone ever tell you being able to talk fast doesn’t get you ahead in debate clubs?”

Yangyang frowns.

“Oh, I just joined because I thought it’d get on your nerves,” he says, not a hint of jest in his voice.

You straighten away from him, the smile dropping from your face.

“You can’t be serious.”

He grins sheepishly, scratching the back of his head and offering no explanation. You huff in exasperation, getting up abruptly to avoid another oncoming headache. It’s a little difficult, considering you have the human version of it right beside you.

“Wait- Where are you going?” Yangyang scrambles up to his feet. “It’s my birthday, you know?”

You turn around and put your hands on your hips, a small smile on your face at the sight of him. “It’s midnight already.”

“Oh. How was I supposed to know?”

You laugh, shaking your head. Maybe the little rascal is special.

“Hey,” Yangyang calls. “You know, since this is the end of the world and all…”

You stare at him, heartbeat erratic at the lack of distance and despite the fading of teenage fantasies. Yangyang shifts nervously, glancing here and there while simultaneously trying to keep eye contact with you, an action which makes you hold back a chuckle. There’s a particular twinkle in his eyes but he can’t seem to be able to look at you straight.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, finally.

And what a daring end to the world it is.

[ill-skillsgard]

Hey lovely:) I wanted to ask if I please could get a continuation of the Adrian and Mickey roommate imagine? If not I totally understand. Have a lovely day 💗

Hello, love! I'm terribly sorry it took me so long to get to this. I have the worst attention span, and I didn't want to write something for you that was lacklustre. But I've had a pang of inspiration, and I missed these two boys a lot. With that said, I give you the continuation you requested <3 The previous imagine is here [x]

+

You looked around the apartment...If one could call it such. It was more of a hallway, with a sliver of a kitchen that certainly would never suit the type of meals you liked to cook. You imagined one of the guys barreling through, knocking over a pot of sauce or bumping you with their broad shoulders, sending a sheet of cookies flying to their crumbly death.

"Okay... I know I said I'd be happy in a broom closet, but how are we supposed to cook Thanksgiving dinner here? The stove might as well be an Easy Bake Oven; it's so small. And I've seen coolers bigger than that fridge."

"It's fine," said Mickey.

"I think she has a point," Adrian replied.

The cupboards were apartments for mice, and when you walked down the tiled hall toward the bedrooms, the checkered floor rose and fell, creating an optical illusion of a giant woman in a tiny passage. Mickey and Adrian tried to stifle their giggles.

"Mickey, you try walking through without smashing your head on the ceiling."

It was true—Mickey couldn't make it through the corridor without ducking. But it wasn't the most inconvenient feature of the place. When you reached the first bedroom on the left side, all three of you went in and had a thorough glance around, determining it wasn't so bad until Adrian opened the closet and let out a sigh.

"So... There's a door inside the closet."

"What do you mean 'a door'?"

"Like, there's a tiny door right there in the back of the closet. Right there!"

You and Mickey crowded in to see the small door Adrian spoke of. Mickey nudged Adrian with his elbow. "Open it, Adrian."

"No! What if there's a body in there?"

"Honestly, that'd be the least surprising thing," you muttered as Adrian ventured further into the bare board closet. He twisted the rusty knob and pulled open the door. You watched him hunch down and inch through the space, his shuffles growing distant. "Guys, you're never gonna believe this!"

"What! Is it treasure?" Mickey called out.

"Check it out!" Adrian's voice sounded from behind, startling shrieks from you and Mickey. The taller man clung to you like a frightened child.

"How did you get there?" You asked.

"The door leads to the other room!"

"That's...Deeply unsettling," Mickey said.

"Let's check out the other bedroom," you huffed, leaving the interconnected rooms.

The third bedroom was that broom closet you had assured would be acceptable living quarters. However, the more time you spent inside the narrow square bedroom, the more you convinced yourself tortured spirits of people long-dead whispered in the corners. The cobwebs hung down like Christmas garlands, and the light fixture was a bizarre handicraft of deer antlers with a pull-string hanging down in the center of the room.

Mickey came in behind you and patted you on the shoulder. "Seems like murders happened in here."

Adrian soon followed his friend in, and suddenly, the space was entirely too cramped. "Uh, yeah. This whole place definitely belonged to a serial killer."

Next came the bathroom, which all of you piled into at once just to get the inspection over with. You couldn't tell if the toilet was purchased that way or if years of neglect had stained it a troubling shade of brown. Hunks of porcelain were missing from the sink and counter as if somebody had gone on a baseball bat rampage. The shower was a pipe with a transparent curtain surrounding it. You pulled the stiff plastic back and saw a black spider spinning a web on the faucet—a faucet located near the bottom that had no business being there, for there was no tub of which to speak.

"So, do we have any other options, or are we all set on Buffalo Bill's first apartment?" You asked.

"I dunno," said Mickey. "The rent is cheap, and it's close to downtown."

"It's also close to one of the circles of Hell," you said as you backed out of the room. "Not exactly a selling feature, if you ask me."

"She's right, Mick. This place is shit."

"Oh, come on... We can fix it up!"

"Says the guy who's never fixed a thing in his life," Adrian grumbled. "Said you'd fix the bike you broke, and that was five years ago."

"Aw, you guys have been married for five years?" You cooed before they chased you back down the hall to the living room.

Peculiar stains blotted every corner of the carpets, and the windows had seen better days. One of them had been nailed shut, the posts rusty and screaming with Tetanus. The layer of dust alone set Adrian off on a sneezing fit as Mickey flounced onto a couch seemingly made of animal dander and cigarette smoke-laced tweed.

"Think they'd throw in this couch? It's pretty comfy even with the spring stickin' in my ass."

"I'd pay them to take the thing," you waved the dust motes from your face.

Once Adrian recovered from his theatrical chain of sneezes, he marched into the center of the room, eyes dark and drawn to the floor. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket and kicked at a spot of dirt embedded in the rug, or it could have been a patch of singed fibres.

"No," he said.

Mickey perked. "No, what?"

"No... Just no. We deserve better than this! This place is a dump. I'd rather make a fort in a dumpster than live here."

Mickey went contemplative. "We should make a fort."

"Mick... Come on. Look at this piece of shit. You think she wants to live here? It's awful!"

"I know," Mickey sighed. "It's the worst... What do you think, roomie?"

You stood next to Adrian and squeezed his arm. "I think Adrian's right. We should definitely check out some other options. We're better than this."

"Are we, though?" Mickey's voice squeaked.

"YES!" You and Adrian yelled. Mickey sealed his lips and clasped his hands between his knees.

"Well, okay. Let's look for something else. But you're never gonna beat seven hundred dollars a month."

"And a lifelong curse."

"And a disease from that nasty-ass toilet."

"And probably ghosts!"

"All right, all right, picky-nickies! Let's get out of here then."

You left as a dejected unit of sour faces. When Mickey reached the sidewalk just outside of the dilapidated apartment building, he turned around and jangled the change in his pocket. "I'm hungry! Let's get Taco Bell."

"We have to save our pennies, Mick," Adrian said.

Mickey looked down at the ground and booted a pebble, frowning. You chuckled at them both. Their moods were dampened, but you knew you could rekindle their spirits just as quickly.

"Come on, guys. Let's go get some shitty burritos. It's on me."

Mickey gasped, and Adrian grimaced. "You know...if you want to ditch us and forget this whole deal... We'd totally understand."

"I'm not going anywhere, Adrian. We just hit a bad patch. We'll find something better. Let's get a paper and go look over some ads with some Baja Blast, yeah?"

"I like yooou!" Mickey sang. "Let's keep her, Adrian."

[themadauthorshatter]

SOOOOOO

I've been reading this story by @spacebiscuitarts on Instagram(Thanks again so much for your permission! I really hope you enjoy this!!) called Human Piece, which I recommend to those who are okay with serious topics, so you don't get too scared.

Because I'm insane and either have a twisted sense of humor or because this is just how my brain works, I see things in fiction like a paid production a lot🤷‍♀️, I thought about what would happen if this was a legit production being made, like a movie or TV show.

And what if it had bloopers?😈

TW for mentions of torture and cannibalism here for sensitive readers and viewers.

Human Piece Story ACTOR AU BLOOPERS!!!!!

Outtakes starting from the beginning:

Charles and Henry meet up at Charles's house and seriously overdo the whole hugging "haven't seen you in forever, when was the last time we hung out" thing, with Charles making a passing mention that Henry isn't leaving. The two laugh and start the scene over.

While Henry's taking a phone call, Charles breaks the sleeping pill packet and drops the pills everywhere. "Oops." TAKE 2: Charles slips two pills in Henry's drink, but production didn't get the right pills, they're those brightly colored capsules instead of white/colorless pills that dissolve, so Henry sees them when he walks back into the room.

Henry: "Charles?"

Charles: "Hm?"

Henry: "What did you put in my water?" (Cue that Henry smug face as he ppints to his glass and Charles fights a laughing fit.)

Charles" (While he's laughing.) "I don't- How did those get there?!" 😅😂

Henry: "Chaaarles?"

Charles: "They just... We need different pills!"😂

Take 3 of the same scene: everything goes fine, except, Henry overdoes the "getting knocked out with sleeping pills" thing, like he drinks his water and then falls forward on the table.

Next scene, Charles is trying to drag Henry into the "basement set," but keeps laughing because Henry is 6' and keeps trying to crawl out of frame to help him out.

BTS stuff as they set up cameras and movie whatnots in the basement: Charles reviews his lines and practices his cannibal act as Henry is getting his body makeup done and getting the run down of what to do when he's too uncomfortable in the restraints on the table; if it got to be too much, he just needed to either snap his fingers or simply say 'cut.' They also have a paramedic on standby, in case Henry's body gets negatively affected from being restrained too long and because Henry's been dieting to 'get in shape' for his role.

Henry falls asleep on the table, semi-restrained. However, the crew take the chance to try and get a shot of Henry 'sleeping and coming to' by having the cameras roll while he slept.

Charles succeeded in getting this shot, by shaking him on the middle, but Henry falls back asleep.

They wake him up with a "CUT!"

The shots of Henry jolting awake and freaking out at seeing where he is aren't acting. That was his genuine reaction. He'd semi-forgotten where he was or what they were doing. When he calms down, Henry actually laughs, a little nervous, and asks to be untied and not be filmed sleeping.

Charles messes up the shots of Henry on the table too, because he kept lying down next to him and saying he found his new spot to sleep and his favorite pillow to sleep with, kept making Henry panic because he was in a very vulnerable position for which to be tickle attacked, and just kept making him laugh.

During the 'torture' scenes, Henry and Charles made each other laugh, Henry laughing on accident because Charles looked funny and Charles because Henry was laughing, and because part of him kept wanting to mess with Henry.

This exchange happened while shooting:

Henry: "Uh... Charles?"

Charles: "Yes, Henry?"

Henry: "Why is there a camera in your basement?"

Charles: "... Which one are you takllking about, WE'RE SURROUNDED BY CAMERAS RIGHT NOW!"

Both break down in laughter afetr that, though Henry does call Charles a pervert for having a camera in his basement.

There was an instance where Henry had a panic attack and had to get out of the restraints. It happened during the 'champagne scene;' they used carbonated water so neither actor would get intoxicated, and everyone thought it was just him acting.

He wasn't.

Thank goodness the next scene began with him 'coming to' from passing out, because Henry SERIOUSLY needed to take a break after that.

When asked in an interview, he admitted he was okay with Charles's acting, he was okay with the torture, he was okay with how real his injuries looked. He broke down when his mind went from, 'we're filming something, this is all fake, I'm safe,' to 'OH S**T! I got kidnapped, I'm getting tortured! I'm going to die here! Someone save me!'

They were okay to keep filming after a few hours.

During the 'Charles the dentist' scene, it was laughter all round because Henry playing that game where you put a thing in your mouth that keeps it open and you try to say stuff. He says ANYTHING he can, and it leads to Charles continuously laughing.

The 'tooth removal' scene was one of the hardest to film because Henry kept moving away and Charles had a hard time holding him; Henry's stronger than he looks.

The missing teeth are CGI.

The teeth on the bracelet are fake. The paramedic has a dentist friend that makes insanely realistic acrylic teeth.

Henry's reaction to seeing the teeth bracelet, which made Charles laugh: "You sick F(BLEEP!)! GIVE ME BACK MY TEETH! You-YOU are SO lucky this table is holding me back! Actually, you know what? I'LL TAKE YOU ON RIGHT HERE! LET'S GO!!"

During the scene where Charles and Henry eat the "human flesh," it's really muscley bacon that was cooked enough to have crisp, but not enough to be breakable; so they basically made jerky for the shot, and both actors ate it off screen.

Henry had a hard time looking disturbed as he ate really good jerky.

The 'fire poker/fried food' scene wasn't easy to shoot because Charles kept dropping the poker, which also caught fire while he torched it, and he had no idea how to brand something while being sadistic.

Henry did his part of screaming and panicking as Charles slowly pushed the poker into the frame, but got tired when he realized how slowly Charles was moving.

Henry: 😑"... Can you hurry it up, please? I'm on a schedule?" 😡

Charles: "You have a schedule for being tortured?"😆

Henry: "Yes. I get tortured strictly between 10 a.m. and 11 a.m.!"🤣

They had to apply the burn makeup while Henry was still on the table. Charles took the opportunity to mess with him a little bit: 'Charles was here! Ha ha! I'm the best!' written on Henry's stomach in marker.

Charles's cut line that acted as his lie: "Henry? Which Henry? Oh, THAT Henry? That Henry Missing? Psh! I don't know what happened to him. Psh! Basement? In MY basement? I don't know what you're talking about. Locked in my house, what? I'm- I'M the crazy one? Psh! Don't be ridiculous."

They had to use over 20 anklets because Henry and Charles kept breaking them.

When Charles untied Henry, he did so humming in a long take that ended with the camera showing both him and Henry. It would've been a perfect take, too, but Henry had his hands resting on his stomach and an irritated look in his face as he raised an eyebrow and asked, "Are you done? Because I need you to help me sit up."

Charles was in a song and dance mood, so there was a lot of him humming, doing a little shimmy, and Henry just trying to keep it together to get the shot right.

Henry was not in the mood, but Charles got him into it.

When asked in an interview, Charles admitted he wasn't actually going crazy. He was just having a great time.

Henry had to change his sweater once in a take because he spilled soup on in from laughing too hard; all Charles's fault.

Turns out Henry's 'diet' wasn't enough to make him look malnourished, and the team didn't want him to actually hurt himself, so they used makeup and a shirt that made him look small. It worked, though Henry finally got into the 'mess around' mood and tucked his knees, arms, and head inside the shirt; "Try making me into a soup now!"

During the scene where Charles 'washed' Henry's sweater, Charles burned himself on accident because he stood too close to the fire.

In Henry's 'escape plan' scene, he actually messed up a few times: forgetting he's supposed to be atrophied, noting he could bust the vent and climb through it, shouting to the upstairs, "HELP! LET ME OOOUUUT!", and pretending the garden clippers he found were a baseball bat and a microphone.

Charles's cut line as he opened his laptop in the next scene: "Alriiight. Time to see if Game of Thrones is getting that rewrite. (Checks) ...NO!"

Another cut line from Charles: "OH! Henry us going to hit ME when I come check on him!? OH! (Holds up remote)It's a good thing I can give him the SHOCK of his life!"😉😜

Henry didn't know how to look like he was getting electrocuted, so someone had to teach him, since they did not want to hurt him any further, considering his 'diet.'

They also gave him some padding on his torso because Charles had to wear military grade boots, and Charles didn't want to hurt him.

On his way storming down the stairs, Charles almost fell twice, and had to practice running down a flight of stairs, since he'd never done it before.

Henry's reaction at seeing Charles practice run down the stair for the fifth time: "Oh, look! It's Cinder-Charles-a!" It got a laugh out of everyone.

On the 157th take, Charles got running down the stairs right and sprinted until he stopped in front of and grabbed Henry, who broke off the anklet and threw it at him in a panic.

It would've been a phenomenal take, if Henry didn't throw the anklet or break it.

2nd attempt at Charles stopping at Henry: they collided and fell down.

Henry had to talk shit to get Charles to hit him, and that wasn't easy because there isn't a lot that gets Charles 'catching hands' mad.

A lot of the hits were a close miss and CGI, but one hit wasn't fake: a punch Charles threw into the corner of Henry's mouth completely on accident. Henry didn't take it personally at all, if anything he said that Charles threw a good punch, but that didn't stop Charles from feeling bad for the rest of the day.

For Henry's bloody mouth and nose, they used non-toxic fake blood that tasted like caramel, which led to Henry eating a lot of it on accident.

Durimg Charles's monologue, Henry could not stop laughing. He didn't know why, but he just couldn't stop. They had to redo the scene numerous times.

In the middle of Charles's monologue, Henry wiped off a little fake blood on his chin using his finger and booped Charles with it.

When they finally got the whole monologue, Charles grabbed the clippers, put them back, and stomped away groaning, "I'm calling the manager!"

During Henry's crying scene, he couldn't get a tear to fall. He laughed a lot, but couldn't cry. He tried sad music, sad memories, artificial tears, but nothing worked. They tried to get this shot for three days until, on the third day, Henry got in, got his makeup done, and got in position as the cameras started rolling. He absolutely broke down in front of the cameras and the crew, including Charles. And it wasn't simply crying, either. He BROKE DOWN. When they got the shot done, Henry did not move, staying on the floor. Charles joined him and the two ended up hugging.

In an interview, Henry revealed that he got a call form his family and a family member was sick. He broke down because said family member said they loved him and hoped the film shoot did well.

He called them back later and they both got better.

During the 'wake up' scene, Charles, still guilty about that accidental punch and not wanting to see him cry again, was scared of kicking Henry. Henry insisted it was okay because he was wearing the padding under his short, so he could handle a good kick.

Charles had the hardest time saying, "Good morning, bitch," with a straight face; too many times hearing 'bitch' used in a funny way. He asked to not say 'bitch,' but the director needed them to recite their lines word for word.

After sitting up, Henry gestures to be carried and Charles obliges, piggybacking him and running around the table.

Steering Henry wasn't easy because he kept trying to walk ahead of Charles amd kept looking back to make sure he knew where he and the rest of the crew were going.

The hardest part of shooting the scenes on the upper level again: looking visibly uncomfortable and foreign, and trying to shoot a scene with a mini camera crew and two makeup artists in the bathroom.

Charles kept holding Henry by the shoulders and steering him around like a bicycle or motorcycle. They thought it was funny, but the directir didn't.

I won't go into full detail of the bathroom scene, but I'll say these two things: 1. It was the hardest scene for Henry to shoot, because of the limited space and because he couldn't grab and hold on to the razor blade. 2. It was, hands down, the scariest scenes for him to shoot.

Charles did make a breakfast for Henry, he just put it in the microwave to keep it warm until they were done shooting the scene.

Charles also ruined a bunch of eggs because he tried to be Mads Mikkelsen.

There were too many bloopers of Charles drinking coffee and then talking to a nervous Henry, and this is just one of them:

Charles: (sips his coffee) "Henry."

Henry: "...Yeah?"😰

Charles: "How's school going?"

Henry: (Upon realizing that Charles is just messing with him) "Okay, I guess." 😅

Charles: (Still super serious) "You're guessing just okay?"

Henry: "Yeah."

Charles: "What about your grades? Are those okay, you guess?"

Henry: (Done with this) "You're a cannibal with fridge magnets, so you cannot be the one setting the bar here."

(Both burst into laughter.)

Another blooper is of Henry, as a joke, miming an attack toawrds Charles upon seeing he did not make him any breakfast. Still scared the crap out of Charles.

"Sit on your knees." Henry's response: Taking the plate of cookies and somewhat yelling, "NO."

When Henry's on the floor and Charles rubs his head, Henry seriously has to fight punching Charles, who's also pinching his cheeks and saying, "Who's a good boy?"

When Charles sort of teases Henry with the cookie, Henry glares at him and threatens to bite his hand off and throw away his fridge magnets, which Hannibal Lecter wouldn't be caught dead using.

The bloopers of the latest part of the story:

Charles: "Who is your master?"

Henry: "Shut up and let me eat, you (BLEEP!)"

TAKE 2

Charles: "Who is your master?"

Henry: (Shrugs as he hums, 'I don't know.')

TAKE 5:

Charles: "Who is my- Wait, no. YOUR master?"

Henry: "HA HA! I win!"

TAKE 7:

Charles: "Who is your Master?"

Henry: (Leans over and pecks Charles on the cheek.)

(Charles smiles and blushes as the room fills with, "Aaaaw's"

TAKE 10:

Charles: "Who is your master?"

Henry: (Blows in his face, like he's putting out a candle by blowing on it.)

Charles: (Leans back in his chair and points/gestures to Henry.) "The DISRESPECT!"

TAKE 15:

Charles: "Who is your master?"

Henry: "Who's YOUR master?"

Charles: "(fighting a laugh) ... I'm in control here."

Henry: "I'M in control."

Charles: "No, I'M in control."

Henry: "Charles, buddy, I'm in control."

Charles: "You, sir, are not listening. I am in control here."

Henry: "No, I'm in control."

Charles: (Trying not to laugh) You are not in control! I kidnapped you, therefore I am in control, not you! I'm in control! Who's in control?"

Henry: "I AM in control."

Charles: "I'M-... How are you in control here?"

Henry: "I don't have to pay taxes."

(Charles sits back as Henry smirks and the rest of the room 'OH's at that burn).

AND THAT IS IT! Thanks for reading this, this was honestly something that was crazy scary to me because I'm honestly an anxious mess. No idea if I'm makimg a part 2 of this, but we'll see😅

Again, please go check out @spacebiscuitarts on Instagram for her Human Piece story because it's art.

Thanks again to @spacebiscuitarts again for guvung me permission to make this, I really hope you liked this. I'm a sucker for edge and angst, all the same my brian has bursts of, 'what if it was a movie or TV show and there were bloopers?' I don't know, I think that's just me not getting too absorbed in the edge🤷‍♀️

Anyway, thanks again for reading, one and all, I hope you all enjoyed!!!!

[nicklightbearer]

whatever here is the fic

we happy few, nick lightbearer is once again hunted by foggy jack but this time he fights back. just..... not.... well.

this is a tickling fanfic fair warning <3

“Nick.. Nick!”

Rolling over, Nick Lightbearer grumbled and pulled the sheets over his head.

“Virgiiiiiiiiillll.. Five more minutes…” “In five minutes you’ll be dead, idiot! Up, up!”

Nick blinked a few times before feeling a small something land on his stomach- with a high-pitched screech, he sat bolt upright, scrambling to throw the blankets off. There was an oof! from the floor where they landed, and Nick shivered as he peered over the bed.

A rat. There had been a rat- wait- Virgil?

“.. What? What! You’re dead! I- I already avenged you- what do you want now??”

The rat huffed indignantly.

“Well, maybe I’m trying to keep your stupid arse alive, huh? He’s headed here already- so put some pants on, for god’s sake, and find a weapon!” “He? He who?” “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Who do you think??”

Who would- ah bollocks. Nick leapt to his feet, clutching at the wall for support as his head spun. God, even the reds and yellows were wearing on him..

“Foggy- Foggy Jack?? But I- I thought he-“ “Oh, come on. Put two and two together, Nicky.” “Ooh, if you weren’t dead, I’d right love to throttle you for the stupid vague clues…”

Virgil wheezed out a laugh that made Nick roll his eyes as he dug through the dresser.

“You may have blasted the bastard right hard, but it’d take more than a riff or two to kill a man. He’s more starstruck than ever, now.” “See, that wasn’t so hard! Straight answers, Virg, straight answers!”

The room wavered again and Nick cursed angrily as he toppled over trying to pull his slacks up.

“Who taught you how to quip back, huh?” “Could have something to do with the fuckin’.. Broken mood booth outside.”

Grumbling, he finally managed to stand up and pull his pants up proper, tugging on his jacket with only a moment’s hesitation. The blue one, yes, he’d rather wear dark colors if he’s hiding from a serial killer.

“Anyway- where is he now?”

There was a pause, and Nick looked up. The rat was gone.

“Virgil..? Dammit.”

A sudden jiggling of his door handle made him gasp, and he backed away before bolting towards the window.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckit in a bucket, ooh, I don’t have my-“

The front door splintered under a heavy blow, and Nick squealed another curse to himself before nearly leaping into the bathroom and slamming the door shut.

”Guitar!” “Mr. Lightbearer.. Do open up, please! I brought ahh.. Some whiskey! A gift from a fan!”

It almost gave him pause before he shook his head wildly.

“No, no. Focus, Nicky!”

He cast his gaze around the room in a panic. Empty pill bottles littered the sink and floor, and he shoved a few of them out of the way to rummage through the cabinet. Nothing.

Nothing but a plunger next to the toilet- though he considered it, the flimsy weight felt more useless than his own fists, and he discarded it quickly.

That left.. the tub.

Wait. The tub! He leaned over to whip the curtain back, and cringed slightly at the sight of the woman inside- thank god, she was clothed. But in her hand was his goal- just last night, he’d been on the.. Receiving end of…

Pulling it carefully from her grasp, he sighed in relief before jolting at the sound of the door splintering again. Fuck, fuck! He couldn’t let Jack see this poor bird- wait-

Checking her pulse, he sighed in relief. Okay, problem for later. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman woke up alone in his house. He quickly pushed out the door again, closing it and jiggling the lock just to make sure it wouldn’t open again- yep!

Then again, that left only himself and the eye that now peered through his former front door, which was largely splintered to bits. He backed up a little before dashing to his bedroom, both hoping and not hoping that Jack would follow.

“Ohh, Mr. Lightbearer… Nicky~!” The slip from formal to a deeper purring tone sent a shiver down the rockstar’s spine, and he clutched at his makeshift weapon nervously as he pushed his back against the door.

“Hey, lock it and get back, idiot! He just broke the other one down, what happens when he slams an axe through this one??” “Virgil- ooh, you’re right!”

He’s always right. Nick jumped back, casting his gaze around the room after clicking the lock shut. Not much to work with, really, but he could.. He could hide- er- well, the closet would be too obvious, right? Or would it be so obvious that he wouldn’t check?

“No, he knows you’re stupid, Nick. Fucksakes.” “Well, what- ooh!”

Pulling open the dresser drawers, he started throwing clothes on the floor next to the window. The rat perched on top of the dresser sighed as he watched, but Nick ignored him for the moment.

“And what, pray tell, is the plan here? D’you have a gun you never told me about? A machete? Hell, even a baseball bat-” “No- I’m fine for weapon, thanks. This is- well- you’ll see!”

Shouldn’t say it out loud, not with how the door groaned as a weight was thrown against it. Nick shuddered as he pushed the clothes haphazardly closer to the wall, then scooted behind the curtain. The pile on the floor was enough to hide his feet- and the curtains were against a black window, so no light would give him away…

It wasn’t perfect. But if the closet was checked first, he’d have the upper hand.

The door splintered after only a few more hits, and Nick held his breath. He could just barely see through the fabric, having his face so close- and seeing Jack again, albeit this time with a slightly more ruffled appearance, made his heart leap into his throat. Terror was enough to keep his fist gripping the weapon, and he watched with wide eyes as the killer stalked into the room, the red glimmer from his own eyes casting an eerie light over the room as a cloud of fog rolled in after him.

It was nothing if not dramatic, he mused, almost inspired by the sight if he hadn’t been fearing for his life.

Jack hummed to himself as he glanced around the room, the familiar tune to Cheer Up bringing a grimace to Nick’s face. Genuinely, the guy was still a fan- it felt bad to be holding a weapon towards any fan for any reason, but..

Seeing the glittering knife that Jack held whipped his perspective back instantly. Fuck, this guy was absolutely bonkers- though, granted, that only made him feel worse- he couldn’t afford to be wishy-washy about this!

As predicted, Jack didn’t even notice the curtains, instead peering under the bed before turning towards the closet.

“Nick, Nick, Nick… Really, I can’t believe you’d let yourself be cornered so easily. Really, I expected more resistance. No activated security system-”

Fuck! He’d forgotten to turn it on in his drunken stupor the night before!

“No bobbies to guard the house, and not a single manager in sight.. Oh, wait!”

A flash of anger nearly made him leap out right there- but no, he’d wait and bide his time.. For just the right moment…

As Jack grasped the handle on the closet, Nick tensed.

“I suppose you don’t have one of those, do you?”

He flung the doors wide with a taunting laugh that died slowly, his outstretched arms lowering with confusion.

“What..?”

Now!

Nick leapt from his hiding place, nearly tripping on all the clothes but somehow managing to stumble so that he was standing on the bed- not unlike someone hiding away from a mouse, except the mouse was a person and that person had a big knife with his name on it, possibly literally.

However, his unsure footing made him miss his target of ‘back of the skull, god, please let me just knock him out’ and instead slam the instrument across Jack’s back. The impact made him tense, and he squeezed the handle nervously-

Only for electricity to zip out of it, making his palms tingle as the killer gasped. Oh, fuck on a stick.

But.. Something was off. Rather than immediately whipping to stab him, Jack stumbled, slamming against the dresser and clutching at his suit.

“What- what in the blazes-”

Well, no time for hesitation! He swung again, this time holding the button down with purpose. Anything to catch this guy off guard, right? It was also far easier to tap repeatedly at his body rather than his head, and… It worked.

Somehow, it worked. Jack’s arms were glued to his sides and he shimmied away from the assault, expression shifting from a confused pout to a more.. Well, his cheeks puffed out and he cringed, but a smile still seemed to tug at his lips. This smile was different, though, and seemed far more genuine than the mask let on.

“Stop- hey, stop! What- waha- wait!”

Ho. Ly. Shit.

Foggy Jack. Serial killer, menace to society, his personal fuckin’ stalker….. Was ticklish.

Okay. Okay. Well, this information was definitely going to be put to use- let’s see- right the fuck now. Nick slid down from the bed, using the Tickler to bop Jack closer to it- an easy task, given that he nearly tripped himself right onto it. With a quick push.. Perfect!

Foggy Jack was now on his bed. Disheveled, covering his mouth to hold back giggles, and with an expression bordering on infatuation shining out from behind his hand.

For a minute, he was stunned, before remembering the knife. Glancing down, though- oh, he wasn’t holding it. He’d dropped it- there, on the floor.

Jeez, it was almost like he didn’t want to kill Nick.

….. Shelving that thought to dwell on later, Nick grinned with as much menace as he could muster.

“Well, well, well. Ya know, mister Foggy Jack, you’re not half so scary like this.”

Jack yelped as the Tickler was pushed squarely against the middle of his stomach, trying to grab it but letting go quickly as Nick tapped the button a few times. The sensations of light electricity dancing across his torso quickly gave rise to more giggles, ones that he could hardly hold back for all the delight he clearly felt.

“Really! Sheesh, if I’d known about this before, all this lot of stuff would have been so much easier.. Hey, arms up!”

Nick huffed, pushing the arms that seemed nearly glued to his sides before just wiggling a hand between sleeve and shirt. For practiced fingers like his, coaxing out more shocked laughter was easy- and with the Tickler now running up and down his stomach, Jack finally broke.

“Waihihihit! No- stop! St- ahaha! It tickles!” “Well, I sure fuckin’ hope it does, lovely… That’s the point.”

Though, to be honest, he wasn’t sure how to handle things from here. Sure, he could wear out Jack and- wait, perfect. He’d just tickle the man until he properly passed out, then run and find a bobby. Perfect!

Though, as he watched the man writhe beneath him, escalated to proper laughter as skilled fingers squeezed at his sides and the Tickler continued tormenting his stomach, he was a tad hesitant. The ticklish near-agony that made shrieks ring out was… Hm, fun!

As he listened to more of that adorably broken-up laughter, he wondered how addicting this sort of drug might be.

“PLEHEASE- DON’T- DON’T TICKLE ME- IHI CAN’T, I CAN’T TAKE IT! M- MAHAHA- NNNNICK!” “That’s Mr. Lightbearer to you, mister Foggy. Go on, ask me proper to quit, maybe I’ll think about it. Probably not.” “Mr. Light- eehee! Lightbeareheher! Please!” “Please what??” “Plehehease- dOHON’T! Stoooohohop tickling mehehe!” “Don’t stop tickling you? Don’t mind if I do, sweetheart!”

Though the petname didn’t go unnoticed by either of them, Nick chose to eliminate any chance of a response by ducking down- the sudden closeness of their faces made Jack go silent, breathless with both laughter and starstruck awe. Nick winked before ducking his face down and  blowing a raspberry right against his neck, sliding the Tickler to press down against his torso again.

The response was immediate. Jack flailed wildly and cackled, beating at Nick’s back weakly as he choked out wordless pleas. Of course, none of them were heeded, and a few more raspberries were instead strategically placed on the man’s neck. In all his years, even knowing that most people were at least a little ticklish around the face (due to the masks, certainly), he’d never garnered a reaction quite this intense. Must be extra sensitive- therefore, weak, and the wheezes between laughs made Nick grin.

It was honestly.. Kinda cute. He was glad that his goal was to tickle the man to pieces, since otherwise he’d normally give a break by now.

As the struggling became weaker, and the laughs reached pitches that frequently dipped into silent snorts, Nick hummed to himself. Now would be a good a time as ever to drop a little.. Finale, let’s say. He pulled back for a moment, easily readjusting their positions- now, with Jack laying limply on the bed and only weakly with his arms linked around his waist, he climbed on after him properly. It wasn’t hard to sit above his prey, wiggling his fingers a little for extra effect- and relishing in the burst of giggles and flinch- before tapping his chin.

“Now, let’s see.. Something tells me you’re nearly tuckered out. But I’m not quite done, oh no.” “N.. No??”

Something about the way his voice was suddenly softer, even shy in a way- it made Nick’s stomach do a few flips.

“No! Of course not. You’ve been awful rude, banging my door down and threatening me. But I can put that behind us.”

Bending down again, he placed a hand on either side of Jack’s head, their faces nearly touching- once again, Jack held his breath, eyes wide.

“.. Close your eyes for me, Jacky.”

The speed at which his hesitation faded to nervousness, then to giddy anticipation.. It was adorable. Jack finally closed his eyes, then covered his face with a shuddering giggle.

From there, it was easy for Nick to unbutton his jacket- and even easier to bury his face against Jack’s stomach, nibbling through the shirt and earning a new set of squeals.

“No! No- ahaha- ooh, you-!” “Go on, give me a laugh! Just for me, Jacky! Ooh, those could be lyrics..”

He hummed a bit with the idea before returning to his previous actions- and it wasn’t long before the laughter died down, Jack barely writhing beneath him. Nick sat up eventually, finally giving it a rest as he watched the killer gasp a few times before he was silent.

… He leaned forward to check for a pulse. Yep. Hammering away, actually, but calming down.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure what to do. Sitting back on Jack’s legs, he gazed down, watching him sleep with a foggy confusion building in the back of his skull.

Sure, a bobby might.. Be able to help. But he was so tired. And Jack was warm- warmer than he expected, and…

Maybe a little nap wouldn’t hurt. He did crawl over to the side of the bed to push the knife under the dresser, first, but.. Yes, a nap.

Popping a spare Joy he found under one of his shirts, he flopped onto the bed, resolving to take care of the matter later. It was probably fine.

[alecxaheart]

Wish I Were | Kim Seungmin Oneshot

✎ Genre : High School Student AU, Angst, Fluff

✎ Pairings : Kim Seungmin X Reader (?)

✎ Word Count : 1.1k words

✎ Synopsis : Winter has already passed, yet Seungmin is getting colder and colder as time flies by.

✎ Warnings : Explicit Language

✎. . . Another angsty oneshot but a song inspired one. It's been a while since I wrote a very short oneshot. Btw, the whole oneshot is in Seungmin's Point of View. Enjoy my loves, mwah. <3

Kim Seungmin.

Save the date, 3rd of December. Where in the middle of a snowfall, sunshine appeared out of the blue. The time I was saved from the inner demons haunting me, from the bothering cold of winter. The time I never thought would come to the point that I lost care for myself.

With a small yet simple gesture, I was saved. She came just in time and the best part of her rescue was probably her giving me her soft light-tinted blue sweater. " It looks better on you than it did on me, Seungminnie, " She giggled as we sat in front of her fireplace, my cup of coffee laid unfinished on the table. Her arms around my waist while I lay my head down on her shoulder. All the warmth I received on that day was completely comfortable. From the fireplace, the hot coffee she offered, her sweater and her care and love. I couldn't ask for more than that to feel enough.

With a small yet simple gesture, I couldn't help but fall.

Fall.. In Love?

Just another new start allotted for this school year happened on this very day. Months had already passed ever since me and Yuri met. Right now, it's just me and her having a wonderful conversation. Her beautiful smile appeared once in a while with a small chuckle as we continued to just pass some time before class started.

" No way, this happened when you hit the baseball with your bat? You're that strong? " Her eyes twinkled as I showed her the picture my friend, Bang Chan, posted on Instagram. I responded with a nod and a hum, smiling.

" It looks like teeth marks at first glance, " Both of us giggled in unison while I tucked my phone back in my pockets. " But hey, that's really an impressive strength. You'll be in my speed dial in case I want you to kick some asses for me. "

Then there was a short silent pause in the area as the main doors opened. I took a glance towards it to figure out what caused such distraction from multiple individuals. And I must say or rather I could tell it already, he's definitely gonna be the elephant in the room.

His face defines ethereal, perfectly sculpted by the Gods to the point that they placed a star beneath his eye. He was indeed shining, everyone blinded by his beauty.

What broke my heart was when I took a glance back at you, you were one of them. I saw your eyes sparkling, filled with adoration towards the newcomer. You couldn't look away, trapped into his spell as he walked towards us. He caught your attention and you couldn't help but fawn over him more. What a sight for sore eyes.

I slowly distanced myself away when he was now onto you, both of you sharing smiles brighter than the blue sky and exchanging a few words. You're too lost in his eyes to notice my presence vanishing from your area, too lost in love while I'm starting to lose love itself. You never looked at me the same way as you did to him.

With one last glance, I witnessed how you got him so mesmerized before I die.

Or Fall.. Apart?

Back in place, like it was the start of winter once again. The time I was emotionally and mentally going downhill. But the difference is that it's far from almost winter, the sun shines too bright these days and I hate it.

Messages

💟 : Hey, can't meet you up today

💟 : I promised Hyunjin I would go with him, sorry

It's okay. : KSM

Go and have fun with your man. :) : KSM

Read – 5:03PM

Closing the door, I leaned my head back on it before silently letting my body fall onto the ground with the phone in hand, the picture of the two of us showing in the lock screen. I knew that behind me, behind this door stood Hyunjin and you having the greatest time of your lives. Exchanging words, smiles, and laughter with one another.

The scene I saw a few moments ago played. I walked into the rooftop, supposedly to be looking for you – which I did but never thought of it to be something like this. I watched you two there standing before the golden sun setting in the horizon then he held your hand. You, too, gave one of your sweaters to him. Putting his arms around your shoulder afterwards when you two took a seat on the ground, your head resting on his chest as you both took in the scenery.

I wanted to hate him so much, for he took away my chances of even having the confidence to confront you and confess my feelings towards you, ruining all of my plans to have the greatest life I've ever had in my grasp. Although as much as I wanted to, I just couldn't bring myself to do so. Hyunjin-hyung never treated you or anyone else badly, being the angel that he is. He's also true to his feelings, I overheard it from a conversation he had with Minho that he likes you, the same way you like him. However, I did prefer him not existing at all – thinking that maybe it would go the way I wanted it to be if he was never there.

In the end, I'll only get colder and colder to the point that my heart will freeze, slowly distancing myself away from you. While you're looking beyond exquisite than ever with a smile brighter than the sun, twinkling stars adorning your eyes and the pinkness of your cheeks – all of it was because of Hwang Hyunjin. Just for the sake of your eternal happiness, I have to disenthrall you.

Laying down alone on the bed, in the middle of my gloomy bedroom, drowning in my own pool of thoughts. Wearing the light-tinted blue sweater to feel the warmth back in the 3rd of December that I always loved, but I knew it would never be the same as before. Today, she wouldn't be able to save me. This would've been the aftermath back then.

Eyes red plus the visible dark bags underneath it came all from excessive crying and insomnia. Body tired like hell. Lost my appetite. Pale skin and dry lips. Too many emotions mixed up in my heavy chest. My mind screaming and yelling in agony yet none of it was heard since I lost my own voice as well. All in all, I feel like shit.

Beside me laid my journal, the messed up pages filled with black ink shown. The words " Wish I Were Hyunjin " were mindlessly written on the pages, repeatedly scattered.

Why would you ever kiss me?

I'm not even half as pretty

You gave him your sweater

It's just polyester

But you like him better

Wish I were...

Breaking the silence, a knock on the wooden door was heard out of the blue.

End.

[rosy-cheekx]

“It’s cute that you tried to protect me and all, but you’re like a foot shorter than me, you know?” with jon and anyone??

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28062798

Sooo, here’s the thing. Along the way it became “It’s cute that you tried to attack me and all, but you’re like a foot shorter than me, you know?” The premise is the same but things sorta got out of hand. Either way...Happy Birthday Rye!! This is for you 💕😊

Tim was exhausted. He’d been up late the night before pouring through books on historic architecture, trying to find anything referencing Robert Smirke and his…unique building practices. While he wasn’t usually the one to take work home with him, this statement Jon had recorded, one about Leitner and Gerard Keay and the tunnels underneath the Pall Mall struck a chord with him. It felt just wrong enough to be related to Smirke. So he had been up at all hours, researching Smirke and any associations he may have had with Pall Mall. He had been successful, at the end of it, but had fallen asleep near five and gotten barely four hours of sleep before he was dragged to wretched consciousness again by the sun streaming through his window.

Normally, Tim would grab a coffee on the way to work, but honestly he was nearing a little too close to hand-to-mouth living as it was, especially with their paychecks not being due til next Friday. There was a coffee maker in the Archives breakroom, sputtering as it was. Coffee was coffee and coffee was what Tim needed. It was half eight, a little earlier than most of his crisp, just-late-enough-to-piss-Elias-off-but-not-enough-to-get-called-out-for-it 10:15 arrivals, but it didn’t matter. If he was lucky, no one else would be there.

-

Jon was in the Archives. When wasn’t Jon in the Archives? They were his Archives after all.

Jon blinked and peeled his cheek from the cool metal of his desk, wincing at the ghostly impression left from the heat and oils of his skin. His neck and spine protested in clicks and pops as he straightened himself up, wincing at the angle he had allowed himself to sleep in for so long. It was just after nine, according to the ever-ticking clock above the door to his office, the only door, the door he left propped open unless he was certain he was the only one there. (No one needed to come knocking for him.) He wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep but it had definitely been past midnight, after even Elias had left his office and the hum of The Institute faded to a strangely comfortable silence, nothing but Jon and his files and statements. Just one more statement, he had thought to himself, wearily regarding the ever-growing stack of “To-Do” files in the box on his desk. One more and then I can go home and rest. One more now is one less Elias can ask after, the acknowledgement of Jon’s failure in his voice. Jon wasn’t sure if he had turned the tape recorder off or if he had just run out of tape-did they even run out of tape? They never seemed to. On investigation, the faint snuffling sounds he heard when he played the tape back proved he had forgotten to tur-

Wait. What was that?

Jon frowned and rewound the tape a few minutes, listening intently. There was the unmistakable sound of footsteps, faint but definitely there. Was someone in his archives? Jon pursed his lips and glanced again at the clock. Just after nine, even Sasha wouldn’t be here yet, the punctuality of her 9:25 arrival something you could set a clock to.

Jon glanced around, not really sure what it was he was looking for. Something to defend himself, maybe? He wasn’t sure when he’d decided to identify the source of the sound, but something in his gut had shifted. He settled on grabbing a crutch resting in the corner of his office, abandoned from his recovery after the Prentiss attack.

Armed, Jonathan Sims crept to the door of his office. The automatic lights in the hallway flickered on as he slowly peered down both sides of the hallway, curly hair a mess and swinging unhelpfully by his cheeks. No one. The hallway was empty, no shadows to be seen sweeping menacingly around the corner.

God. He was probably being stupid. It was probably the statements getting to him. But still, something urged the back of his mind. He couldn’t shake the notion he wasn’t alone in the cold, lonely basement.

Cautiously, Jon crept down the hall, holding the crutch first by the handle, then clumsily turning it over to hold it by the base towards the ground. He didn’t make a habit of watching American baseball, but he imagined he looked rather like the players at bat, the rest of the crutch resting on his shoulder, elbows cocked uncertainly.

“Sasha? Martin? Tim?” His voice was somewhere between a croak and a shout, halfway between cowardice and curiosity. No answer, not that he really expected one.

Jon listened intently as he reached the bullpen of the archives, where Tim, Sasha, and Martin’s desks were arranged. It took him a moment to register what was bothering him about the room before he realized it with a start: the lights were on. These were also automatic; Jon knew this from the number of times Tim, Sash, and Martin had burst into laughter and cacophonies of “no!” and “guess we’re done!” whenever they sat still too long, engrossed in their work. Jon had privately wondered if it had been set up to keep them from being productive.

But the lights were on. That meant someone had been through here. And recently. Jon was paralyzed for a moment, wondering what he should do. Call 999? Or Elias? If it was supern—strange, police wouldn’t be able to do much anyways. Furthermore, if he was imagining things, he would never here the end of it from Elias. What if he asked him to step down from the position? No, Jon could handle this. Of course he could. Whatever it was, he needed to see what was happening and could make a decision from there.

He heard a shuffle from the break room, a scuff of shoe on the worn lino. A thief who just decided to stop for a cuppa and sandwich? Well, the breakroom was next to the records room…what if it was a thing here to steal a statement? A thing like Jane Prentiss, or-or a vampire, or, god forbid, Michael?

Jon felt woozy with fear and nervous energy as he crept forward blindly, twisting the crutch in his hands as he approached the open doorway to the breakroom, the light to which was off. This bulb wasn’t auto, unfortunately. As Jon stood in the doorway, he let his eyes adjust the darkness of the small room, blinking nervously and sweeping the room with his eyes desperately, looking for a clue.

There.

A darker blackness in the black, making up a vaguely humanoid shape, standing motionless by the cupboards. Jon tried to speak, to address it, but his voice was barely a whisper, caught in his throat.

“W-Who are you?” No answer. Jon could’ve sworn it shifted towards him, the thing that looked like a head bobbing slightly.

It would take maybe six steps to get there. The light switch was by the fridge, at the other end of the room. Was it worth it? Jon could probably run and flip the switch but the creature would definitely know he was there. Maybe it was better to just run.

Jon was suddenly struck with a terrifying thought as the creature seemed to shift again, shuddering to itself. What if it was Jane Prentiss, lying in wait for Martin any one of them to come back?

He had to attack. Jon steeled himself, tightening his grip on the crutch.

Three.

Two.

One.

“Gahhhhhhhh!” Jon ran forward, swinging his makeshift weapon towards the creature. He watched the shape in the darkness shifted and seemed to compress and duck out of the way of his swinging, in slow motion but all at once. His crutch struck the countertop, and Jon vaguely registered a shattering as something hit the ground

“Jon!”

“…T-Tim?”

The shadow in the darkness shrunk and Jon blinked at the sudden brightness as the light came on, finally recognizing the creature as Tim, eyes wide as he surveyed his boss in front of him, hair mussed from sleep and wielding a crutch like a cricket bat.

“Jon, what the hell?” Tim’s voice was somewhere at the intersection of confusion, anger, and dazed humor, hard to pin down. “What are you doing here?”

“Me? What are you—It’s nine in the morning! How did you get in?” Jon felt all the adrenaline leave his body at once, and he dropped the crutch to the Formica counter he seemed to have chipped, shoulders sagging.

“I-coffee!” Tim gestured to the shattered ruins of a Derwent Water mug, an orange kayak in two distinct pieces as a coffee spread across the tiles slowly. Jon’s face must have shown the incredulity he was feeling, because Tim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I couldn’t sleep, figured I’d be more use here. Didn’t feel like making a Costa run. That’s second to the real question, though, which would be: Why are you trying to kill me?”

Jon scrubbed his hands over his face; of course it was just Tim. He had been so terrified and it was just Timothy fucking Stoker. “I-I’m sorry, Tim. I heard something on my tape, and I thought there was someone in here…a-and there was. But I mean, someone who wasn’t supposed to be here. I-I did call out, b-but no one answered.” Jon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I thought maybe you were a vampire. Or Michael. Or Jane Prentiss,” he admitted after a moment, voice quieter.

Two beats of silence, three, before Tim’s raucous, barking laughter finally broke the silence.

“Were you going to kill a vampire with a walking crutch?” Tim managed between chuckles, doubling over. “Just-” he makes a sweeping motion with closed fists over each other, “with a bat, like-like a piñata?” He was taken over by giggles again and Jon was left staring blankly, trying valiantly to figure out what was so funny.

“I-I dunno, maybe? I didn’t want to just do nothing.”

“I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t be laughing, it’s-” Tim straightens and gestures at Jon, composing himself. “It’s cute that you tried to attack me and all, but you’re like a foot shorter than me, you know? You’re not exactly physically menacing.”

Jon stared. “I wasn’t trying to be menacing, I was trying-shit.” He felt warm liquid seeping into his socks-how did he just realize he wasn’t wearing shoes- and stumbled back, grabbing for the paper towels on the table. “I was trying to save my own ass. And I’m not that short.” Another snort from Tim, acknowledging and rejecting his argument. “Sorry about your mug,” Jon continued, dropping to a squat to sweep up the milky coffee and ceramic in a bundle of sopping paper.

“Meh, worth it,” Tim shrugged, dropping next to him and spooling towel into his own hands. “Yep,” popped the p. “The image of you baring your teeth at me like a wild dog is totally worth it. Besides, now I have an excuse to ask Sash to buy me a coffee from the posh place near her flat.”

“Oh, no, please. I should buy you something from the Costa down the street. I-! need to get some anyways.” Jon glanced over his shoulder at the doorway to the now unlit bullpen, trying to pretend he didn’t obviously look like he slept here.

“Yeah, no, you look like shit. No offense,” Tim added absentmindedly, pretending not to acknowledge the fact that Jon did not, in fact, drink coffee. “Did you sleep here again?”

Silence as Jon gathered the coffee-soaked towels in his hands and rose, tossing them in the bin by the door.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I wasn’t trying to. I just nodded off. I was recording statements and lost track of time.”

“Ohh, so you heard me come in?”

“Kind of. Heard it on the tape—”

“Hello?” Martin’s voice called out as the bullpen lights flicked on. “Oh, hey Tim, Jon! You two alright?”

“Heya, Marto. Jon and I were just about to hit up the café. Want something?”

Tim got a caramel latte. Jon got a chai. Martin and Sasha got muffins, a very good story, and a lightly blushing (and smiling, though he would deny it) Archivist.

-

Tim was grateful to Jon for never asking why he had stood so long, in silence and dark, staring at his cup of coffee as if it wasn’t even there. He never asked why his shoulders had been heaving and why his eyes were as baggy as they had been. Jon did offer more often, though, to get coffee with him, in the odd mornings that they were both there absurdly early and battling their own demons. Tim always said yes.