#scribbled on the fists of the people who want to hurt you

[hellsingmongrel]

Honestly, I think one of the best things about Trigun is how Knives ABSOLUTELY could have won, but he was stupid. He let his brother go, instead of keeping him on a short leash. Knives thought that Vash would just crumble and break under the long years of trauma and pressure and sadness, and he'd be easy pickings later, would willingly come back.

But no. Instead, Vash picked himself up off the ground, leaned on the humans who supported him when he needed them, and spent the next 50+ years training his body and his mind for what he had to do. He didn't let himself break, no matter how much he wanted to, he redirected all of that pain and suffering he'd experienced, losing a lot of his naivete and innocence along the way (though tbh, that was already happening well before Knives did what he did, anyway) but becoming stronger in himself and his convictions.

Vash still carries a lot of guilt and trauma and self-hate, yes, but he knows he's the only one who can stop his brother, and he's going to make that Knives' problem. He kept his morals and his kind heart, despire everything that was done to him, and until the very end of their war, he refused to give up on his dreams of seeing everyone living peacefully together.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Love Needs No Voice (Part 1)

Summary: The famous guy is a little too stubborn for Y/n's liking.

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A/n: The reader in this fic is mute. I just want to warn everyone, I have no experience or know anyone who has experience with muteness, so everything i write is based off of my research over the internet. If I write something that might offend anyone, please let me know so I can rectify my mistake. Its not my intention to hurt anyone.

That said, Enjoy!

•○🌑○•

The timer Y/n and Nesta had set rang, signalling the end of the hour, and some people from the table nearby looked over before returning to their conversation.

Finally. Y/n heard her best friend whisper from next to her, relief evident in the way Nesta cracked her back.

Y/n simply smiled at her friend from childhood, stretching her back as she clenched and unclenched her fist, sighing when her body relaxed after an hour of no movement.

It was saturday today, meaning most students of the university were either exploring London, sleeping in, or sitting in the cafe near the campus, completing notes and assignments.

Y/n had had nothing else to do, and she wanted to finish all her assignments, so she had planned to come to the cafe, and Nesta had insisted to come along.

And even though it had been her decision to tag along, Nesta had been fussy the whole morning, whining about wanting to do something else, but not wanting to leave Y/n either. They had both settled on studying for three hours and then going out.

Nesta stood up, bending this way and that before sighing. "Let's go get something to eat." She mumbled.

Y/n thought about it for a second, then shook her head as the image of the famous boy flashed in her mind. She glanced around a little, then gestured at Nesta to go by herself.

"You're not hungry?"

Y/n again shook her head.

Nesta shrugged. "I'll bring you something."

Y/n waved, then turned back to her book, continuing to scribble her notes across it.

Y/n watched her friend make her way through the crowd of students toward the line that led to the cafe counter, leaning back in the cushioned seat she currently occupied.

The scrape of a boot caught Y/n's attention, and she stiffened a little, hoping it was not who she knew it was.

Alas, the fates were not kind to Y/n on some days, and today was most probably one of those days, considering she'd stubbed her toe almost over five times now.

The handsome boy that all the girls from the university fawned over dropped into the seat next to Y/n, a huge smile on his face.

Y/n suppressed her sigh.

Y/n should have known there was a chance she would encounter him today, considering one of his friends worked as a barista in this exact cafe.

The violet eyed boy had never noticed her until a month ago, and Y/n had used to believe herself lucky to be out of sight of the boy that basically smelled of money, who wore clothes that practically screamed My father is rich, haha, you losers.

But then on that fateful day a month ago, Y/n had decided to stay in the library finishing up some of her literature assignments, and that had probably been one of the worse decisions of her life.

Nesta had her cheerleader practice that day, and then she had been too tired to study, so Y/n had told her to go home. To go and get some rest, that Y/n could handle by herself.

How wrong she'd been.

After two hours of study, the sky had begun to darken in the distance, rain clouds gathering, promising heavy rain. Y/n looked out the window, and decided it was time to call it a day. She gathered all her supplies and notebooks, placing them neatly into her bag. Y/n was never one for messiness, and her mother and Nesta liked to joke that her need for organising everything perfectly will bite her in the ass one day.

That day, Y/n understood what they meant.

Y/n meticulously stored everything away, arranging her books in the order she wanted, all the while glancing out the window and hoping it wouldn't rain anytime soon.

After she was finally done, she raced towards the exit, finding another student standing there, staring out over the grounds, now wet with the heavy rain that began pouring. He wore a simple black vest and grey sweatpants, his dark hair tousled, his neck gleaming with sweat.

Y/n skid to a stop, her shoulders slumping in disappointment. She was too busy wondering how she would go back to the small rented apartment she shared with Nesta, not realising the person next to her was none other than the Rhysand.

Y/n frowned when she felt eyes on her, and she glanced from the corner of her eye to find the boy staring at her. She turned her eyes to the small puddle quickly forming a little distance away, glaring at it, a blush climbing up her neck at the intensity with which he stared at her.

"Hey. I'm Rhysand." He waited for a few moments, and when it was clear Y/n would not reply, he continued awkwardly. "Is anyone coming to pick you up?"

Y/n blinked, looking at the guy. She stared at him for a moment, then glanced behind her, checking to make sure no one was standing behind her and that he really was talking to her. He rose a brow at her actions, and she quickly shook her head no.

"So... do you have an umbrella?"

She again shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself, her blush spreading down her neck when she realised that she was wearing the worst possible outfit ever.

Rhysand opened his mouth to speak again, but just then a sleek, shining black sedan pulled up, and he paused. A man in a full suit stepped out of the driver's side opening an umbrella, walking the few steps towards Rhysand.

The man said nothing, just stood holding the umbrella over Rhysand's head, who turned to Y/n with a cheeky smile. "And that is my very talkative body guard. Very cheery, that man."

Y/n stared blankly, wondering if she was supposed to laugh. His smile faltered, before widening as he stepped towards his car. This guy really was rich.

He made to get in, but turned at the last moment. "If you don't have an umbrella, how are you going to go home?"

Y/n simply shrugged, tugging her jacket tighter around her. A frown appeared on his face. He stood there, studying Y/n for long enough that she had to resist the urge to squirm. "I can give you a ride." He said, matter of factly.

When Y/n shook her head, he silently contemplated something, then turned to his bodyguard. "Give her the umbrella."

The man in the suit didn't even hesitate, simply waited for Rhysand to get settled before shoving the umbrella at her. Y/n stared at him, panicked. He stood unmoving, waiting for her to take the umbrella.

Y/n grabbed it, wishing more than ever that she could talk in that moment. She wished she could tell Rhysand to keep the umbrella, but he obviously would not have learned the sign language and there was no other way she could talk to him, and she didn't have the will to get out a pen and paper.

Rhysand rolled down his window, something like concern and curiosity swimming in his eyes. "You can return it to me tomorrow, if that's why you are so hesitant." Y/n nodded reluctantly, swallowing. He smiled. "Are you sure you don't want me to drop you home?"

Y/n shook her head, then ran off, knowing he would try to continue talking, and then eventually find out about her lack of voice, and then pity her. Then tell the whole university so everyone can make fun of her. That's what usually happened.

She didn't need anyone pitying her out bullying her. She did enough of that herself.

Someone nudged Y/n's shoulder, and she blinked out of her thoughts, turning to find Rhysand smiling at her.

Y/n swallowed, trying not to get lost in his beautiful violet eyes.

"How are you doing?"

Y/n studied him for a moment, then turned back to her notes. She felt him deflate next to her. "Why don't you talk to me? Why do you ignore me?"

Y/n fidgeted with her pen, attempting to block him out. It didn't work. His voice was just that hypnotic. "If you want me to leave you alone, just say the word." He mumbled, his voice sad.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, releasing a breath through her nose.

A tense silence descended around the two of them, and Y/n wondered if he had left. When she opened her eyes, she found him studying her intensely. This time, she held eye contact.

A few moments passed, and suddenly, he jolted, his eyes widening in shock. Y/n's brows furrowed, and she turned to glance behind her at the seats behind her, wondering if something was going on.

When she turned back to him, he still looked like he had seen a ghost, though now his eyes swam with emotion.

"You- you... you can't..."

His words did nothing to soothe Y/n's confusion, and she simply blinked at him.

"You can't, can you? I said if you want me to leave you alone, just say the word. You..."

Suddenly, it all clicked for Y/n.

He knew.

Y/n straightened, grabbing all her books and shoving them haphazardly into her bag. A book's cover even folded outward, but Y/n pushed it in, uncaring. All she wanted to do now was to run away, far, far from everyone that knew, from everyone that would soon find out.

Rhysand grabbed her hand as soon as Y/n stood and pulled her bag over her shoulder. Precisely at that moment, Nesta came bounding up to the two of them as he too followed Y/n up, a to go cup of coffee in her hand and a muffin in another. The muffin Y/n loved.

Nesta slowed down, raising a questioning brow at Y/n. Knowing everyone would soon find out, Y/n signed to Nesta.

He knows.

Nesta stiffened, then handed Y/n the muffin so she could sign back. Did you tell him?

Y/n shook her head, walking closer to Nesta and ignoring Rhysand as he called her name. He figured it out.

Nesta glared at Rhysand, then grabbed her bag from Y/n and dragged her best friend away.

Y/n felt eyes on her all the way until she reached the exit, and she turned to look back at the stunned boy once.

What she saw confused her a little, but she could not contemplate on it much as Nesta didn't stop.

He had looked guilty, but also...

Determined.

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Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1 @hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21 @mybestfriendmademe

[jewish-vents]

first - i just want to say thank you for making this blog. it’s so important to know that we aren’t alone in the many things we’re experiencing and feeling right now, especially when so many of us have become painfully isolated as of late.

i apologize for how long this one is going to be.

i’ve been feeling so, so alone recently. my tumblr dash has been cut down to just a handful of jewish blogs that i can trust to be kind and understanding and nuanced, but it means that the majority of the content i see is about antisemitism and the war. after a while, it becomes draining to scroll through what feels like endless sadness. i turned to looking at fandom tags instead of following fandom blogs, but it makes me feel equally as insane to click on a blog about race cars and immediately see a post with 60k notes calling what’s happening in gaza “the new holocaust”. i started going back on twitter, but fan accounts on there too are only safe for a day or so before the account owner shares some awful antisemitic tweet from an account known to be an anti-jewish extremist. i went back on instagram briefly, but i was soon afraid to look at people’s stories for fear i’d see something terrible and lose yet another trusted person from my life.

in person, i have to walk by signs saying “zionism = genocide” and hastily scribbled palestinian flags with the colors in the wrong spot on my way to class every day. a wall across from my apartment says “BDS” in giant letters. i haven’t opened my curtains in months because of it. a “protest” of about 25 people stood in the center of campus and yelled and waved their fists in passing students’ faces, so jewish students didn’t go to class on any of the days they gathered. i only have one non jewish friend left at school - the rest abandoned me because i either called them out on antisemitic rhetoric or refused to go along with the idea that anyone, palestinian or israeli, muslim or jewish, is less than human. i had taken several of them along to our hillel’s seder in the past. i don’t know who i can safely go with this year. i have a few jewish friends, of course, but i love bringing goyische friends with little connection to judaism along to experience how joyful and loving jewish holidays can be.

it feels like there is no escape from this fucking war. it sickens me that it’s the only thing people pretend to care about - where is the attention for sudan, ukraine, armenia, uyghurs in china, syria, guyana? how is putting an emoji in your twitter bio or putting a translucent overlay of the palestinian flag on your tumblr icon any sort of real activism? how have we gone from “antisemitism is wrong” to “(((zionists))) control the world media”? it seems like the war is a fandom to these people. it seems like nobody cares enough to fully read and think critically about what they share, let alone do real research beyond looking at an infographic somebody shared on their instagram story. they’ll add on “don’t forget your click today!” to an unrelated twitter thread that went viral, flip the bird at the local starbucks, and put “won’t you free my palestine” on their instagram stories. they’ll anonymously tell a jew online to commit suicide. they’ll feel secure in the knowledge that they’re the perfect leftist, that this is somehow “good trouble”. all this praxis, and nothing to show for it but massive surges in hate crimes against jews. good job, guys! you singlehandedly saved every innocent person in gaza!

it’s isolating. it’s scary. jews can’t mourn. jews can’t be angry. jews can’t disagree. jews can’t suffer. jews can’t be whole, complex people with diverse beliefs and experiences. suffering is a game, and the goal is to hurt the most, scream the most, die the most, all to appease western leftists whose closest connection to war and violence was reading the hunger games in middle school.

i’m tired of it all. i want a peaceful and just resolution to the war. i want the mindless hatred everywhere to stop. i want to be able to scroll through social media and see nothing but fandom. i want to walk through campus with my magen david showing and all the friends i lost by my side on the way to the hillel seder. i want to open my curtains again. i know the experience of one diaspora jew is nothing compared to what people living in israel and palestine are currently going through, yet i still need this all to end. i don’t think any of us can go on like this, but we must, because we have. for thousands of years, we’ve gone on. that still doesn’t mean it has to be this hard all the time.

all i can think is “now we are slaves. next year may we be free.” now we are slaves to hatred and violence and suffering. next year may we all be free. next year may we all be in jerusalem.

.

[cerealkilleratmidnight]

A few kids were gathered around in one bundle, Billy was curious as to what was going on but he wasn’t curious enough to approach the circle that was forming. Then he saw who it was in the middle of the circle, full attention on this one child. He appeared to have a cast or something. ‘Oh that must be why all of them are so interested, someone broke their arm and everyone is amazed’ Billy sighs as he moves his head from afar, trying to see the boys face to make out who it actually was. Some adult joined the gathering as they tried their best to make the kids leave him alone or something, some left as their attention was occupied with something else that was plain and boring. Now Billy could see the boys face. ‘Huh? It is Stu, when did Stu break his arm? He was fine yesterday?’ Billy looked around , waiting until the boy was alone before approaching him, he made his way over.

Stu knew him and they hang around a bit already before, but still Billy was shy. He stops as he stands in-front of Stu, Stu looking at him with his expecting eyes as he waits for Billy to say or do something. Billy moves his arm, pointing at Stu’s cast on his right forearm. Stu blinks as he looks at his cast and then where Billy is pointing at , before he speaks:

“Ooh… yeah I got a cast yesterday! I broke my arm” he says , voice chipper and unbothered. His smile wide as he moves his arm up to show off the cast to Billy.

“Pretty cool! People been drawing on it all morning and-“

Billy interrupts him as he speaks quietly, it probably wouldn’t have been heard over Stu talking but Stu reacted to it so quickly , immediately shutting up.

“Did it hurt?” Billy speaks with his quiet voice, not looking up at the boy.

Stu’s eyes wander as he musters Billy, before the smile reappears.

“No not really!” He says proudly.

Billy gives out a small huff as he stares at the cast, he hits his fist against it with a bit of force, making Stu squeal.

“Ow..” He mutters as he retracts his arm. Billy chuckles for a split second.

“So it did hurt! “ Billy says with a stronger voice than before , happy that he proved a point.

“Well yes if you hit it, it hurts! Ow…” Stu seems a bit hurt by the fact that Billy would just hit it like that. The two share some awkward silence for a while until Stu speaks again.

“Do you …want to sign it?”

Billy’s eyebrows furrow as he examines the poorly written on names and drawings on his cast. He seems to think about it before he nods. Stu takes out his sharpie as he lends it to Billy, who takes it and starts to scribble something on it. Stu is quiet as he watches Billy draw something on, a scrawly looking face. When he’s done he gives Stu back the pencil without further comment. Stu moves his arm closer so he can see what Billy drew.

“Woah you can draw! It kinda looks like that dude from that Halloween movie” he says as he smiles at Billy , who actually smiles back as he nods.

“Is it from the Movie?” Stu takes his nodding as a cue that’s Stu guessed right, even if it only was by chance (definitely did not look very much like Micheal Myers) since he watched that movie with his sister a few nights ago and had it on his mind ever since.

“Micheal Myers” the boy simply replies. Stu grins.

“I loved that movie !!” Stu exclaims.

That’s how Stu would learn the fact that Billy is obsessed with horror movies , making it his mission to watch them all behind his parents back in an attempt to get to know the quiet boy better.

I see them as being around 10 years old maybe? Had to think about it randomly so why not try and write it down, I always like writing but I never really think I’m good at it nor am I satisfied with it. There are probably so many grammar mistakes and all but still. I wish dyslexia would not exist :)

largely inspired (and the thought originally sparked) by @sharpth1ng fic Butterfly eater (hope it’s okay that I tagged you, don’t want to annoy you 🙇🏼‍♂️)

[itzsana-kiddingmenow]

Day 7: Flustered

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾���‧⁺˖⋆ ☽◯☾⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ ☽◯☾

𝖑𝖊𝖊: Hyunjin

𝖑𝖊𝖗: Felix

𝖙𝖜: feathers

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae @dandyboyseungmo @leeknowstan33 @vale-143 @wereallgonnadieonedaybutnottoday

request by @bigdumbtickler03

i hope you enjoy 😉

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Movie nights were always the coziest. Especially when you’re with the people you love. And the most sensitive person you know. 

Felix rolled his eyes as Hyunjin only continued squirming under him.

Felix’s hands had tried to wrap around the older’s waist, however, the dancer had almost jumped a foot, before wiggling madly. 

“Hyung. Can you please get comfortable? Why are you wiggling so much?” Felix grunted as the older let out a few giggles at the feeling of the other’s hands trying to pull him up. 

“Stop! Felix please juhust let go of meEEK!” Hyune’s sentence was cut off with a squeal as Lixie’s fingers pressed a little harder. 

He really didn’t want the unsuspecting younger to find out how sensitive he was. It was too flustering. 

“Sorry hyung! Did I hurt you?” A concerned Felix pressed. 

“No NO! Really, I’m fine. Just get your hands off meEEEEAAHHH!” Hyunjin squealed loudly when the younger’s fingers teasingly tasered his sides. 

“Wow. You’re really sensitive.” Felix commented teasingly.

The way he phrased his greatest weakness had Hyunjin blushing up a storm. He shot his hands up to cover his face, clearly flustered. 

Felix’s hands suddenly dug into his sides and stomach, and Hyunjin let out a scream that could have deafened someone before descending into loud squawky laughter. 

“NOAHAHA FEHEHELIX! OKAHAY IT TIHIHICKLES J-JUST STAHAHAHAP!” Hyunjin was hysterical. 

“Oh my god. You’re so flustered! Look at your face!” Felix cooed as Hyunjin’s face only reddened further. 

“nohoho” Hyune whimpered as Felix teasingly scribbled lightly on the area beneath his ribs. 

Felix leaned down to kiss the older’s neck teasingly, however the feather stuck in the younger’s hair from one of the pillows, fell into Hyunjin’s neck instead. 

The feathery feeling had the older squealing. 

“Omigosh. Feathers!” Felix yelled as he grabbed the offending feather before swirling it in front of the poor lee. 

“plehease!” Hyunjin pleaded. “Hmm, nah.” Felix retorted before yanking the older’s shirt up and swirling the feather on his stomach. 

Hyunjin screamed, tears welled up and he threw his head back with more throaty laughter. 

“FEHEHEHIX! YAHAHAHA!” Hyunjin scream-laughed as he shook his head side to side, hands clawing over Felix’s.

“You’re so cute~” Felix cooed as Hyunjin’s face sported an adorable scarlet blush. 

When Felix dipped the feather into the older’s belly button, simultaneously grabbing another stray feather and dragging it teasingly along the older’s v-line, Hyunjin screamed as he laughed loudly, tears streaming down his face. 

“NOHOHOHOOOO HAHAHAHA” Was the only thing Hyunjin could get past his throat as his fists pounded into the mattress, obviously given up on stopping the younger. 

Felix let go of the feathers and blew a long raspberry at the same moment, and that was what broke the older, as he was silent in his laughter and his whole body went limp. 

Felix let up before pulling the other’s shirt back down and ruffling his hair.

The credits of the movie were playing, and the only sound to be heard was Hyunjin’s heavy panting. 

“Don’t think i’m not telling the others about this.”

Followed by another flustered shout and tackling, before Hyunjin made sure Felix laughed just as much as he did. 

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i hope you enjoyed this fic! have a spooky october! ✨🎃

[caffeine-n-andreneline]

SnV Qin Shi Huang || Ying Zheng/Fem!Reader

Warnings: First fic lol, historical inaccuracies, typical cannon violence, a kid with trauma and a wannabe therapist, Soulmate AU, slowburn(?), Warring States period-ish, JJK cross over kinda-ish, baby qin needs a hug, internalized misogyny.

Later that day, the diplomat's daughter decided to return to her chambers, and halfway through–encountered her ever so obnoxious older and only sibling. Michizane Satoru, the heir to the Michizane household.

Older by five years, the younger Michizanes' height barely reaches his staggering shoulders. This man child was an exact carbon copy of the patriarch. Although his childishness amplified tenfold.

You see, the girl has taken after her mostly after her mothers demeanor, cold, clinical and blunt–others also see her arrogant. Unlike his father whose appearance alone stood out like a sore thumb, may he be emphatic and literate, but he usually let pacifistic and people pleasing tendencies ahead of him as well.

Satoru was a cesspool, the worst combination of both, in her opinion.

"So, you've got an eye for a boy." The lanky teenager appeared from behind and leaned to her ear, causing her to turn her head from the source of his voice.

She continues to walk, making it seem like he didn't exist. As she does, Satoru begins blabbering words out of his mouth. Quickly catching up to the younger girl.

"Hey now, don't ignore me! I'll tell father you didn't bring me along while you're sneaking around!"

"It's not the fault of mine you slacked off and let me slip away." He was silent for a few seconds, unable to rebut and finally relenting to his defeat.

"I err–jeez fine. I see you've already taken care of that. But still, it's dangerous for you to be alone."

"I can defend myself quite alright, thank you very much." The younger Michizane sarcastically retorted back. While the older one playfully clutched a fist on his chest, in mock hurt.

"Ouch, Then what's the point of me being here then?"

"I question the same thing. How about we ask father once he's done with their meeting."

Soon enough, they stopped with their bickering. Thanks to her memory, unlike her brothers', they've arrived at their designated rooms quicker than expected. She entered hers, and much to her dismay, so did the other. She sighed under her breath, certain there is no escaping the blabbermouth.

She prepared a few stacks of paper along the compact ink powder and brushes she had bought along with her. Placing those to the round table in the middle of the room, the lanky man child plopped to her bed, and shut his eyes.

Now she had all the things she needed to start writing, and so wasted no time. It was a miracle for her that the brother of hers stopped his superficial chatter. Or so she thought.

"Seriously, pipsqueak, you're acting strange today. Don't you dare lie, I know that look on your face." He asked out of nowhere, luring his younger sibling to a prattle. And although wearing a bandage, her eyes twitched in annoyance.

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you're implying."

"Sure sure, whatever." He absentmindedly added.

It didn't take long for him to ask her again.

"What does he look like?" He arose from her bed, and trudged towards the table where she currently scribbled, tossing away the fact that she clearly didn't want to be disturbed yet he still did, anyway.

"Who?" She halted from writing, tilting her head. In Satoru's perspective, he could barely make out one or two characters from what she was writing. He's never been the one who has the passion for linguistics and leaning more towards mastering the arts of jujutsu.

"Don't play coy with me kid." His mouth curved onto a smirk, knowing full well he wouldn't leave her unless he was satisfied with her answers and knew the whole story. She could only sigh.

Poor girl. This was going to be a long day.

She couldn't lie to herself, however. It's no denying she finds him a little curious, and truly she got her eyes on him.

The sun had already fallen when Satoru decided to leave. And I am yet to be done. Usually before going to sleep, I've made the habit of writing about my day, where on each page, I write in a certain dialect, then another language in the next.

The wind was cold, the light from the lantern emanating the room, allowing me to jot down in the dark.

A gentle knock from the door drew my attention.

"May I come in?" I knew this voice quite well. Well at the least this time he was courteous enough to actually knock.

"Yes–you may, father."

He quietly slid the door, my eyes darting away to meet his gaze.

I see him holding a tray of porcelain tea cups, and a pot of what I assume is boiling water.

"What brings you here?" I said, reverting my attention to the papers. I could hear the light clinking of the tableware against the wooden table, as he made himself at home and sat beside me to take a peek at my work.

"Am I not allowed to visit my daughter, hm?" He said, placing his elbows to the table and his head above the back of his hands, tilting it slightly.

I close my eyes in expharation. My social battery drained. I'm not sure if I could deal with another white haired Michizane to a mindless chatter.

"If you're going to ask about–"

"Oh no, no. I'm not going to ask about that." Taking a handful of dried tea leaves, he started to brew a cup of tea. Though I didn't pay much attention to it, after a minute of meditative silence which only consisted of the sound the porcelain makes as it collides with another of the same material.

The calming and sweet aroma of the tea crept to my nose. It smells heavenly, I must admit.

My father slides the hot cup of fresh newly brewed tea beside my paper, although not that close where I could possibly spill it over when tapped.

"So how was your day?"

"Quite alright, I suppose."

"Your brother can be quite a lot to handle, isn't he?" He said, then taking a small sip of the tea.

"So why bring him along? It's starting to look like I'm the one to attend to him instead of him attending to me." I scoffed incredulously, still focused on the task at hand. But still I told no lies, my older brother is a child at heart, and could only be tamed with sugar.

There was a short pause and so I took that chance, to take a sip, the faint taste of something sweet embracing my tongue and filling my throat with warmth.

"Unlike you, he doesn't take his future seriously. I need him to see for himself what may be his standing a decade from now once I have stepped down upon my duties." He answered, swirling his already half empty tea cup, a habit I noticed he had picked up when he and his fellow vassals drank sake to their hearts fill.

"But have you asked him if that is what he wants?"

His eyes slowly land to mine, seemingly to contemplate something.

"No, not yet." He shook his head.

"Then I suppose you should. And once he has told you he holds no interest in such, I think it would be best for you and mother should start planning for another hei–" I suggested, but is interrupted with his coughs, eventually turning into a fit of giggles.

"Alright, alright, I hear you sunshine." Laughter gradually fading, he drank the last drop of the tea.

"It matters not to me if the Michizane is led by a woman." He added.

"Are you implying for me to take the seat?"

"Why not? What a functional community needs is someone who is capable, smart, responsible and assertive. You clearly display those traits."

"But I am a woman."

"And?" His eyes rose, expecting me an answer…an answer that I can't give justification to, for some reason. It took me for a while to come up with a decent refutation.

".....It will look strange upon their eyes. A woman has never led within their household, let alone an entire community. That's nothing more than a pipe dream." It is true, no man would listen to a woman, never they will respect one's authority merely because we are nothing but child bearers to their perspective. It makes me truly wonder how my father came to exist.

He who views his lover his equal. I am fortunate to have him as a father, but I hate him for fueling a fruitless dream would only leave me in vain.

"Then how about we make it into reality?" I scoff. Where does he come up to even think of such things?

"That's absurd. Are you sure you have not drank half seas over?" I leaned to his arm, sniffing the fabric of his garb.

Concern is what was written on his face, as he did the same, but with the vacant sleeves of his other hand.

"Do I smell like it?"

He didn't smell anything, much to my not-so-disappointment. Because it could only mean he genuinely means what he had proclaimed.

"No."

"Then there's your answer."

It makes me feel at ease for my father to acknowledge my abilities alone, but for him to entrust the future of the Michizane upon my hands?

Never had I thought of such.

"If your brother refuses, then I'll make you Yamato's first female daimyo." He added, patting my head, before deciding to garner up the mess on the table as both of us were done drinking the warm beverage.

".....If that's what suits you." I said, before he proceeded to stand up and leave my room.

"I reckon we should retire. It's been a long day for all of us." Nodding, he excused himself, but before he could,

"If–if you do not mind, father, could you sleep by my side?" I blurt in the heat of the moment. Fear coursed through my veins. The fear of sleeping alone in a room I am not familiar with overpowering my reasoning.

"You didn't have to ask, kid. I'll return this for a minute and while I do, you should tidy up, alright?" Offering me a genuine smile, I let my tensed shoulders relax.

"Yes." Without question, I did what he had told me to do.

I lay on one side of the bed, my eyes focused on the ceilings. It all consists of gray. The amount of gray, or red with my colourblind lens, I've sighted today may rival the gray I have seen throughout my entire life. I guess this is their signature colour. It's not overwhelming per se, but over time I feel like I'm starting to get tired of it all.

Father announced his return with the cautious and agonizingly slow sliding of the door. Traveling to the empty vacant side of the bed, he laid down to the side, turning his body to face me. I copied him, mirroring my ocean eyes in his.

"Goodnight." I whispered, and shut my eyes to slumber.

"Sweet dreams, moonlight." Everything was starting to go faint, but I still did hear it, my consciousness slowly drifting onto black. The gentle repetitive taps on my shoulders akin to something nostalgic, the calm beating of something as I curled, snuggling to the warmth. Allowing the realm of dreams tonight to engulf me into slumber.

That very same evening, a boy with a pair of eyes dyed in blood red cries himself alone to sleep. Missing the embrace of she who made his life less bleak.

Notes: Ok, I was supposed to be updating every 10 days, midterms just rlly fcked me up lol.

Anyways, this was supposed to be just some fluffy chapter but when I was nearby just the end of it, Somebody to Stay in my shuffle started playing and like gave me so much baby qin feels so I said f*ck it why not. My duality be showing lol. I'm so sorry.

And originally, I planned on having Yuuta Okkotsu to be the one who's supposed to be with Y/n, but I thought their interactions sounded too bland. So I switched it up with Satoru and so sassy sibling slander ensues.

I also love me some supportive dilf. Plays daddy issues*

[moni-logues]

A Fine Line 7

Pairing: Namjoon x f!reader

Genre: roommates/enemies-to-lovers, non-idol!au, smut, angst

Word count: 8.5k

Summary: It’s time to rebuild your life. You’ve got a new job, a new apartment, and a future that might be bright. The only problem? Your new roommate.

Content: unprotected sex, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms

Beta’d by @here2bbtstrash 🥰

Chapter Six | Masterlist | Chapter Eight

7 - Lacunae 

You woke the next morning, grateful for the weekend reprieve. You lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Your body ached, the emptiness Namjoon left in you lingering. You couldn’t shake him from your head. You wondered what he was doing, what he was thinking. Was he thinking of you? You knew you had no right to even ask that question but it came to you again and again.  

You thought of your life, emptiness stretching out before you. Your life as a blank page, blank with everything scrubbed out. Erased. The barest traces left of marks that were once there, faint and undiscernible. You wanted to take a pen and scribble all over it, mark the page and make it yours, make it you. But how? You had nothing left. No pen, no ink.  

‘Only Namjoon,’ you thought to yourself. ‘Except I don’t have him. I live with him. I fucked him. And that’s it.’  

You realised you had let him consume you, or rather, you had done everything you could to be consumed by him. You had made your whole life about wanting to fuck and not actually fucking this man and now you had fucked him. There was nothing left. You were barren. You felt the world expand around you, separating you from everything – everyone – else. You felt yourself pale and weak in comparison to the world, a ghost, a mere reflection of life, not the real thing. You couldn’t wonder to yourself what had gone wrong, how you had ended up here because you knew the answer already. You had thought you were past it. You thought everything was moving up, moving on, but here you were, arrested, stuck. You felt literally stuck on your bed as if it were sucking you in, sucking the life out of you. You had thought you were finally building something for yourself, maybe you had been, but now you had knocked it all down like a castle in the sand.  

Thinking about last night brought you out in a cold sweat. Feelings whirled in you so fast and so confused that you couldn’t grab hold of any of them, couldn’t find the root, the wellspring buried so deep inside you that you might never reach it. You were overwhelmed: guilty, embarrassed, ashamed, bereft, lost, lonely, heartbroken, sad sad sad. You pushed everything down further, harder, trying to bury more and more feelings inside that inaccessible cavern within you, shoving a metaphorical fist down the throat of your heart. It was too much, too deep, and you couldn’t swim.  

Sweating and sticky and sore, you heaved yourself out of bed, groaning. Everything hurt. You had known that it would but the reality of it was something else. Your body wasn’t about to let you forget everything just yet.  

You made your way slowly to the bathroom and turned the hot tap on full blast. You brushed your teeth and your hair while you waited for the tub to fill. You stared at your face in the mirror, wondering who was looking back at you. Everything about your life had changed in the last year; had you? You felt like you couldn’t possibly be the same person you were – too much was different now, you had left that person behind, hadn’t you? – but that left a question mark in the place of who you were now. You thought things would fall into place, just work out in the way they seem to for so many people, but they hadn’t. Maybe that wasn’t possible; maybe that never happened and everyone just hid their hard work. You’d worked hard, hadn’t you? Leaving was hard, starting again was hard, stepping back to square one in every aspect of your life was hard. Were you hard? You twisted an invisible ring on your finger and turned away from your pale reflection.  

You grimaced as you dipped a foot in the bath water. It was hot, burning hot. You took the plunge, the surface of your skin sizzling all over. You were glad of the distraction it provided, even as sweat pricked in your scalp. You closed your eyes and waited for the burning to subside before slipping down, sinking beneath the water entirely. You held your breath as long as you could stand and emerged with a gasp. 

*

The bath water was cold now, your skin wrinkled and dry. You turned your hands over, looking at your body as if for the first time. It was different now, too. You gripped a thigh in your hand, looking at the way your fingers made deep dips in the flesh, sinking into the new cushioning there. You stroked a hand across your stomach, softer, more abundant now than it had been. You had fewer sharp edges; everything a little rounder, smoother; soft curves where there had been straight lines. You hadn’t noticed it happening really, even as you evaluated yourself in the mirror, checking yourself as an object for sexualisation; this was a different way of looking at your body. Your body, not a body intended for him, some man, someone else. This body was yours; this body was you, too. A shiver ran through you as you thought that maybe this body reflected indulgence, carelessness – recklessness even – after years of having to be so careful. Then you let that thought float away; this softness wasn’t recklessness. It was freedom. A living testament to everything you could do, everything you could have now. This was a body as a body should be: nourished, fed, sated. Wet, cold, aching.  

You sighed and tipped your head back, leaning over the edge of the bath. So much freedom, you thought to yourself, and what had you done with it? So much freedom and yet you’d somehow managed to trap yourself again. When given a blank slate, you hadn’t scribbled all over it like you’d wanted to, you’d chipped away at it until it was a mere fragment, throwing away what might have turned into the best parts of your life until you were left with almost nothing. Because it was too much and you were a coward who couldn’t do anything on her own. The realisation hit you like a ten-tonne truck; had you ever done anything by yourself? No. Was that why you were pushing everyone away? To force yourself to do something on your own?  

You disappeared under the water again. You couldn’t get away from Namjoon. You were on your own (except you lived with Namjoon); you had no one (except Namjoon); nothing was left (except Namjoon). There he was. Like some kind of beacon, ever since you had moved in here and met him, he had lit you up. He exposed parts of you that you hadn’t known were there; he had drawn out things in you that you weren’t sure were good, but they were things you liked. He made you feel different; he didn’t know anything about you except what you had given to him. You liked that distance between you. He was close enough and not too close.  

You remembered his body against yours with a shudder and then jumped when a knock sounded at the door. 

“y/n?” 

“What?” you replied, your voice croaking, the first word you’d spoken all day. 

“Are you ever coming out of there? It’s been ages.” 

You sank beneath the water with a sigh, a jet of bubbles breaking the surface above your face. 

“Y/n?” 

Another knock, harder this time. 

“I’m coming!” you called back, sitting up quickly, sending tidal waves of water sloshing over the sides and onto the floor. You pulled the plug and stood, wrapping yourself in a towel, not bothering to dry off. You opened the door and walked past Namjoon, not looking at him, certainly not thinking about his body underneath his clothes, the way his lips felt against your skin, the hollow ache in your core as you remembered him inside you. 

You lay down on your bed, still wearing the towel. You shivered but you weren’t sure it was due to being cold. You could still feel the heat of Namjoon against you, caged in by his arms. You wondered if it was too much to expect it to happen again. Would he want that? Could you handle that? You almost laughed to yourself, remembering the size of him; how did anyone manage that? You didn’t bother admonishing yourself for what had happened; for all your insistence that you weren’t going to fuck him, it felt inevitable. You realised that you had been hurtling towards it since you first laid eyes on him. And now that you’d alienated everyone else in your life, what did it matter what you did with him? You had no one to answer to but yourself. And you didn’t care. You were going to grab on hard, you decided, and not let go. Let Namjoon pour whatever colour he wanted into your life; there was nowhere to go but up, right? 

Your thoughts were disturbed by a soft knock at the door which you ignored. Namjoon opened the door anyway. He hesitated in the doorway and you continued to ignore him, couldn’t bear to look at him, to cast your eyes over his clothed body now knowing what lay underneath. You shivered.  

“I… I thought you might want to talk,” he said, taking a tentative step or two into your room. 

“About what?” Panic set your heart racing; you knew exactly about what and could already feel yourself curling inwards, cringing, sucking yourself back in like a snail into its shell. You did not want to talk about it. 

“Last night?” 

“Why would I want to talk about that?”  

He didn’t answer immediately, awkwardly shifting from one leg to the other, umming and ahing.  

“Why would I want to talk to you about anything?”  

Just get rid of him, you thought to yourself; talking with him was not something you were interested in, had the capacity for. If you weren’t going to talk to your actual friends, why would you talk to him? 

He huffed. 

“You don’t have to be a heinous fucking bitch all the time, y’know. I was just trying to be nice.” 

You sat up, finally turning to him. 

“I never asked you to be nice.” 

“You never asked me anything! You just moved in here and decided to hate me and make it my problem! I don’t know what is wrong with you!” 

You hadn’t expected his explosion, hadn’t expected that you were still getting under his skin. You were surprised but delighted. Talk? Absolutely not. Argue? You’d take it. 

“You. You, Namjoon, you are what‘s wrong with me. You are my fucking problem. Jesus Christ you’re annoying. Is this the talk you wanted to have? Come in here just to call me a bitch and tell me there’s something wrong with me?” 

“No! That’s not what I came in for; you just have to make everything an argument!” 

“Oh, just fuck off.” 

“Stop telling me to fuck off! It’s my fucking apartment! I’m not fucking off!” 

“Fuck you, Namjoon-” 

“You’ve done that already.” His voice was cold and flat. His dark eyes sent a shudder right through you and you shivered, hot and then cold.  

“Oh, that’s it then, is it? One and done? Well, thanks very much. You really know how to make a girl feel special.” 

He raised his eyebrows at you, his mouth agape, shocked indignation puffing up his chest. His eyes scanned the room, searching for something that might get through to you but coming up short. He shook his head and huffed again, his face darkening.  

“What the fuck do you want from me?” he growled, jaw set.  

“I want you to fuck off.” 

“I’ve already told you to stop telling me to do that. I’m not fucking going anywhere.” 

“Then fuck me.” 

You rose from the bed and let your towel drop, standing naked in front of Namjoon, body flushed and aching. His eyes travelled the length of your body and back up as he said nothing.  

“Fuck me or fuck off. Those are your choices.” You moved closer to him, grabbing a fistful of his T-shirt. He swallowed, staring you down but still not answering. “What’s it going to be, Namjoon? Fucking off or fucking me?” You slipped a hand between your bodies, grasping his dick through the fabric of his trousers.  

He shifted his weight backwards and took a step and your stomach flipped with disappointment that he was going to leave. And then he threw you like a ragdoll onto the bed, so hard you bounced into the headboard. 

“Fuck,” you gasped, recovering yourself as he peeled off his top and pushed down his trousers, crawling over to you. He picked you up and shoved you against the headboard again, as visions of last night poured in. Your body was on fire, waiting for him to touch you – anywhere, anywhere would do as long as he touched you. He gripped your arms tightly, hands easily circling around them, and brought his face close to yours. 

“You really think you can handle it?” he asked, his voice deep, low, gruff.  

No. You didn’t think you could. You were sore and tired and aching. But the alternative was this hollow feeling in your chest that hurt even more, penetrated deeper, and chilled you to the bone.  

“Yes. Just fucking give it to me already.” 

He removed one hand from your arm and swiped at your lips, swirling his fingers in your entrance. He laughed, almost sighing into it. 

“Fuck, you are so wet. How are you so fucking easy?” 

You bristled at his words but couldn’t deny the truth of them. You were wet – you were soaked – and you were easy for him. Had been since day one, since minute one, since the second you laid eyes on him.  

“Shut the fuck up,” you whispered, lust and shame and desire swallowing your voice. You swallowed hard and took a deep breath, determined he wouldn’t unravel you this time. Not again. You cleared your throat. “I told you I didn’t want to talk. Are you going to fuck me or not?” 

He merely rolled his eyes and pressed the head of his enormous dick at your entrance. He moved slowly, torturously slowly, into you and you had to grasp at his arms, digging your nails in, every part of you tensing and trying to relax. You looked skyward, blinking hard at the tears pricking in your eyes. The pressure in your core travelled down your legs and they wobbled. Your breathing hitched and you tried to focus on that, just breathing in and out as he split you in half for the second time in less than 24 hours. The blunt pain of the unreasonable stretch between your legs made you whimper. Every part of you was on fire and it was half agony, half ecstasy. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whispered over and over, just waiting for him to finally be all the way in. But he stopped and put his hands on your waist, lightly trailing one up and down your side. He put his lips on you and you shuddered, goosebumps flowering all over your skin. He trailed kisses down your neck and sucked at his final stop, his tongue lightly grazing the skin and you felt yourself melt, a soft warmth flooding you. He moved his body closer to yours, your chests just meeting, and cupped your breast in his hand, rubbing a thumb over your nipple, hard and pert. He moved his lips down, across your shoulder, and brought your hand to his mouth. He kissed your fingertips and you keened, liquid desire pooling in your core again. He placed your hand on his shoulder and you held tight as he moved, curling his hips into you, pushing further. Not quite so painful this time, moving more easily, and Namjoon held you, his hands firm on your body, his breath warm against your flushed skin, your faces cheek-to-cheek, his hair tickling your nose. You tipped your head back and fell into it, let yourself fall open at the slit, at the carved wound he was ploughing through you. You moaned his name and he grunted in response, his hands squeezing your sides.  

He stopped again when he had bottomed out, pulling away slightly to push his forehead against yours. You instantly wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and hugged him closer to you. You didn’t want to look at him. You didn’t want him to look at you. You just wanted to feel the overwhelming pressure of him so far inside you, you could feel it in your throat. You tipped your hips to try to encourage him to move and he did, pulling back and thrusting forward again and again until your eyes rolled back and mouth hung slack. You shuddered against him as he hooked an arm under your knee, lifting your leg, allowing him deeper – you didn’t know you had deeper. You whimpered and whined as he took his other hand between you, slowly drawing circles with them against your clit. The pain and pressure of it all had made you so sensitive that you were close to climax within seconds.  

You swore quietly, legs shaking, your body quaking underneath Namjoon as you came, clenching so hard around him that he couldn’t help the long, loud groan that accompanied your orgasm. He held you close as you dropped your head on his shoulder, gasping for breath. He moved faster then, harder, the slick noise of your moving bodies the only sound punctuating the breathy quiet. You almost felt as if you were drowning again, slipping under the surface, dazed and confused, but the feeling of him inside you, filling you up, the weight of his body against yours, the absolute safety of knowing that this was all it was, just sex, not even friends, kept your head above water. As long as you had this, you thought to yourself, just give me this. The total, overwhelming sensation of Namjoon inside you, against you, on top of you. As if he brought you to life, your last, remaining tether to this world.  

He was slower to come after you this time and you were able to gather yourself, unlike before. You bit down on his earlobe and sucked; you tangled a fist in his hair and tugged lightly; you whispered in his ear how good he felt, how big he was, how well he stretched you out and finally, he moaned, swore, and came inside you again. 

As before, he held you, just for a moment, both getting your breath back, not talking, not even looking at one another. As before, the minute he slipped out of you, you felt empty again, the overwhelming ache radiating from your chest now and not between your legs. Unlike before, this time, you wanted him to stay. 

“I guess you’re going to tell me it’s time to fuck off now, then,” he said quietly, putting a foot back on the ground and pulling on his trousers. You didn’t want to let him know that you weren’t, that you didn’t want that; god, no, he couldn’t know. You hated him, you reminded yourself.  

‘Don’t get it twisted; this is just sex. Nothing has changed,’ you told yourself. ‘He’s still the same guy you’ve hated all this time. You’re just using him for sex. We’re using each other for sex. It’s fine.’ 

“Well,” you replied, “I wouldn’t have to say it if you just did it.” 

Namjoon rolled his eyes and stooped to pick up his T-shirt, not bothering to put it back on as he walked away and out of your bedroom. You pressed your face into a pillow and screamed silently. You hadn’t planned for this. You hadn’t planned for any of this. You wanted to speak to Hoseok. You wanted to know what he had said to Namjoon two days ago; you wanted to know what Namjoon had said to him; you wanted to tell him that you had now fucked Namjoon, so wouldn’t that make everything right between you? … He had said you could call him when everything was straightened out; even you couldn’t kid yourself that any of this was straight. He would know what to do; you knew he would know what to do but you knew you couldn’t call him. Instead, you just opened up your messages and stared at them, willing him to forgive you, willing him to message you first. Of course, he didn’t.  

Still sticky between the legs, heart still thudding against your ribcage, you felt you had to get out. You had to get away, even for five minutes. You roughly scrubbed yourself clean, put on whatever clothes were closest to hand and left the apartment, the evening air beckoning. 

You walked aimlessly at first, wondering where you could go or what you could do and then you headed for the river; you had no real destination but it somehow felt less aimless with the water by your side. The sun was already dying in the sky but it was still warm, a balmy summer’s evening, the humidity sticking your top to your back within minutes and the hair at the nape of your neck curling and sticking with sweat. You kept on. You tried to ignore the groups of friends and, worse, the couples also spending time at the river. You cursed yourself for having made the decision to come here of all places. Of course, the river would be busy! The river is fun! The river is romantic! You didn’t have the stomach for fun or romance. You were chock full of loathing, almost indiscriminately. You weren’t angry; you didn’t have the energy for angry. You were just sickened by everything.  

Why was life still so hard? You had done hard; you had escaped from hard. Real life, proper life, wasn’t supposed to be hard. Was it? The past was still buzzing around you like stubborn flies long after the picnic had finished. You were so tired of thinking about it. You were so tired of thinking, full stop. That’s what Namjoon was supposed to have been: a fun diversion, something you didn’t have to really think about, to take seriously. He was there to be teased, a plaything, nothing more. It was supposed to be a solution to your problem; this was all intended to make hating him a little less frustrating and a lot more fun. Now it had created more problems; he had wormed his way into your bed, into your body, and into your mind.  

You walked until the sun set and then turned on your heel and walked back. You were thirsty and tired and sore, in every way that a person can be. You crawled into your bed, naively hoping that things would look different tomorrow.  

They didn’t. You spent the day in bed, hiding from everything, scrolling on your phone until your eyes went square then scrolling some more until the screen blurred in front of you. Even though you could see clearly the path that had led you to this moment, it still somehow did not add up. You still couldn’t work out why things were this way. You couldn’t escape from life. There was no distance far enough that would take you from yourself. The bruised ache between your legs reminded you that there was one thing that got your out of your mind. Just one. It made you sick to think of: how badly you wanted him, how constantly, how long he had been eating away at you. Looking into the mirror as you applied your night cream ahead of Monday morning, you realised you could make a decision. Yesterday was the last time. It didn’t need to happen again. Just because it happened once (… twice, sort of three times) didn’t mean it had to happen again. You could draw a line under it and move on. Every new day was an opportunity for a fresh start. You could make one.  

Monday rolled around and you were still determined to have that fresh start. Forget about Namjoon, forget about everyone else, everything else, and move forward. Go to work and do your job well. Come home and pretend not to notice the atmosphere in the apartment, sitting like a heavy fog. Namjoon was on the sofa, reading; you ignored him and changed out of your work clothes in your bedroom before moving to the kitchen to cook. The silence was stifling. Every clink of knife on plates, every sizzle of food in the pan, even your footsteps felt loud. You didn’t dare look at Namjoon to see if he was looking at you. You felt some of your old anger come back and you were relieved; this was how it was supposed to be: hatred only; you were supposed to hate him and he was supposed to make you angry and that was that.  

If he would just say something or do something to break the silence, the tension hanging over you! But you didn’t know what you wanted that to be. You didn’t want to want him anymore but that didn’t mean you didn’t want him to want you – you had to smack a hand to your forehead and process that thought three times to make it make sense. You had half-believed things could just go back to exactly how they were before but, of course, that couldn’t happen; you can’t take sex back. Not ever. And now you had to push on into something new. What that would be, you didn’t know, but you were resolved that it would no longer include sex. You pushed back every memory you had of every feeling of him inside you, against you, his arms around you, his breath warm on your skin, his hair so surprisingly soft… You shoved them down as hard as you could but they kept springing back, resurfacing. Every time you looked at him, or thought about him, you felt it all in screaming technicolour.  

You plated up and were going to retreat to your bedroom (you had to get away from him) when you decided against it, sitting at the dining table. Yes, you had to get away. Yes, your whole body was crying out, but you were making a fresh start. A fresh start that didn’t include sex, you reminded yourself. You had to be able to exist in the same room as him. You kicked out the chair opposite you. 

“There’s food,” you said.  

“What?” 

“There’s food.”  

He just looked at you and you were still frustrated that Namjoon’s face was always so unreadable; you never knew what he was thinking even though it felt like he always saw straight through you.  

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to eat your food.” 

“As if that ever stopped you. Do what you want; I’m just saying it’s there.” 

A minute passed and you carried on eating, but then he finally got up from the sofa and investigated what was left in the pan. He made himself a plate and sat down heavily opposite you. 

“It’s good,” he said, his mouth full. 

“Thanks.” 

And that was it. You ate in silence and dropped your plate in the sink, turning on the tap to start the washing up. When Namjoon finished, he brought his plate over and you were just about to curse him violently in your head when he shoved you lightly out of the way.  

“I’ll finish,” he said quietly, moving you out of the way with his body and taking the sponge from your hands. You stared at him, nonplussed, and, at a loss for something else to do, wandered into your bedroom where you decided to take a shower.  

*

You were lying in your bed, thinking of – what else? – Namjoon. You had spent all weekend in a tizz about it. Everything was confusing and you couldn’t shake your head clear. A fresh start was a nice idea but if you were going to stick to it, you needed to get him out. You thought of everything collapsing around you, not for the first time, and you decided to try some meditation. You’d never done it before, though like everyone else, had heard so many things about the wonders of mindfulness and all the rest. Maybe that’s what you needed.  

You sat, cross-legged on your bed, and closed your eyes, trying to focus. You didn’t really know what you were doing but figured it was basically something you could make up as you went along, so you started with your fingertips, focusing on them for a while, what they were feeling, where they were, travelling up your hands, wrists, arms, your shoulders and your neck. With a shiver, you remembered Namjoon’s lips there and had to force him from your mind to start over. You skipped your breasts entirely, pretending that you hadn’t remembered his hands over them, his mouth on them, the way they pressed against his body when you arched your back. You focused on your toes (curled), your legs (shaking), and you couldn’t ignore the wetness in your knickers, the ache in your core, the throbbing of your clit.  

With a frustrated sigh, you physically shook your body out, sat down again, and tried something else. You focused on five things you could see: the chest of drawers, the city skyline out of the window, your dirty clothes escaping from your hamper, yourself in the mirror in the corner of the room, the unmade bed. Four things you could hear: a siren wailing past, your own deep breathing, the quiet thump of music from Namjoon’s bedroom, the blood roaring in your ears. Three things you could feel (not in your body, not in your body): not the flush being drawn to your skin as your heart pounded, not the moisture between your legs where your walls clenched around nothing, not the goosebumps spreading all over your skin. You gulped, your mouth suddenly dry. It was no good. He wasn’t out of your system. You couldn’t push him down far enough to forget about him.  

You didn’t know what to do. How do you negotiate a fresh start when you don’t want a fresh start? How do you tell someone you hate that the only time you don’t feel empty, sick, and hollow is when he’s inside you? How could you expect him to be ok with that?  

But then. Wasn’t he ok with it? Fine, he might have thought you were a bitch but it wasn’t like he had said no. He had wanted it, too. You realised, with a shock, that you had been so focused on yourself this entire time that you had no idea what was going on in his life; you didn’t know what his life was; you weren’t even sure what his job was. Maybe he was stressed; maybe he needed a release or an escape. This didn’t have to be all about you. This could be mutually beneficial. The thought perked you up somewhat. There didn’t have to be any guilt if you were both behaving the same way.  

You stood and walked to Namjoon’s closed bedroom door. You didn’t know what you were going to do once it opened or if he rejected you, but you had to do something – you were desperate for him. You opened his door, knocking on it lightly. He was on his bed, reading a book. He looked up at you as you entered and said nothing. You said nothing. The seconds passed. You opened your mouths to speak at the exact same moment. 

“What?” 

“Do you want to have sex?” 

“What?”  

You thought the level of surprise in Namjoon’s voice unreasonable – as if you hadn’t done it already, as if it were news to him that you wanted to fuck each other. 

“I said, do you want to have sex?”  

He looked at you, blinking, mouth gaping for a second or two before he shook his head and shut his book.  

“It’s not compulsory or anything,” you continued, pouting a little, anxiety spiking that he really was saying no this time. Namjoon still did not respond. “Well, you know where I am…” 

Unwilling to actually bear witness to your own rejection, you walked away, back to your own bedroom, thoroughly deflated. Absolutely no vibrator could do what Namjoon could do to you and you knew it. You sighed as you flicked the door shut behind you, knowing you were about to be very underwhelmed. But the door didn’t click shut. It thudded against Namjoon’s open palm as he stood in the doorway. You turned to look at him, unsure. 

“Take your clothes off,” he told you, quietly, shutting the door behind him and stripping himself off his T-shirt. You didn’t hesitate, immediately slipping your shorts down your legs and stepping out of them. As you pulled the hem of your top upwards, you realised he had stopped stripping and was just watching you. You paused and he barely lifted his chin, encouraging you to continue. You took your T-shirt off over your head and paused again while he waited for you to remove your underwear. His gaze like a heat gun, everywhere he looked, you felt hot; burning, flames were licking up your cheeks and heat prickled on your neck.  

Naked in front of him, you stood, waiting for him to move. He did so slowly, walking towards you, his eyes roving your bare body, his bottom lip caught in his teeth. You could see the imprint of his erection against his trousers and you knew he wouldn’t be wearing underwear beneath – you briefly wondered if he ever did. Then he placed a hand at the back of your neck and you swallowed hard, staring at him with wide, open eyes. He let his hands roam, his touch gentle and soft as you hardened beneath him. He pulled your body close to his and you whimpered as he slid his arms under your buttocks and lifted you into the air. He didn’t throw you this time; he lay you on the bed and left a line of kisses from your ear to your knee.  

You hadn’t expected this to be soft. You had expected it to be hard, to be rough, to obliterate your own consciousness. This was something else. This brought you into your body gently, softly, with a melting kind of comfort that made your limbs tingle and your heart race.  

“Oh god,” you sighed as Namjoon swirled a nipple with his tongue, sealing his lips around it. You gasped as he bit down and your cunt throbbed. Keeping your nipple in his mouth, he ran his fingers through your soaked folds, moaning at just how wet you were for him. With a trail of sloppy kisses, he swapped one nipple for the other and drew light circles over your clit with his fingers. You whimpered and whined beneath him, desperate for more, harder, faster. Your hips bucked, lifting up to try to press yourself against his hand but he lifted off every time you tried.  

“Namjoon, please.” The word was out of your mouth before you realised what was happening. You had told him you wouldn’t beg; you had sworn to yourself you wouldn’t, but there you were, your last resolution shattered. Your breath hitched and you panicked, knowing that he would know he had won. Maybe he would get up and abandon you, leave you like this as he did before. You couldn’t do that again. If he didn’t touch you and touch you now, you thought you would die.  

But he didn’t leave. He pressed two fingers into your cunt and you moaned. His thumb pressed down on your aching, sensitive clit and you swore, your voice high and broken. The pleasure was wound tightly in your core and you could feel him everywhere: your limbs tingling, your heart racing, sweat dousing you from every pore: all straining to that one, small spot. Your whole world had reduced to this bed, this man, these hands on you. He rocked his fingers inside you, letting that movement alone move his thumb. 

“More,” you whispered. “More, please.” 

You felt his mouth lift in a smirk against your neck and almost took it back, almost had a barbed retort on the tip of your tongue but then he pushed a third finger in and it was swallowed in a low groan. He kissed your throat and then sat back on his knees, looking down at you. His gaze was heady and your mind was frozen; you couldn’t look away, even as he lowered his gaze and licked his lips at the site of your tight, wet pussy swallowing his fingers. He moved them harder, faster, pressing against your g-spot insistently and your back arched high off the bed. He moved his thumb, then too, hard, insistent circles that had you squirming.  

“Fuck, Namjoon, fuck.” You could hear the whimper that accompanied every exhale and the small scream that escaped when he took his free hand and pushed on your lower abdomen. “Oh god, oh god, o-” You came suddenly, your orgasm stealing your breath from you as every muscle in your body tightened and ecstasy shuddered over you, rolling through you again and again until even your muscles were screaming. You gasped hard as you squirted, drenching his hand and your bedsheets, the suck and squelch of his fingers still moving inside you so filthy you blushed deep and hot. Finally, Namjoon let you go and you brought your hands to your face, almost as if to check that the rest of your body was still there. You drew in a breath, a huge, ragged gasp and looked at him, his face swimming in front of you, slowly settling into focus just in time for you to see him put one finger in his mouth, sucking lasciviously. You tried to speak, form any words; your mouth hung slack and your mind was stuck, buffering, processing nothing but the sight of him licking you off his finger. You had never done that before; no one had ever done that to you before. 

He hooked a hand behind you and pulled you up to a seated position; he had to keep his arm there to keep you up, your body so pliant and floppy and unrecovered. He repositioned himself so your head fell back into his hand and he brought his fingers to your open mouth. You took them eagerly, gratefully, running your tongue along them, sucking, cleaning the rest of your juices from his hand. His eyes never left yours, his deep, dark, penetrating gaze drawing you in until he removed his fingers from your mouth with a pop and moved backwards. You whined as he left you and huffed as you dropped onto your hands, Namjoon no longer supporting you.  

He stood back and you could see the dark bloom of pre-cum on the light grey fabric of his trousers, his wanton erection straining at the fabric. He slipped off his trousers and it sprang free, turgid, tumescent, irresistible. You crawled forwards and grabbed onto his hips, looking up at him for permission. He looked down at you and smirked, but there was something almost kind about it, almost a smile, almost welcoming, not jeering. Settling onto your knees, you took him in your hand, mouth watering in anticipation. You almost didn’t know where to start. You had orgasmed your brain out of your ears and there was nothing but desire left, nothing but the heavy, needy drag, low in your abdomen, and the man standing in front of you, his perfect, princely prick in your hand. You wanted it all so badly, so much, everywhere all at once, briefly and hysterically lamenting to yourself that he didn’t have two of them, or even three.  

You brought your mouth to his tip and licked him clean, the tang of salt hitting your tongue. You worked on the underside, flicking, rubbing, then kissing and sucking at that sensitive spot. You trailed your kisses down to his base and further still, taking one of his balls into your mouth as your hand gripped his shaft. You sucked and licked and moved to the other and then back to his length, tongue tracing the pulsing vein from base to tip. Namjoon was so quiet and you had to hear him, you needed to hear him lose himself in you. You worked harder. You took him into your mouth to the back of your throat and further, letting your breath be sacrifice to his pleasure. You held him there momentarily, hands massaging his balls, tears pricking in your eyes, rolling over, streaming down your face. You moved upwards and swallowed as he reached your mouth. A soft grunt, that was all. You took him back in your hand and lifted your mouth off completely, swiping at the dripping drool with the other hand before kneeling. You grabbed his arm and pulled him around, swapping your positions: you, kneeling on the floor now, him, sitting on the edge of the bed.  

Settled between his legs, knees on the hard floor, you resumed your ministrations. You kissed the crease of his leg and his hip as your hand pumped. You kissed the soft skin of his inner thigh and then bit down, taking a tiny strip of flesh between your teeth. He hissed. You sucked, licked it better. You looked up at him through your lashes and his eyes were half-lidded, his bottom lip between his teeth. You kept looking at him as you took him once more into your mouth, bobbing up and down with hollowed cheeks, your hand making up the distance. You settled at his head, kissing, sucking, flicking across the top and back, swirling your tongue against the underside. You came off with a pop, his dick slick with saliva and precum; you swooped your drool from him onto your finger and pressed your finger in the sweet spot behind his balls, rubbing his soft skin as you kissed him from tip to base and back again. Another soft grunt, but louder this time. You pressed harder with your finger, sucked harder, and there it was again, almost a groan.  

You trailed your tongue down his length and lifted his balls with your hand, swapping your fingers and your tongue as you licked at his perineum, as your hand gently squeezed. A real groan this time. You looked up at him again and his eyes had fluttered closed, his jaw jutting out. He leant back on his hands, his fingers fisting the bedsheets. You hummed as you swapped your hand and mouth another time, humming as you kissed the very tip of his tip and moaning freely as you took him into your throat again. You swallowed, squeezing him tight, your tongue pressing against him, your fingers rolling his balls between them, playing against the skin behind them. You moved up and took a breath through your nose, then moved down, repeating the motion, your soft moaning travelling through him until it came out of his mouth, too. The tears in your eyes blurred your vision and you couldn’t see his expression, could barely see his glazed eyes looking down at you, the strain in his arms as he tried not to grab hold of you, the jumping, flexing in his thighs as he was desperate to rut, to thrust, to fuck your throat hard until he came, shooting his seed straight into your stomach.  

Your jaw ached, your throat grew sore, but Namjoon grew louder beneath you.  

“Fuck, fuck,” he growled, his breath heavy, his voice rasping and low. “Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.” Through clenched teeth, he moaned and grunted, his cock leaping in your mouth, his legs twitching either side of you. You watched him tip his head back and offer a long, drawn-out curse, rounded off with your name. That thrilled you. Your walls clenched at the sound and you were reminded of how badly you needed him to fuck you. This could not end here. You pulled back, your whole face wet with tears and spit and sweat. He gasped, his mouth open, a command on the tip of his tongue, but then he looked down at you, your ruined face, your fucked-out eyes, and he was gripped with the intense, burning desire to look into them as he came inside you. Before you could bring a hand to your face, Namjoon’s were on you, one roughly wiping away your tears, the other swiping at your mouth.  

As you rose from the floor, you stumbled, your legs dizzy beneath you, both from kneeling and from your desperation. Namjoon caught you, lifted you, placed you on the bed and shifted himself backwards. He drew you onto his lap and you rolled your hips, coating his wet cock in all your juices.  

“Fuck,” he whispered, his hands tight on your arms, his head tipped back and eyes closed. He took a deep breath and brought his head down, looking at you though you almost weren’t sure he was seeing you anymore, his pupils blown, eyes black and dangerous. Your hand wandered down between you and you hitched yourself up, then you sank yourself down on his shaft, the stretch nothing but satisfying this time.  

“How-,” he started and then paused, needing to catch his breath as your cunt enveloped him, inch by slow, tantalising inch. “How do you feel so good? Fuck, fuck me.” 

“As you wish.” You had hoped to purr, but your voice trembled. You lifted your hips and lowered them, feeling every detail of his thick cock against your slick walls. You held his shoulders tight, nails digging in, and pressed your forehead against his. Your breath mingled with his as you breathed heavily together. His hands each found purchase on the round globes of your buttocks, lifting and dropping you, tipping your hips so that every stroke brought his head against your g-spot.  

“God, Namjoon,” you moaned, arching backwards. He groaned in reply, dipping his head to press his mouth to your body: your neck, your chest, sucking the hard bud of your nipple into his mouth so that you keened and arched further.  

It was perfect, this fit. Not even the minutest space between you; he was overwhelming inside you, knocking out thoughts of anything else, anyone else. Your arousal flushed around him, the slick slap of your skin against his like music to your ears.  

“I want to see you touch yourself,” he growled, his voice so low you almost didn’t hear it. He gripped your glutes with more force now, lifting and slamming you down hard. You didn’t hesitate to obey, immediately loosening your grasp on his shoulder, dragging your nails down his chest, teasing his nipple and earning a groan as your hand made its way to your clit, wet and desperate for friction. Your fingers slipped over it, rolling it between them. You cried out, knowing you wouldn’t last much longer. “Keep going,” he said. “Don’t stop.”  

You obeyed, his arms taking on more of your weight as the pleasure piled on. You spasmed against his cock, your walls trembling and thrumming with the onset of ecstasy. You whined and mewled and whimpered as he lifted his hips to fuck up into you with force. Your fingers kept working at your clit as your other hand clenched a handful of his soft, smooth flesh, gripped in your vice-like fingers. 

“Namjoon-… I… Fuck, god, I… Mm…” Coherence had left you, what remained of your mind slipped away from you as you whined, high and loud, shuddering against him as that tight coil within you snapped, shattered, was completely obliterated. Your hand fell away from yourself and you leant heavily against Namjoon’s chest, but it wasn’t over. He thrust into you harder and faster and your breath hitched; your limbs felt like jelly, your head fuzzy, your aching cunt still spasming, still rolling in the tumbling waves of your orgasms like the aftershocks of an earthquake.  

Namjoon was close, his grunts getting softer, transforming into almost whimpering groans. He bit his lip and you knew he was still trying, in vain, to keep himself contained; you pawed at his mouth, to get him to open up, hooked your fingers inside and with your name on his tongue, he came with a final hard thrust, kissing your cervix and painting your insides white.  

His hands let go of you, falling to the side and you simply fell against him. You sat in silence for a minute or more, him softening inside you, his cum dripping out of you around him. When you opened your mouth to say something, you found it was completely dry.  

“Fuck,” you said, your voice hoarse and you were suddenly aware of the pain in your throat. Namjoon made a sound in response, guttural and low. Neither of you moved. You weren’t sure you would be able to. Your body was heavy, like lead, limbs lifeless and floppy. With your head against his chest, you could feel Namjoon’s heart thudding, thudding, then slowing. You wondered if he could feel yours, his hand pressed against your back. His other was absent-mindedly rubbing your lower back, a firm palm against your skin and then the light grazing of his fingertips and then a soft squeeze, his touch still bringing goosebumps to your flesh and a shiver down your spine.  

As life found its way back into you, as the lights switched back on in your mind, you shuffled and Namjoon found the strength to lift you off, rolling you into the mattress. You both lay back, no longer touching, not speaking, barely thinking. This was what you wanted; this was what you needed. Your mind wiped clean- well, your mind wiped dirty. Your head felt empty, light, almost giddy. You lay, neither one of you moving, listening to each other breathing, to the noise of the city outside. You felt sleep begin to claw at you, your eyelids feeling heavy, this small slice of peace allowing you to relax. 

“At some point, we have to talk about this,” Namjoon said, quietly, interrupting it all. 

Your carefully constructed blank room inside your brain collapsed like a house of cards.  

“Not now,” you whispered. “Please not now, ok?”  

Namjoon sighed but accepted your answer. He patted your thigh lightly as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He scooped up his trousers and walked to the door, shutting it softly behind him. Not now. Maybe at some point; maybe he was right but, god, not now.  

On your way back to your bedroom from the bathroom, you noticed Namjoon had left his T-shirt on your bedroom floor. You picked it up and flung it on the top of your over-full laundry hamper. 

Chapter Six | Masterlist | Chapter Eight

[foreveralwaysanauthor]

Melaka Mystica Deleted Scenes

I know I said I would take a break, and believe me, I have, but I wanted to post these before the desire to write something else came into my head. Now that this has been posted, however, I'm going to go play some Detroit Become Human and try like hell to not start writing out ideas for that as an AU lmao!

Deleted scenes:

Unlike many of my previous AUs, there aren’t a lot of scenes that didn’t make the cut as I followed my original plotlines pretty closely, but there are a few that I mentioned offhandedly that were never fully explained or fleshed out, so I figured I would post segments of my original scribblings just to show where my head was when I wrote certain lines.

(Part 1) This is a little explanation I wrote for myself when I started figuring out the plot so that everything flowed together well and it would feel like time had passed, but not a ton. I wanted it to feel like the genuine passage of time, but I only brought some of these to fruition and I’m pretty sure you can tell which ones!

"The kids have been practicing magic under the watchful eyes of Mick, Miles, and Carrie, who, despite not possessing magic, have worked in the magic shop for long enough to know the basics. The kids have sworn only to use their magic for good, and while they try to help everyone, it’s not always easy. Royce has spent most of his allowance on spell books - most of which don’t work as they aren’t legitimate spell books - and has gone a bit overboard trying to figure out every aspect of their powers. Kona has been practically glued to Bentley, pestering him about why he and the others have been acting strangely, but he refuses to tell her anything until they’re all on board for telling her. Vivien has tried everything in her power to give Mick some semblance of magic and heal her magical ties, but nothing seems to work."

So, yeah, I ended up only mentioning a few of them, but this is a little background to give off some more information on what’s happened since the last story.

(Part 2) Initially, Mick’s bond with everyone - especially the kids and particularly Vivien - hadn’t been affected at all. My original idea was that everything had just returned to normal and that everything was fine. The only time the whole possession thing would have bothered her would have been when the kids chose to give up their magic, making her freak out for seemingly no reason as, until that point, she hadn’t said much of anything about it. However, I realized that it made no sense and, if this had been a legit scenario, I would have wanted to seclude myself for a while in order to protect the people I loved in case something like that were to happen again. In the long run, I changed things around and made it feel like she had taken a lot from it - trauma especially.

(Part 2) Kona’s magical realization would have been a lot more fleshed out if I had followed my original ideas. It was supposed to have a full scene on its own, but I’ll let you read the bit I had written before I explain myself.

"Not long before Serena knocks at the door, Kona comes in, pressing them for answers as they haven't been answering their phones. They push her away because they don’t want her to get hurt if Serena comes, but she’s adamant. Ultimately, she storms off but runs into Dorothea, who sits her down, and they talk for a while, getting to the root of the issue and revealing Kona has abilities as well as she nearly sets the kitchen table on fire when she thumps her fist against it."

Now, if you’re anything like my niece who sort of told me off for getting rid of this, I bet you’re sort of wishing I had stuck it out and written this, but I have a few reasons as to why I hadn’t. First of all, I realized as I was writing that, if I were to break up the tension of Serena’s visit any more than I already had with Kona showing up, it would have brought more focus to Kona and less on the stress of Serena’s entire ending scene. It would have made it less impactful as your attention - or mine, at the very least lmao - would have been more focused on Kona’s abilities and how they suddenly came about. It would have been a jarring shift to go from this scene of Kona finding out she has magic, to Serena and the group’s plan to stop her. Second, I wanted Kona’s entrance in the third chapter to be subtle, yet mildly surprising. I didn’t want to go in-depth on her magic or explain her family’s magical history when the story didn’t need it. Still, I wanted her showing up in the woods to link back to her having a conversation with Mrs. Murphy where she, ultimately, discovered her magic in the first place. And, finally, I also cut this out because I was already a lot further along than I thought I would be and I sort of wanted to just get through Serena’s part and call it at that. However, the facts still stand, and I don’t really regret taking this part out as I feel it all worked out in the end.

(Part 3) Now, this is the part that I think I changed the most, but the first thing that comes to mind is this segment:

"After they ask some questions, Mrs. Murphy explains that, during an eclipse, the power transfer is most powerful and will give the vessel - sometimes a magic-less human - powers of their own as they permanently drain the powers from the witches." 

While not a lot has changed there, I’m sure the word “permanently” caught your eye. Yes, the transfer thing was going to be permanent, and in a way, I wonder what it would have been like if I had kept it this way. It would have killed me to write, but it would have hit everyone - me included - really hard. The three kids who had only had magic for two weeks, sacrificed all of it to save someone who wasn’t even truly a friend to them… I mean, wow, it would have really hurt and it would have been painful for the older group as well, as they knew they now had the kids’ magic with no way of returning it to its rightful owners. I kept going back and forth as to whether it was a goodidea to keep the kids as mages, but in the long run, what’s done is done… right?

(Part 3) Directly following the last part, we have this: 

"With that knowledge, we jump to them sitting around in Miles’ room, coming up with a plan. Vivien decides that Carrie, Miles, and Mick will keep crystals with them for protection - Malachite for protection from toxic energy, Smithsonite for bringing them back down to reality and granting the clarity they need to make tough decisions, and white Moonstone for full moon power."

As you can probably tell, I took this section and moved it to the second part as it felt more realistic that Vivien would have them take crystals from the shop. It also gave that sliver of friendship between Vivien and Mick, hinting that both of them want things to go back to how they were. Having it here sort of left things between them feeling flat and unnecessarily stiff whereas it felt more genuine putting it in an earlier section.

(Part 3) Something I don’t have any notes for, but remember writing down, was the idea of Serena taking Kona hostage after the scene in the woods goes south. I got rid of it early on as I felt Kona wouldn’t stand for that kind of thing and would be the most obnoxious hostage ever, pushing Serena to dispose of her when she’s driven her too far up the wall. Kona would be the biggest pain in the ass if she were ever kidnapped, and I love her for that.

(Part 3) When I started writing out the fight scene in the commons, a lot changed, but here is where I think things changed the most:

"As Serena makes her appearance, Kona turns herself invisible and begins taunting her, using her newfound abilities to keep the redhead at bay. It works for a while, but as the transfer nears completion, Serena gets desperate and sends a burst of magic around, knocking Kona to the ground. Royce opens his eyes as he hears the fight ending and looks at Carrie with wide eyes before telling her, “Behind you!” Unified by magic, the older trio turns their magic on Serena and, as the transfer completes, they lift into the sky and begin to fight her. In the middle of the fight, Miles sees the kids still stunned by their new abilities and gets Viv’s attention, telling her to get them out of there. Weakened, the young trio find Kona, stumble down the street to the safety of the nearby cemetery (Howard Street Cemetery), and surround themselves with heavy salt rings before collapsing in exhaustion."

Now, there are several parts of this that I broke off and worked on differently - Kona getting knocked out, Miles joining the fight immediately instead of checking on the kids, and the kids going to the cemetery instead of the Murphy family’s home. Kona getting knocked out changed when I realized that she could still work with the others as a distraction, a rune-maker, and someone who could help complete the circle for the exorcism/draining scene. She became more of a foreground character for that, and I like how it panned out. My decision to change Miles’ reaction to the kids was an easy one as I highly doubt he would have just up and left them to fight - he loves them far too much to do that. As for the cemetery thing, it was mainly going to be a callback to the Hocus Pocus movie, but I realized it would be much easier for them to run from the commons entrance to the already salt-protected house on Forrester Street than it would be for them to cross one of the busiest streets in Salem to get to a cemetery for the sake of hallowed ground.

(Part 3) Finally, the last thing I changed here was, well, this:

"When the kids awaken in the morning, they find themselves on air mattresses on the Murphy family’s living room floor. Serena, while grateful to finally have her mind back in order and no longer be possessed, is quick to leave, heading home after making sure to thank everyone for helping her and telling the others that she’d see them at school."

While I loved the idea of Serena knowing she had been possessed and admitting to it, my mom brought up the idea of her keeping it to herself as she didn’t want to sound like she’d lost her mind, and, honestly, I loved that even more. It is entirely up to you to decide whether or not she remembers everything as I made her brush it off as a bad dream and get kind of snippy and evasive over it, but that just felt like something Serena would do. It felt more like her to keep it inside for her own sake rather than admit she needed help and got it from the people she had abandoned for “greener pastures” with the popular squad. It would probably make her think a lot about whether or not she could actually consider the people she now kept close, “friends.” Also, just the idea of her having this internal, existential crisis over being possessed and everything she experienced while trapped inside her mind just made me laugh. 

Actual scenes that were inspired by movies/shows (spoilers, just in case):

Something about Vivien’s interaction with Carrie in the first part was inspired by George Weasley in this scene.

The part in the woods where they’re trying to drain Serena is inspired by this scene from WandaVision.

This scene from Avengers: Infinity War was what drove me to write the interactions in the commons the way I did. Initially, the transfer would have gone almost exactly like this, with everything falling apart around them and the older group having to fight while everything else was going on. It changed a bit, but I was very close to keeping things identical to this. I guess you could say I wanted them to suffer.

Again, I take a scene from WandaVision to show what I originally wanted the fight to end with. This would have been very different, obviously, but it would have caused a chain reaction that I wasn’t prepared for in the slightest, and I just didn’t go with it in the long run. (Kona would have taken on Wanda/Scarlet Witch’s lines and everything while Serena was Agatha Harkness)

Everyone's powers explained:

I know I went over it a little, but I wanted to sort of explain them a bit. The primary ones - Royce, Bentley, and Vivien - are the easiest to explain as they are the moon, sun, and stars respectively. Like in Magicae Maxima, their powers correspond with a color and, again, they are blue, yellow, and purple respectively. However, for the others, I figured I would explain a bit more as I didn’t go into it much in the story.

For starters, I always sort of imagined Kona as a comet - fiery and ready to blaze a trail, but still connected to the cosmos like the other kids. Her colors are a combination of pink and blue, the colors flowing from one to the other like a lava lamp as the heat comes and goes. The easiest to explain are Carrie, Mick, and Miles, who are fire, water, and lightning. Their magic sort of corresponds to the kids’ powers as well, just not the ones they took from. Carrie’s magic reminds me of the solar flares that arc off the sun, tying her abilities to Bentley. Miles’ lightning is quick and hot, like Vivien’s shooting stars, not to mention it flickers purple from time to time. Then, there’s Mick’s water-based magic, which is a direct representation of Royce’s moon abilities. The moon has a gravitational pull that affects the tide, linking her magic to his. As physical representations of the earth, the older trio have a direct link to each of the kids and their respective abilities, showing that the remnants of magic that remain in them after everything is done with the transfer, still have a connection to their origins.

As for the ones I touched on the least, Dorothea, Brady, and Tommy. As I already stated, Brady is a phoenix, Dorothea is a pegasus, and Tommy is a Cetus or a sea dragon. Again, their magic corresponds with the others, but their magic is different. As representations of mythical creatures, they have powers higher than the kids. Dorothea’s aura-reading, clairvoyance, and overall light magic give her a connection with Vivien and Miles; Brady’s heat, light, and fire generation powers give him tie-ins to Carrie, Bentley, and even Kona; and, even though we don’t see him, Tommy’s water manipulation and weather control abilities are a direct link to Royce and Mick. I sort of see this as an Avatar: The Last Airbender type of deal, where there are multiple facets of a person’s abilities, and they just have to find it in themselves to make things happen. The possibilities are endless, really; they just have to find that out for themselves.

Quotes:

(Mick)

*to Carrie or Miles, probably* "I used to think of myself one way. But, after this… I’m something else. I'm still me, I think. But... but that's not what everyone else sees."

“I know I'm here, but I still feel dead inside. I'm just- they-  even the people who say they care about me- I feel like I'm just a pinned butterfly to them now. They just want to put me under a microscope and learn about all my trauma.”

"Every night, the same dream, and every morning, the same nightmare."

“You may have ruined my past, but I won’t let you ruin my future.”

“I know what I’m like… and maybe that’s the issue here.”

“It will get better - maybe not today, maybe not in a week or so, but it will get better. I promise.”

(Serena)

*upon kidnapping Kona to see what she knew* “These are runes, and in a given space, only the witch that cast the runes can use her magic. Your powers are useless here."

"You break the rules of the universe and become the hero, but when I do it, I become the enemy.” *scoff* “That doesn't seem fair, does it?"

“You’re just a pawn - another way for me to get what I want. You’re disposable, kid; get used to it.”

*after being freed* “I want to thank you guys, but at the same time, I want to scream.” *sigh* “It’s been a long night.”

“I still feel it there, in the back of my mind. It’s like a part of me is back to being whatever I was before, but there’s this part of my brain that wants nothing more than to plunge a knife into your chest… I don’t feel like a good person anymore.”

(Kona)

“I’m a bad bitch, you can’t kill me!”

*after Serena divulges her plan to her like Doofenshmirtz to Perry the Platypus* “Look, I have an attention span the size of a Goldfish cracker, and your voice is obnoxious, so I tuned you out, like, ages ago.”

“Everyone’s pretty tired of your shit, Serena, and if I had to guess, you’d probably say the same if you weren’t possessed by such a dramatic bitch of a demon.”

“Remember how you described me as a pawn? Well, this is checkmate. This is it. This is the end. I suggest you resign while you still have the choice.”

(Royce)

“When is she not a total bitch?”

“Why do I feel like we’ve just opened Pandora’s box or something?”

“It feels like there's a hole where my magic used to be. It's like its been ripped out of my chest, and now I'm just left here, bleeding out... It's too warm.”

“After everything we’ve been through… it can’t be for nothing, can it?”

(Vivien)

“You’re not evil, you’re just a little fucked up in the head still, and that’s fine. I still love you.”

“If I had a nickel for every time I’ve seen a demon possess someone this year, I’d have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice, right?”

“If the demon learned how to drive in two weeks, I’m sure it could learn to parallel park if it actually gave a fuck.”

*typing in Google* “How to get a demon to teach you how to drive.” “Vivien, no!” “Well, if you won’t teach me, it will!”

(Bentley)

“How on earth did she eat the cafeteria food if she’s got dark magic in her? That stuff’s saltier than the ocean.”

“Maybe we can therapize her!” “Therapize?” “We can be her therapist.” “You want to play therapist for a literal demon?” *sigh* “I really need to start thinking things through before I say them, don’t I?”

“Can’t we just pour salt in her mouth or something?” (horrified looks from everyone in the room) “What? It’s a genuine question!”

(Misc.)

“She was your meat puppet, I just cut her strings.”

“Not my mother, you bitch!”

“The thing is, you're using words... but the thing about this world is that the only universal language is violence. And I know we've both spoken that language before.”

“You want to be the hero? Then die like one!”

“Please? For me?” “You can’t just say that. You know I’d give you the world if you asked for it.”

“You used me as a weapon. That's all I was to you. Not a friend, just a weapon for you to use and throw away when you’re sick of it. Well, guess what?! I'm choosing what I fight for now!”

Songs:

No Body, No Crime by Taylor Swift

I Know The End by Phoebe Bridgers

Everybody Wants to Rule the World

Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) by Nancy Sinatra

Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd

Burn The Witch by Shawn James

I know it's not a lot, and I'm very sorry I didn't have more; however, I really stuck close to my original ideas this time. I wish I had more to offer you, but I do hope that you enjoyed these little crumbs of ideas! I think, for a little while, I'm going to work on some one-shots to expand my characters' backgrounds a bit, but for now, I think I'm just going to play some games, maybe a little Minecraft or DBH, and then scroll mindlessly through Pinterest or TikTok for ideas. For now, however, I hope you have a great day and that everything is going well for you across the ocean! All the love!

[charlesjosephwrites]

Find the Words Tag

Thanks for the tag, @ahordeofwasps!

I'll tag @dontjudgemeimawriter, @at-thezenith, @winterandwords, and anyone else who sees this and wants to play along with the words rough, big, nervous, and tired. As always, no pressure, though!

My words were falter, flew, fall, and fend. Here's what I found from my wip The Magician and Ms. Psychic!

Falter

“Magician.” Hermes' voice was devoid of his usual cheerful tone. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face around here.” “I… I know.” I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” “Oh you’re sorry?” His voice came out about twice as loud as it had been a moment ago. “Maybe you should have thought of that before—” “You can yell at me for fucking everything up later,” I interrupted. “There are more important things to deal with right now. Like…” My voice faltered as I spared a glance towards our little gaggle of onlookers. I shouldn’t be talking about these things in front of so many witnesses without even being sure that none of them were him.

Flew

Ms. Psychic did something I hadn’t counted on. She fell straight forward with enough force to make me completely lose my grip on her. I flew forwards several feet to thunk my head directly into a solid wall. Pain radiated through my skull. Dark spots danced through my vision. The fluorescent lights overhead seemed about twice as bright as they had been before. I groaned and covered my face with my hands. For a moment, I just laid there, doing my best to think about anything other than the fact that my skull felt like it was about to explode into a million pieces. “Are you okay?” Ms. Psychic spoke in an infuriatingly soft tone. “Of course I’m not okay!” My voice squeaked involuntarily “You just tried to crack my skull open like a fucking coconut.”

Fall

“Am I distracting you?” “Maybe a little,” Claire admitted. “Good.” I crossed my arms. “You work too damn hard all the time.” “I have to. If I don’t I might fall behind, and then…” Her voice cracked, and she slumped down a little in her seat. “I just… I have to.” “If you overwork yourself, you’re gonna get burnt out and then you’re definitely not getting shit done." “I’ll be fine.” She cast her attention back down towards her book like she expected that to be the end of the conversation. Unfortunately for her, I’m too much of a stubborn bitch to let that slide. I leaned over the back of the chair to drape my arms over her shoulders. “It's getting really late.” "I know." Claire sighed. “But I have a test next week, and—” "So?" I interrupted. "You'll have plenty of time to study before then." “I can’t just put it off.” “Yes you can. Come cuddle me.” “I’m sorry, but— hey.” Claire cut herself off mid-sentence as I yoinked her glasses right off of her face. “Give those back.” I took a step back, holding her glasses up high over my head. “Not until you put that book away.”

Fend

“Is this where the people who work here are hiding?” I asked, gesturing vaguely towards the corner that he seemed so desperate to defend. Hermes didn’t respond, though I was pretty sure his stubbornly stoic expression was a yes. I tried to peak over his shoulder, but Hermes shoved me away. I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists, but I suppressed the urge to take a swing at him. Hermes took a deep breath, and he inched a little closer to me. “You’re not hurting anyone on my watch.” “I don’t actually give a shit about them.” I waved one hand dismissively. “They’re just doing their job. As long as they don’t get in my way, I won’t have to use their lungs to make balloon animals.”

THE MAGICIAN AND MS. PSYCHIC TAGLIST (lemme know if you want to be added or removed!) @adaparkwrites, @andiwriteunderthemoon, @percvalx, @annoyingwritingtrash, @absolute-nonsense-scribblings, @gray-sometimes-writes, @whatevercomestomymind, @tragedyshow, @cookiecutterwrites, @poore-choice-of-words, @magic-is-something-we-create, @frvnwrites, @sirius-xm, @dontcrywrite, @wildswrites, @autie-auden-writes, @cherrybombfangirlwrites, @enchanted-lightning-aes, @lena-rambles, @wordwizards, @another-white-hole, @oh-no-another-idea

[gtraccoon]

part 7

swearing

“It’ll be fine.” That was the first thing Stan woke up to that morning, the same, and one of the only voices he had since he randomly shrunk a few days ago. Now, after a while of having it easy, he had to go to school. Mostly because Kyle didn’t want to leave him alone, but also because he didn’t want to be alone, and Kyle had to go.

Stan reluctantly pulled his coat on, already feeling regret for even waking up.

“I don’t know.” He replied nonchalantly. He was trying to not show how worried he was, because he just didn’t want to deal with that now. He ran his fingers through his hair, it felt dry, but soft at the same time. He sank into the bed, digging his fingers into his coat sleeve. “I’m worried, dude.”

“I’ve told you this. Anyone tries to touch you, I’ll beat their ass.” Kyle tugged his hat on. Sometimes Stan wondered how he fit all that fiery red hair in that hat, it seemed like magic—or maybe just a lot of force. Kyle grabbed his backpack in one hand, offering the other to Stan, who quickly stood up and hopped on. He would never get used to standing on such an uneven surface, it was like walking on a soft mattress. He knelt down, only standing up again to get in Kyle’s shirt pocket. It was a sort of velvet texture on the inside, which managed to keep him warm for the most part.

He felt Kyle move around as he adjusted his backpack, the straps always came loose for some reason. Stan pressed himself against his chest, breathing softly. He could feel the boy’s heart beating, and it was almost comforting. The way he could feel every movement, because it was scaled so far up.

The bitter cold air hit Kyle like a brick. He felt a stab of regret every few seconds when he remembered exactly what he was doing—he would have to hide Stan. A lot of thoughts ran through his head. What if someone asked where Stan was? What if someone ran into him? What if someone tripped him?

He cupped his hand over his chest pocket, feeling his tiny friend move around. He felt so weary of him, he knew if he messed up Stan could be really hurt. He adjusted the strap of his backpack to tighten it, glancing around. He really couldn’t take any chances with anyone. Just stay quiet, direct attention away from himself.

As soon as he walked inside the school, he felt all eyes on him. Everyone was whispering to each other, some laughed, some glanced away when he glared back at them. He shoved his hands in his pockets, clenching his fists slightly. Ignore them. Ignore them. Ignore-

“Kyle?” He immediately stopped in his tracks, almost running into her. Heidi’s light eyes stared up at him with upmost confusion. “Are you okay?” She said, softly pressing her hand against his wrist. He pulled away.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just some stuff Cartman’s saying.” She explained. Suddenly his heart sank. That bitch. He walked around her, not responding to her calls. The sound of the people around him was completely drowned out by his own premonitions. This was absolutely going to end horribly. He ran it through in his head a few times.

“If anyone tries to touch you, I’ll beat their ass.”

He was going to stand by that. He had a short temper, he always has, but now even it seems worse. Like everything is pissing him off. He felt anger rising in his chest, lowering his eyes. He needed a reason. Turning to the right, he pressed himself up against a locker and pulled out a piece of paper, scribbling something down, before shoving it in his pocket, the same pocket that Stan was in. He kept the top ajar so that Stan could read with the slight amount of light filtering through the top.

Glancing down the hallway, Cartman came into view, his bright colored jacket immediately catching Kyle’s attention. And not in a good way.

“Hey, fatass! What the hell are you saying?” He yelled, closing the top to his pocket as he walked towards Cartman.

“Telling people the truth. This is why Jews are bad, guys. Always hiding something, right, Kyle?” Cartman laughed, a malicious grin showing on his face. Kyle felt his heart race.

“Not right. I’m not hiding shit.” He stood up straighter. He was a little bit taller than Cartman, which made it easy to intimidate him, since he was kind of sensitive. But he was just actually pissed. “Say one more thing, and I’ll smash your fucking head in.” He wasn’t bluffing, but Cartman’s expression didn’t waver. He felt a light pressure on his chest, looking down and seeing Cartman’s arm pressed up against his chest.

“I know where you’re hiding him.” Within a second, he grabbed onto Cartman’s jacket.

“Fuck off!” He screamed, letting go and shoving him. He fell on his ass, but Kyle was too pissed off to laugh. He wasn’t about to beat Cartman up. He couldn’t. Well, he could, physically and mentally, but he was just worried about Stan. Suddenly, and randomly, an idea came over him.

“I know where you’re hiding him.” Cartman’s words played over in his head like a broken record.

But what if you didn’t? In one swift movement, he slipped his backpack off,grabbed Stan out of his pocket and shoved him into the pocket, not even having time to explain. The paper flowed lightly to the ground, light as a feather, but the words on it were heavy. He turned back to the group of kids circling around and staring at him with those judgmental eyes.

Cartman’s gonna fucking die.

maybe i just wanna write a fight scene guys……. 😎 maybe…. part 8’s gonna get a BIT physical!! !!

[certified-boyliker]

hi monty, went thru some of ur works and i love your writing, thank you for sharing your work! especially that one lev fic from ur old account(i think?) made me so sad coz hes my little baby lol😭 but enough about me talking about lev, i was actually gonna ask for a hurt/comfort with satan! i think hes very pretty and smart enough to hold a conversation and respectful enough to deserve my love(unfortunately unlike my irl crushes lol), but although he is not real, i sometimes feels like he doesn’t love himself as much as i do. he’s always worried about being his own person apart from lucifer, knowing as much as he can, getting good marks, presenting himself the best etc. i want to play with his soft fluffy hair and tell him to relax and that he is a world in and of himself. sorry if this is oddly specific lol feel free to ignore this! thank you in advance, have an amazing day and i love you!

First off, thank you very much! You're so nice (and yes, on my old writing account, I did write the Lev one)

And I love Satan so much!!

---

You Are Satan Actor: Satan MPAA Rating: Everyone, hurt and comfort Notes: GN!Reader

It was nearing the time for finals, so you went to find Mammon to make sure he wasn't using something to cheat when he was in class.

"No, no, that isn't right..."

Your ears perked up at hearing the frustrated voice, and peeked into a room, noticing all of the messy books.

"Is Satan frustrated?"

You walked into the room and looked around for him, noticing him at a desk, with multiple textbooks piled up around him. He was muttering to himself, pouring over the books, and many papers, most likely trying to ingrain as much as the information as he can.

"No, this is the right answer... damn it all!" He groaned, slamming his fist on the desk.

"Satan...?"

He quickly looked up and smiledd upon seeing you.

"Ah, hello." He turned back to his textbook. "Is there something you need?"

"Just checking on everyone. You seem to be the only one who's studying."

"Yes, well... Lucifer isn't studying?"

"Not that I saw. He just seemed to be getting some paperwork done."

Satan stared at the desk. "...He doesn’t even have to try..."

You cocked your head. "Huh?"

Satan groaned loudly. "I guess all I'll be is a damn copy of him..."

You sat next to him. "What do you mean?"

He sighed shakily. "Whenever finals rolls around... all of my teachers always mention Lucifer. Saying how close I was to him... and he's not even studying right... right now... what the hell does that say about me?"

You rubbed his back. "Is that why you're getting frustrated right now?"

He pushed your arm off. "Maybe." He picked up his pen. "Is there any real reason you're here?"

You watched him angrily scribble down more notes. You didn't answer his question and he ignored your worried looks, avoiding your gaze.

"Well?"

"I... heard you getting frustrated, and wanted to check on you."

He stopped his scribbling and looked up at you. "Did you now? Hm."

You glared at his work. You then decided to grab his paper and tossed it away.

"Hey-!"

"You are officially not allowed to do anymore work."

"Give me my-"

"Nope!" You pulled him off of his chair and over to his window seat.

Satan sputtered as he was pulled into your lap, his head resting in your lap.

"This is absurd-"

"No it's not." You ran your fingers through his hair. "It really isn't. You need rest."

He glared, but his face slowly began to soften. You caressed his face, and patted his hair.

He lied there before slowly sinking into your hold.

"You're not just an extension of Lucifer. You're much different than him."

"Then why do so many people compare us?"

You hesitated. "...Perhaps they're close-minded. They're not willing to let you be your own person."

He slowly turned his face and pressed his face against your stomach. He wrapped his arms around your torso and sniffled quietly.

"Satan?"

"I hate it... I hate being compared to him..."

You ran your hands through his hair. "I know... but you are Satan and you are different from Lucifer." You looks around his room. "You're an amazing reader and you take incredible notes. You're ready to defend your family when outsiders insult them."

You heard the sniffles get impossibly quieter, and he pressed his cheek against your stomach.

"I love you, Satan."

He sniffled once more. "I love you, too."

[kaleuh]

I think about future me. I imagine her happy, for my sake, but even when I picture her happy -- with the same people in her life, with the same interests and hobbies -- the notion of home still falls through my hands like water. When I say I don't know where I'll be, I literally mean I don't know where I'll be. I love my job but it really doesn't pay me as much as it should. My parents, who I try every day to forgive, occasionally bring up selling the house. They don't even understand how perfect that place is. I know the molding was never finished. I know there's jagged rips and tears in the linoleum, with dirt rubbed into the exposed floorboards. I know the cabinet doors are unhinged or missing. I know the insulation sticks out in certain spaces. I know that there are fist-sized holes in the stairwell and that there is barely ever enough light that comes through. But those stairs have scribbles and hearts near the holes, and all anyone ever needs to do is pull back the curtains if they want light. I don't know why that is rarely thought of. Obviously, there's going to be some dust and webs that choke you up, but the curtains are barely ever moved, so that's just what happens if you leave them there for too long. It's a pain to push them out of the way? Take them off. You're afraid of people looking. That's understandable. But don't you want light? If you want light, you have to be seen. Even just for a second. But it's worth it. It always is, even if it hurts your eyes.

The fear of being trapped in one place that will never feel like home forever is why I can't afford a house. They say nobody can, these days.

[pepperonidk]

i. ride the sun away || all i could do

“All I could do was love you hard and let you go.” “Go and ride the sun away."

Pairing: Lee Jihoon x f!Reader Summary:  5 years ended with a note on the coffee table. Warnings: angst Word Count: 1227

A/N: Hello! It's been a long while, but this idea has been on my mind for a long time. This musical means a lot to me and so does this fic. I know Jihoon is an asshole in this... sorry lol

join the taglist! back to library || next chapter

The glint of light on the coffee table immediately drew your attention as you walked into the living room.

I called Chan and Seungcheol to help me get the rest of my stuff. I know you wanted to go see another counselor… but I don’t know what the point would be. I know I’m not the only one who’s hurting here, and I don’t see what the hell else we can do.

I don’t think you could see how deep the cracks run, or that I had run out of rope.We could keep fighting each other, keep hurting each other, but I think it’s time to just face it… I couldn’t be what you wanted.All I could do was love you – and god did I love you – love you hard and let you go.

-Jihoon

The weighty cream piece of paper lay on the coffee table and on top of it, Jihoon’s silver wedding band, identical to the one on your own finger. The lights are off, but the room is far from dark. The sun outside is at its zenith and its rays spill into the room and wash the air with enough light to see dust floating in the air. Aside from the note and silver band, glimmering in the light, nothing in the living room had been touched in weeks.

The walls are still covered in pictures of the two of you smiling and you wonder if all the “I love yous” ever meant anything or if the foundation was cracked from the beginning. You’re left with more questions than you’ll ever have answers to and all you can think of is how unfair it is that Jihoon felt that he had the right to decide that things were over.

He was the one keeping secrets. He was the one who moved on before things had even ended. He was convinced that you were the problem. He was the one running away. And you were covered in scars you didn’t earn.

I should be crying, you think to yourself. But you don’t. You haven’t cried in a while, really, because honestly, to say you didn’t see this coming would be a lie.

From the minute you met him five years ago, sitting at a table on the fourth floor of the library and madly scribbling into a worn leather notebook, you knew he was on a one way road to something bigger. You suppose it was only a matter of time that he would outgrow you too.

While nearly every other seat was occupied by students with strewn out textbooks, notebooks, and half-dead laptops cramming for midterms, he was writing a song. School was on the backburner for him (as were most other things), a backup plan in case his dreams were just a little bit too far. Interestingly enough, that was what drew you to him.

“Whatcha writing?” you had asked him, the nervous crack in your voice betraying your casual attempt at conversation. You had noticed him as soon as you sat down to study an hour ago, as he was one of the only people around without a laptop in front of him, but waited until your break to finally let your curiosity get to you. 

It took a few seconds before he realized you were speaking to him and he finally lifted his head to look at you. You couldn’t help but smile as you realized the redness on his cheek from resting it on his fist and the messy state of his dark hair.

“Me?” he questioned as you nodded.

“There’s no one else at the table,” you teased.

“Oh,” he looked around as if he hadn’t given any attention to his surroundings in a while. “I’m working on a song,” he admitted softly.

“Cool,” you replied. “Is it for a class? My friend is in a songwriting class with profe–”

“No,” he interrupted, scribbling something else down before returning his attention to you. “It’s just for fun.”

“Fun, huh?” you began. “You have time for fun in the middle of midterms?”

He let out a chuckle as he shook his head. “I like to think I have my priorities sorted,” he answered. “I’m Jihoon.” He extended his hand out for you to shake.

You looked down at his hand, noting the calluses on his fingertips before taking it in yours and introducing yourself.

“So what about you?” he returned. “What class are you studying for?”

You turned your laptop around to show him the powerpoint you had pulled up from your music and neuroscience class. “I’m actually in a class about how music affects the brain,” you explained.

Jihoon’s face lit up in interest. “Really?” he asked. “How does it affect the brain then?” It had been a while since you were able to gush about your interest in neuroscience.

“Well,” you began, pointing your finger over the brain scans on the slide. “There’s some recent studies showing that music could help treat people with Alzheimer’s and some other neurological issues in elderly people.”

You looked over to Jihoon’s brows furrowed in interest as he nodded along. “That’s pretty cool,” he mused.

“Yeah,” you continued. “I saw a couple of videos that show patients with forms of dementia suddenly remembering complex ballet dances and specific memories just from certain musical cues with synaptic activity in many voxels that–” you cut yourself off, realizing you were going to start rambling.

“That what?” Jihoon looked back up at you, clearly still interested in what you had to say.

“That uh,” you blinked at him. “This isn’t boring you?”

“Huh?” he questioned. “This is really cool,” he laughed. “As a musician, it’s nice to know music is more than just something pretty to listen to. I could be making synapses move and what not. I’ll be making an impact.”

You laughed and nodded your head. “Well, synapses don’t move,” you corrected as Jihoon rolled his eyes before giving you a smile. “But thanks.”

“For what?”

“For listening.”

It’s easy, even now, five years later, to remember the way he looked bathed in spring sunlight and the feeling of his callused hands in yours even if you couldn’t remember the last time he actually touched you. He used to trace circles against your skin, humming melodies into your ear, a soft reminder every time of the day you met.

You look down now at your hand and pull off the band, setting it down next to Jihoon’s rather than picking them both up. They’re small, but something tells you they’d be heavy like lead in your palms. So instead, you opt to leave them there, to join the rest of the abandoned and untouched reminders of a life once shared.

On another day you’d take down the pictures of Jihoon kissing your cheek at the fair, the plaque you jokingly made for him out of macaroni after his first single first charted, and the blanket he bought you from Germany on his first tour. Maybe one day you’ll find a lesson to learn in all of this. But all of that would wait till another day when you can begin to move forward the way Jihoon has. But today, you choose to return to your room, to hold onto some semblance of familiarity, still hurting.

taglist: @sana-is-ms-rmty @yksthings @iamxelia @coveyland @xuimhao

[lshark-cs]

Iron God Chapter 35 [Kolo]

 Kolo's eyes opened halfway. At first, she couldn't tell what had woken her. Then a cat's paw prodded her face. She grunted. Weeks of constant training had caught up to her now, and her limbs ached to the point they felt boneless. The last thing she wanted to do was get up before sunrise.

"Really?" she grumbled.

The cat jumped down and stood up on two legs, changing its shape into a familiar human. Channei flipped her blond hair back. "Sorry, Kolo. I know you're tired, but we all need to talk."

Kolo sat up, smoothed her white hair, then looked around the room. The red light from her eyes several others. Azvalath, Lalek, and Rizval sat on the floor in various spots around the room. Jai-Lag lay stretched out by the door, breathing in slow rumbling sighs. Kolo cocked her head. "What's this about?"

Azvalath cleared his throat. "Rizval, mind taking notes? We can share them with Yayaba later. She should know too." Then he looked at Kolo. "We all think there's something really wrong with Master Xigon."

"Yeah, me too." Kolo almost laughed. "What took you so long to figure it out?"

"You know, it would've made sense if he were just tired from...recent events." Lalek averted her gaze.

"No it wouldn't," Rizval corrected. "Do you really think a bit of back talk would do him in like that? He'd be history if that were true."

"Not that." The muscular woman scowled. "I was talking about –"

"See, but that doesn't make sense either," said Azvalath. "He kills people all the time."

"Maybe this time was different somehow," Kolo twisted her necklace around her fingers. "He never did tell us exactly what happened. Neither did Qila. She didn't tell me anything when I asked."

"Master Qila wasn't there. Of course she wouldn't know." Rizval stretched their arms and yawned. "Though I think you could be onto something. Question is, how could this incident be different from the others?"

"We should ask him, maybe," Kolo suggested.

"No way." Channei shook her head. "He and Master Qila shouldn't even know we're talking about this. Got it?"

Kolo swallowed hard and nodded.

"Not like we'd get an answer out of him anyhow." Azvalath looked down. "He's not one to divulge any kind of vulnerable information. But there is someone else we could ask."

Channei seemed to catch the implication at once. "It'd be cruel to pull Dakko and Ido into this. They're still grieving, and I can hardly blame them. No matter how much that monster hurt them, it can't have been easy to witness that."

"Hm." Kolo bit her lip. "Well, we have to know what might be wrong if we're going to stage any kind of intervention."

Lalek looked startled. "Who said we're staging an intervention?"

"What were you planning to do?" Kolo raised an eyebrow. "Just stand back and watch? No way. It's hard enough to watch."

"I agree," said Azvalath. "We should do something. Master Xigon has helped all of us at some point. Isn't it time we return the favor?"

Channei balled her hands into fists. "Yeah, but can't we help without torturing those boys?"

"It's probably worse to let them bottle it all up," Azvalath pointed out. "Let me go and get them."

The man stood up, stretched, then left the room, careful to step over the sabretooth cat's gently swishing tail. He left them in a lull of awkward silence. The only sound was the scratching of a quill on parchment as Rizval scribbled their notes down.

Then Rizval interrupted the stillness. "Also worth noting, I think, is that I've been told to make a hell of a lot more pain medicine vials lately." They scratched harder at the parchment as the ink dried. "Masters say it's for Dakko, but does he really need that much?"

Kolo shrugged. "Seems unlikely."

Several minutes passed before Azvalath returned with Dakko. He looked at Channei. "I asked them both. Ido said he'd shock me if I made him talk about it. Dakko agreed, though."

"Thanks, Dakko." Channei patted the floor next to her. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm cold." He said it immediately, without hesitation or lies.

"Here." Kolo got up and brought him her blanket. "How's this?"

Dakko extended a trembling hand to take the blanket. "Thanks." He sat down between Kolo and Channei, clutching tight to the wool. Even though he was still cold, Kolo couldn't help but note how much better Dakko looked after several weeks with them. He was less emaciated than before, and more mobile thanks to the joint braces Rizval had made him. Even his demeanor seemed to have healed somewhat. It wasn't nearly as easy to startle him or make him cry now.

"Hey kid," Rizval piped up. "How often do you take your pain medicine?"

"Half a vial in the morning and half in the evening," he said. "Why? Did someone else need some?"

"Nah." Rizval squinted at their notes. "Just doing some calculations."

Dakko gave a slow nod. "Hm. All right, then."

Kolo put one hand on the boy's still-quivering arm. "What can you tell us about what happened that night?"

The boy's fingers clenched up and crackled with ice. "I don't know what to say."

"Maybe start with what happened when you ran off from the ceremony," Azvalath pressed. "Why'd you do that?"

Dakko took a deep breath. He looked up and down, then spoke barely louder than a whisper. "I remembered my own second ascension and I couldn't watch anymore. It felt like Haode was attacking me all over again." He brushed cold fingers against his scarred neck. "I couldn't calm down. I figured I would leave so I didn't...bother anyone."

Kolo bit her lip. "I don't think you could've bothered anyone more than I did that night. But go on. What happened next?"

"Haode must have used his future sight to find me. He caught me. And...I was so glad to be caught." Dakko let out a miserable chuckle. "It's funny, really. I was just remembering how badly he hurt me, but when he held me again, I felt so warm. I wanted him to hold me forever." He scratched at his scar, leaving faint red marks on his pale skin. "I would've done anything for him as long as he didn't let me go. It was pathetic."

"Hey kid, I know it's tough to swallow, but you weren't at fault there," Rizval interrupted. "Spiders tie little moths up tight, you know. The silk's sticky even when you can't see it."

Dakko squinted. "Yeah, I guess so."

"So we all saw you run off, then Ido followed you, and then Master Xigon left for seemingly no reason." Lalek twiddled her thumbs. "Whatever your commotion was, it must've alerted him."

"I don't even know how he found us." Dakko's eyes widened again. "It was like he showed up out of thin air. How the hell – ?"

"Were you in a potentially life-threatening situation?" Azvalath asked.

Dakko's head turned. "Huh?"

Kolo shrugged. "Hey Aza, Xigon gets drawn toward situations like that, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, you saw." Azvalath fussed with a loose thread on his shirt. "Back when Channei was injured, it was enough to pull him out of torpor. So if any of their lives were in peril, that's how he would have found them."

Channei groaned. "Don't remind me."

"Anyway." Dakko seemed frustrated with all the interruptions. "I suppose you could say we were in danger. Though I really don't want to think he'd kill either of us, no matter what we did." He looked down. "Maybe that's more stupid wishful thinking. I've always liked imagining good things."

Kolo's heart ached at that comment. "Did you notice anything odd? When Xigon put him down?"

"I...I don't know. I mean, I..." Dakko suddenly seemed unable to form words. He grabbed onto Kolo's sleeve. "I mean, his eyes turned purple, and he –"

"His eyes turned purple?" Azvalath's eyebrows rose.

"Yeah, like they did when he was healing me when I first came," said Dakko. "But I don't think he was healing Haode. That wouldn't make any sense."

Kolo shook her head. Wherever this was headed, it felt like a dead end. An intensely frustrating, depressing dead end. She wasn't entirely sure why she cared, but she found she did, and immensely so.

Before she could say anything else, the door swung open. It hit Jai-Lag, who flinched away with a shrill mew more befitting of a tiny kitten than a full-grown sabretooth cat.

Kolo gulped when she saw the old woman standing in the doorway.

Master Qila squinted. "What's got all of you up so early?"

"We were...um..." Kolo struggled to come up with an excuse.

"Just talking," said Azvalath.

"About what?" she asked, though Kolo suspected Qila already knew.

"Anatomy," Rizval blurted.

"Mm-hm." Qila hummed with the tone of a condescending mother. "Rizval, your nose always flares when you tell a lie." She came in and sat down on the floor with all of them. "What's really going on?"

Kolo scowled. "What's wrong with Master Xigon?"

The whole room went dead silent.

Qila shrugged. "I have no idea. But it's none of your business."

"It's entirely our business." Azvalath practically snarled. "What are you two keeping from us?"

"It shouldn't concern you." Qila leveled him a glare. "I'll have you know, I'm as much in the dark as you are. But I haven't come to scold you all for prying, even though you really should stop."

"What for, then?" Kolo asked. "Seems like that's all you're doing right now."

Qila pulled a folded sheet of parchment out of her pocket. "Your next assignments."

Azvalath rolled his eyes. "Brilliant timing."

She unfolded the parchment and read it out loud. "Lalek, Rizval, Dakko, Ido – where's Ido?" When she looked around the room and didn't see him, Qila sighed. "Someone let him know. You four will be assisting with construction and repairs in the town below. You're to meet the innkeeper of Naughty Nack's for more information."

Rizval cackled. "That oaf?"

Qila cleared her throat. "Channei, you're to monitor the unrest that's growing among the populace. Get a sense of who's saying what about us. Yayaba will relay your findings to us."

"I'll be in disguise, I assume?" Channei played with a lock of her blond hair. "Easy enough."

"Jai-Lag, Azvalath, and Kolo." She looked straight at Kolo. "Yayaba has observed...unusual happenings around the village of Morning. Xigon wants you three to investigate. You've been given clearance to carry weapons and to pursue any suspected descendants of the Iron God." She squinted back at the parchment. "Your contact's name is Talin. According to Master Xigon, he should be unmistakable."

Kolo wasn't sure if she'd heard any of that right. "Pursue any...what?"

Azvalath chuckled bitterly. "Isn't it a bit soon to put Kolo on the hunt, Master Qila?"

Then she understood. And she laughed.

She'd be hunting someone the same way Azvalath had hunted her.

What delightful irony.

"I understand this might be difficult for you, Kolo." Qila finger-combed her gray hair. "If you'd prefer it, I can override this order and put you on a different task."

Kolo looked up and down, then clenched her fingers. Her heart fluttered.

"Any questions?" Qila asked.

With a twisted smile, Kolo turned back toward Qila. "Only when we begin."

[ask-underfazverse]

Eventually, Michael storms in. The feathers of his wings flapping furiously. The angel, eyes dim with rage, combs his hair back with his fingers. "Alright, Lucifer. Brother. We need to talk."-🛡🗡

Lucifer does not look up from his papers. He just quietly does them, his ears drooping past his deep purple eyebags. Even with the sleep he's been forced to have, he still finds ways to distract himself from sleeping.

Michael stomps to the desk, like an angry toddler in a grown man's body. He slams his fist on the desk hard, making Lucifer flinch. "LUCIFER!!!"-🛡🗡

The demon looks at his twin, who is now a painful reflection of him, his blackish-blue hair no longer drapes his shoulders, or falls past his neck. No, it's cut to past his ears and some of his cheek. With a large bang combed off to the side. His gold, purple, and blue eyes remind lucifer of a simpler time. When he first woke up his brother, after being born all those years ago. The purple in his eyes burns his soul the most, for his own eyes were once of a rich purple instead of the red he has now.

His eyes flick around, searching for a way to speak to his brother. He opens and closes his mouth, searching for words to say, to justify his odd behavior, but Michael just raises his hand. Immediately, lucifer stops playing cod fish, and shuts his mouth completely. "I don't want excuses. You always ask us for the truth, I want that from you, Luci. What has gotten into you?! First, when he started discovering ourselves, you were this ball of hope, and love, and- a-and you were always there! Now? I have to pry my way into your office just to see you! Don't you DARE tell me it's a privacy thing, cause you never HAD any privacy like this before! You never shut any of us out, you never shut ME out! You were always the one to include me in things, even back when we were kids! I was the first one you told when you wanted to rebel! Fuck, I was the first one you offered to run away with to play with mortals in places that father couldn't see! You never kept secrets from me! What is going on, brother...? What has gotten into you...?"-🛡🗡

Michael's face scrunches up, and fills with tears, and streams of light fall like sunshine from his cheeks. Lucifer puts down his pen on his half finished paperwork, and sighs. Looking at the incomprehensible scribbles from his sleep deprivation. "...I-I... I have been fearing that I'm becoming like father..."

Michael looks at him, like lucifer suddenly grew a second head. "...what?!"-🛡🗡

Lucifer starts to tear up, hearing the voice of his father, oh so faintly. ♤"Scream at him... tear out his wings... You're in my throne, are you not? Fill the role... he's defying you!"♤

Lucifer shakes the voice out of his head. He starts tearing up. "...I'm scared... I know that I need to rule heaven. No one else can fix everything like I can, but I-I feel like father's throne is cursed! I-I don't want to hurt people, I don't want to be like father, but with all this power, I'm afraid I-I might-"

Michael grabs him by the head. "LUCIFER!!"-🛡🗡

Immediately, he stops rambling. Tears trickle down his cheeks, his own looking far more like a mortal's. "...Lucifer, stop. Just stop... You're never going to be like father. You know why..?"-🛡🗡

He shakes his head, whimpering. Trying to keep the tears from falling. "...because you are the exact opposite of him, in every way. From the day that we were born, you were different from him. You were the Archangel of Art. All of his creations were stolen, fell flat, or died. You? You made what you wanted, you made things out of love instead of to impress. You found new skills, instead of abandoning projects when they were imperfect. You always cared about us, making sure we were smiling and having fun while we worked. There was not a day without true song or laughter till the day you fell... since then, we only made noises, there was no real music or joy without you! You sought after knowledge and new opportunities, not for yourself, but to help others. You never hurt anyone unless you thought it was necessary or just. You killed out of Justice at any moment that he came relevant, and even then you try to spare the unworthy of mercy. You sacrificed everything you could to bring us home, you dared not strike us when we were forced to slaughter everyone... father struck us when he was bored. He ate angels that he made from human souls, because he was bored. He committed genocides out of jealousy and boredom. You get sick to your stomach when you envy someone's body... or lunch... or anything really. You have the heart father never had. You will never be him. You listen, you care, and here you are now still caring. You are locking yourself away, punishing yourself, denying yourself basic needs, out of FEAR. Fear that you could ever become a monster like him. The fact you are too afraid says enough. You're nothing like dad, because you fear him. All he ever loved was himself..."-🛡🗡

Lucifer looks at his claws. His imperfect claws. The claws his father gave him, when he first technically won an argument with him. "...h-how did I not... think of that before...?"

Michael walks behind the desk and hugs him. Lucifer finally let's himself weep, and he clings to Michael. "...you got scared... I'm scared of being like my old self again, luci... You're not alone in this fear... we're twins... let's be scared together, so we can be brave for each other, like old times..."-🛡🗡

Lucifer laughs a little, choking on tears. "...scared together... brave for each other... thank you, brother..."

Lucifer buries his face in his brother's neck, and waits for his father's voice to ruin the moment. But...

It never came. And it will never come again. He's not Jehovah. He's himself.

@ask-underfazverse

A large 15 foot demon crawls out of a hell portal, holding something. He's a demon that has never been seen in Hell before. He collapses on the ground, and he holds the thing in his arms protectively. He's about 15 feet tall, covered his scars and open wounds, there are two large gashes on his back, his horns are too round to be normal and seem to be broken, and despite being muscular he seems very malnourished. Embedded in his back are holy arrows, spears, and swords that seem foreign. They're not weapons that the angels here in this universe use...

Malak jumps back, he was also wounded. The sound of howl like sounds can be heard but it sounds like no animal or mortal.. they were coming closer. Malak opens a portal back to his realm, and attempts to drag the wounded demon quickly into it. The sounds we’re getting closer and closer, and they eventually made it out.

[saffyspirals]

𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚜𝚑𝚕𝚢

; with: baji keisuke, matsuno chifuyu, draken, kazutora hanemiya, smiley

; warnings: lil’ bit of swearing, cheesy af rejection lines used.

; author’s note: i had the most fun writing this! one of my favourite posts, for sure.

𝚋𝚊𝚓𝚒

he’d heard rumours that you were cold to people who confess to you. and, after he happens to see you reject a confession live, baji draws a conclusion; cold is too soft a word.

“will you be my girlfriend?” “how about you go to a farm and convince one of the animals to date you instead?”

like, goddamn why don’t you rip the dude’s heart out instead? it would definitely hurt less.

any confidence he had before overhearing that is gone. now, he’s scared shitless to tell you about his own crush on you, worried you’ll stomp on his heart like you did the last guy.

but, baji being baji, refuses to admit this to himself or any of his friends, who in the end, convince him to go and find you after school, and confess.

“it’ll be different for me, it’ll be different for me,” he murmurs to himself, hoping that even an ounce of courage will come to him.

baji finds you sat in your classroom after school, scribbling away on a piece of paper. upon closer inspection, he sees it’s next week’s homework.

(which he should, but won’t, get started on now; he can’t possibly finish it the night before/morning of it’s due date)

“do you need something, baji-san?” he flinches at the mere sound of your voice.

…was it too late to back out now?

“nothing really. it’s not a big deal, but i kinda…like you and want us to date, or something, i dunno.”

he gets quiet right at the end, but you still hear him as clearly as you would have, if he’d yelled it at the top of his lungs.

baji misses the smile that spreads across your face, looking everywhere and anywhere but at you. he takes the silence as you thinking of something mean to bash him with.

“i think it’s a good idea. us dating, i mean.”

he nods, your words going in one ear and out the other. they don’t register at all. so, instead of reacting positively to your acceptance of his feelings, baji sighs, and turns to walk out of the room.

“you didn’t have to say it so rudely, ya know?

“…what are you talking about?” you inquire, just before he can slide the classroom door open. “baji, i mean i like you too. was what i said before somehow not clear enough?”

𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚢𝚞

chifuyu watches with clenched fists, when a guy from another class comes in during lunch break, to steal you away. it’s obvious that he wants to confess to you.

wanting to know whether or not you’ll accept, chifuyu decides to follow the two of you, to the semi secluded spot the guy picks to say his piece.

he knows he shouldn’t, but hey! how else will he know whether or not to try to forget about you, or continue to pursue you?

“i’ve been interested in you for quite a bit now. how about you and i go on a date, and see where it takes us?”

“…are you trying to make me sick? you know, that’s really insensitive of you; i have a test next period.”

chifuyu nearly gives away his position behind the wall, both his hands cover his mouth to muffle his surprised laughter.

a whole bunch of emotions come over him in that moment. relief; he doesn’t have to get over you after all (as if he could). admiration; he never knew you were so good with words! your response were as good as he was at fighting.

dread; would he be next, if he dared to confess?

the blond sinks down to the floor, quickly becomes lost in his own head, failing to notice the sound of footsteps getting louder, as a certain somebody approaches.

“matsuno chifuyu. why are you hiding there?”

his head snaps up, heart thrumming loudly when he sees you standing in front of him.

“are you here to confess to me too?” you guess, eyeing him curiously.

“ah — um, i, well..!” chifuyu stumbles over his words, not really knowing how to answer.

“it would be nice if you were,” you sink down to the ground too, offering him a hopeful smile. “because then i could tell you that i like you too.”

𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗

he knows what you’re like. but quite frankly, he doesn’t care. draken is quietly confident that his feelings are mutual.

“remind me, what did you say to that guy who confessed today?” he asks one afternoon, while walking you home from school.

“i didn’t say anything harsh this time, i was just being truthful! he told me that he’s in love with me, and…i asked him to tell me who he is.”

“you seriously mean to tell me that you don’t know who he is, even though we’ve shared a class with him for the past two years?”

“that can’t be helped!” you defend yourself, nudging draken who’s grinning beside you. “if i don’t know him, then i don’t know him!”

a comfortable blanket of silence wraps around the two of you after that; it lasts for the remainder of the trip back home.

you don’t make a move to open your front door, not wanting to go inside and leave draken behind just yet. pressing your back against the door, you crane your neck up to look at him.

“you know, i wouldn’t have to be so mean to all these people if you would hurry up and ask me out already.” you say, eyes sparkling in a cheeky manner. “i’m sure at least 75% of guys would think twice before asking me out; knowing that you, my boyfriend would come after them.”

“they would think twice, wouldn’t they.” draken nods thoughtfully. “alright then,” his dominant hand falls on top of your head. “since you insist, i’ll be your boyfriend.”

“wha — just when did i insist, huh?!”

𝚔𝚊𝚣𝚞𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚊

kazutora is a little intimidated by the fact you obliterate the hearts of people when you reject them, but ultimately sees this as a good quality.

at least if when you start dating, he knows he won’t have to get jealous over other guys; you’ll shut them down before he can even blink.

he happens to see you on his way to class. and he wants to approach, when he notices that you’re talking with someone.

the guy you’re interacting with is a kohai. poor guy, he’ll be too scared to love again.

“i-i’ve been always been admiring you from afar, l/n-senpai.”

“hmm…how would you feel about me filing a police report?”

“p-police report?”

kazutora makes his way over to you after the younger student scurries off with tears in his eyes.

“that was pretty harsh,” he comments, drawing your attention to his presence. “what if one of those guys decide to take physical revenge, huh?”

“ka-kazutora!” your entire demeanour changes. you smile sheepishly at him, sort of embarrassed that he’d caught you red handed. “i’m not really concerned. i’ll cross that bridge if i ever get to it.”

“that’s no way to do things.”

“you really think it’s a big deal? what should i do then?”

“hmmm…” he hums a thoughtful tone, pretending to think about the answer he already has planned. “well, i could protect you from anyone who comes for you.” he couples his next words up with a smile, “if you’ll have me, that is.”

“you’re asking me out?” you ask, looking for confirmation. kazutora pushes back the nerves that are slowly starting to settle in. he nods.

“go ahead and protect me then. i’d be more than happy to have you.”

𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢

smiley, along with his friends, and you, are playing a classic game of truth or dare.

all is fun and games until you’re pushed into picking dare after picking truth five previous times.

“i dare you to kiss your crush!” emma grins; she’d clearly been waiting for the opportunity.

the dare peaks smiley’s curiosity, as well as raises some concerns. he was curious, because of the way you rejected others so harshly; it seemed like you hated love, or something. was there really someone who’d actually claimed your heart? if so, who?

and he was concerned. he wasn’t sure how badly it would hurt, if he wasn’t the one who was kissed. if it wasn’t him, it would be one of his friends sitting in the circle. it clearly is one of them; emma must have known who, to be able to request you go through with that dare.

“…everyone has to close their eyes first.” your condition makes the curious cats (baji + chifuyu & mikey) groan.

“i wanna see who it is you like though!”

“just hurry up and close your stupid eyes, stupid!”

once you’re certain nobody is peeking, you rise from your seat in the circle, and awkwardly crawl over to where your crush is sat, directly across from you.

sensing that you’re in front of him, smiley’s grin grows. you cup his cheeks, and pull him in for a quick peck. before you can lean away for good, smiley kisses you again, not satisfied with your idea of a kiss.

smiley’s idea of a kiss, is one that lasts a long time; a make out session, if you will. you let him take the lead, and follow the comfortable pace he sets.

neither one of you realise how loud you are. (the lip smacking, smh) eyes closed, the rest of the gang can vividly imagine what the hell the two of you are doing.

(rip the two people sitting on either side of you)

smiley can’t stop himself from giggling, when you shiver at the feeling of his tongue sliding over the bottom of your lip.

“alright, i’ve had it!” you pull back, upon hearing a voice.

“you’re supposed to keep your eyes—”

“to fucking hell with that! emma told ya to kiss him, not suck his face off! just how long do you want us to sit here with our eyes closed, huh?”

“sorry, sorry.” smiley steps in, apologising to the flustered angry baji, and the rest of the crew. “let’s go somewhere else, yeah?” he rises from his seat, before pulling you up too.

you raise a middle finger to the victorious smirk emma gives you, before leaving the room.