#sigh I should just stick to WIP with the way I hate doing finished drawings

[dawnofiight]

Angel WIP

I have 5 different art styles btw 😁 (I'm inconsistent)

[shadowdianne]

Fic writer review [Or a fic writer tag game if you prefer]

I was tagged by @naralanis and I can already see her grin all the way from where I am xd Thank you, dear, for the tag, let’s see what are my answers, shall we.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

*bursts out laughing* Adding both pseuds I have… 535 according to the account info but by counting them all I’m reaching 541 so I’m guessing it’s counting some drafts I need to re-find.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

I seriously hated you for this one xd I was going to do it by hand by I decided one-third there that I value my mental stability a little bit more xd according to the stats page back at a03 that number would be 1257884. It may be wrong. I think there should be a few more numbers up there but the majority of my works are one-shots so *shrugs* There’s also the fact that counting my ao3 things only is shaving off like half of it Xd Anyway, can we laugh at the fact that I’m a pain in the ass and that I’ve written a lot? More than I should have, that’s for sure

3. How many fandoms have you written for?

Trick question because I haven’t crossposted everything I wrote back in ffnet and I actually erased some fics from my account back there so the numbers are a little blurry there.

When I had the entirety of my work posted both in ffnet and a03 I had written for: Twilight (Bella/Alice) Glee (Faberry and there were a couple Pezberry and I don’t fucking remember the pairing name for Santana and Quinn), Harry Potter (Hermione/Ginny, Hermione/Narcissa, Hermione/Bellatrix) OUAT (SwanQueen and several oneshots focusing on the mad hatter and the blue fairy solely back at ffnet that were written in Spanish and never translated), I actually had a veeeery old au prompt of Frozen (Elsanna in where I wrote them as non sibilings), Rizzoli and Isles (Rizzles), Dishonored 2 (Emily Kaldwin/Alexi Mayhew), Lara Croft and Wonder Woman, Supergirl (SuperCorp/Supercat) I had a 100 one -or maybe two??- (Clexa), The Shannara Chronicles (Amberle/Eretreia [Or Princess Rover], Rwby [Blake Belladona/Yang], The Worst Witch (Hecate Hardbroom and Pippa Pentangle), The Half of it, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (Madam Satan/Zelda Spellman) and… I think that’s it(?) I may be forgetting some but probably nothing important if I’m not remembering it lol.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

Ah, we are going to go there, uh? Xd My works are not the kudos and comment getting type Xd So I was quite surprised when I went to check this.

1: Cracked it I wrote this one back in 2017, it was a prompt done by an anon: Lena is nerding with one of her projects at home, mumbling mostly to herself because she’s stuck and Kara casually mentions how to solve the problem like it’s nothing. I really had some fun with this. It was back when some us, SQeeners were fully doing the jump between OUAT and SuperGirl (I mean, there had already been some crossover as for fandom is related but this when the girls were actually getting their conjoined voice within the fandom)

2: Dateless I honestly needed to check what this one was about but I think I can see why this one shot has the amount of kudos it has. It’s a short and sweet idea and responds to the Teachers Au that went SO well with SQ. Everyone thinks they hate each other and try to set them up with other people whilst they, in truth, are dating. I don’t remember if I wrote them as married rather than dating but despite being from 2017 as well is one cheeky enough to be cool Xd I probably would edit some lines now *shudders*

3: After you I truly didn’t expect this one to be top 3. Makes me think of a lot of things, if I’m being honest Xd. After you was a one shot written almost feverishly as an answer to the fabulous drawings that Sejic did of both Lara Croft and Wonder Woman back at 2018 or something. It’s just Lara and Diana being himbos but not at all with each other.

4: How about… How about is one I remember perfectly, it was my answer to the ending of the Half of it film. I had SOME thoughts about it, let’s just stop there Xd I really liked the film itself but I think and I thought at the time that my response to wishing for a final scene at the very end of the credits responds to me being in a different personal moment than the characters. I really wanted to explore my feelings about it and so I wrote about them finding each other again after some time passes. It was also something I wrote after quite the hiatus so I took it as something I could write about without focusing too much on the why.

5: Come to me

Ahh, SuperCorp Xd I remember this one actually. A friend of mine and I were talking about descriptions, and she mentioned quite off-handedly how she wanted a fic in where Kara’s back was described. I complied… more or less.

Fun tidbit, despite the big volume of my work is obviously set in ouat there’s only 1 SQ fic there as you can see, the others are either SuperCorp or the random one shots I created for Wonderwoman/Lara Croft and The half of it. *sighs in deep thought* I’m also not going to look too much into how almost all of the fics were posted and written back in 2017. Nope, not at all.

*Small voice screaming you peaked in 2017 and everything else is garbage jumps back and forth*

5. Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

I tend to always respond, yup. I truly value comments. I might have gone for spells of time in where I didn’t have the mental capacity to check in old fics because I truly didn’t know what to answer but I treasure every single comment and you all who comment know that I can start to ramble in the answers xd -sorry about that- I really really REALLY love interaction.

6. A fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending:

Ok, Nara, come on, this one is a catch for me. I’ve written angst in far too many fics to remember the angstiest one :P I have the most recent one, though, that is the easy one to think about: Goodbye.Written for @delirious-comfort. I’m just going to say “Kisses with their last dying breath” as an idea of what awaits inside but I’ve written about death and loss and angst quite a lot. There were some I wrote back to SQ with Regina needing to kill Emma during the Dark Swan arc that, to this day, I still love and some others in where Regina is the one that dies, again and again, trapped by magic while Emma watches. I have the loss in mental destruction form and… I REALLY like my angst y’know xd

7. Do you write crossovers?

Not counting Lara and Wonder Woman not really! I think it comes from the fact that I loooove worldbuilding as a whole and some pairings would require all my focus into making the world perfect which in turn would make me self conscious on the OOCness of it all.

8. Ever received hate on a fic?

*snorts* I’ve received hate due to the pairing I’ve written about, how I’ve written about it, the amount I’ve written, how slow or quick I can be, the usage of some tropes, the lack of usage of those same tropes… Let’s just go with: yuuuup.

9. Do you write smut?

I’ve written smut, yeah! But I can already see the pointed looks of some so let’s elaborate Xd I write smut when asked and sometimes when not asked but there’s a part of me I like to call a terrible tease that prefers writing the beginning of a scene, taunt it, focus on what happens before the sex scene per se as I find it more enjoyable to write. The process of escalation is always the best for me to see what can I do it by using both dialogue and descriptors tbh, so I tend to tease more than show.

9. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

A few weeks ago I’d have said: Maybe(?) But trying to follow the trail of some other fics that had been stolen from some friends -I think it was me trying to find more about the page that stole something from your Nara!- I found some pages in where my fics had been reposted. In some it was stated that the person posting the fic wasn’t the author but I had never been contacted in order to see if I’d say yes to such a thing and in some others the page was locked up but I could still see someone was pretending to be the author. I did the thing and got some of those down.

Pointed note: Ask me if you want to post or translate or anything. I will look into you and answer you if you seem honest about the thing. But despite every joke and self-deprecating comment those 500 and then some fics represent MY time so very kindly I say fuck off to those who wish to steal from me and if I catch you… you don’t really want to see me angry, trust me.

10. Ever had a fic translated?

I’ve given permission to some, yeah, but never heard it back from them so I’m guessing it didn’t stick.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic?

I’ve written series alongside other authors as @stregaomega for example. And some others that are unpublished -looking at you @carsonnieve - I’ve also done collabs… but fics co-written in the sense of two authors same chapters I don’t have anything posted I’m afraid :P

13. All-time favourite ship?

*snorts*, I guess the obvious answer is SQ uh? And I do think they were the ones that allowed me to read and write SO much. The one I feel more strongly about, however, is Bering and Wells from Warehouse 13.

14. WIP you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will?

All of them counts as a valid answer? But if I only could finish one that would be Arcadia. With A forgotten Promise second and the one I did as an Assassins Creed AU third. (I don’t remember the name so there’s no link, sorry xd)

15. Writing strengths?

Uhhhh, you REALLY want me to say that? I don’t fucking know!! To me everything I write is garbage. I always try to go for the feelings so I guess. Dunno xd I’ve been told I’m good at worldbuilding and to be honest is what I enjoy the most.

16. Writing weaknesses?

Everything Xd Pacing? What I hate the most sometimes is dialogue, I would count it as a weakness but I’m always far too focused on description rather than dialogue. I don’t think it’s a bad thing per se but it’s something that I don’t do as much.

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

I’m conflicted. Always. Majorly because I think that having bilingual characters in fanfiction is portrayed and expected in a way that I don’t feel it’s honest with how bilingual people -us- talk. So if I go by what I know I do I think it’s not what readers hope to see when it comes to that and if I go for how canonically is hoped to be found I don’t think it’s logical. But that’s me and my overthinking Xd If I have the option I like to do it.

18. First fandom you ever wrote for?

Belice! Or Bella/Alice. Worst first fic ever but oh, well, I’m always saying that :P

19. What’s your fav fic you’ve written so far?

Uhh… Don’t make me do this XD Agh, I don’t know. I’ve always been very vocal about Metallic Ink because I let myself enjoy the process of creating a magic system almost out of zero and that was fun. Despite hating some of the writing process and that I’d do it differently now I think I’m going to stick with that answer. Or anything that had any steampunk-based undertone. To be honest I like more thinking of concepts, I had one in where Emma was a thief and it involved the robbery of a ring that was Regina’s one way ticket to freedom I then later repurposed that I adored thinking about so let’s go with…. Yeah, I love having the option of changing things up a little and focus on how characters would fit in different aesthetics for this one Xd

Annnd… these are four pages, gods. I’m just going to tag @waknatious @carsonnieve @stregaomega here and see what they do- Enjoy the questionnaire ladies :P

[solarianvoidthearoace]

Excerpt #2 from my JonGerry WiP

CN/TW for this one: loaded flirting, teasing and squabbling, implication of homophobia, implication of transphobia, very brief discussion of boundaries around sex (as in: hard no, won't happen), misunderstanding around the flirting

Jon actually dozed off at one point, his head pillowed on Gerry’s shoulder and body curled towards them. Delicately manoeuvring Jon’s glasses off his nose, Gerry pressed a kiss to his forehead,

“I love you.” A sleepy smile tugged at Jon’s lips,

“Love you too.” Putting the glasses away onto the nearby side table, Gerry themself snuggled closer until he was curled around Jon protectively. Just like back then. Not because Jon couldn’t take care of himself, no. But because Gerry always had been taller and more scary looking. And in the privacy of their youth bedrooms, it had simply been because it felt right.

It was dark out, when the both of them woke up again. Tangled together and still pressed close with Jon’s wide ankle skirt acting as sort of a blanket. After the initial surprise, Jon’s expression turned soft. Gentle and fond as he trailed his fingers down Gerry’s face. Blinking sleepily, Gerry hummed,

“Depending on how late it is, you up for pizza?” Instead of answering, Jon decided to first pepper Gerry’s cheeks with kisses. They were giggling under him, before he relented and sat up,

“Sounds good to me. But maybe we should turn on some lights before anything else.” Gerry poked him in the ribs,

“Good point. Let me up?” Jon simply flopped down against the armrest opposite to the one Gerry had been resting against, drawing his legs in and sitting sort of sidesaddle on the cushion there. Standing up, they handed him his glasses, before crossing the room to reach the light switches.

“Any preference about that pizza?” While Jon made himself more comfortable, still with his legs next to him on the sofa, he also grabbed his phone, checking the time.

“You still like pepperoni salami?”, he turned to look at Gerry over the back of the couch. Nodding, they returned to the couch but paused behind the backrest, slinging his crossed arms over the top of it and leaning in towards Jon,

“Sure, as if I could ever lose my taste for hot.” His gentle attempt to cup Jon’s chin was met with a playful snarl.

“Well, hot tempered, apparently”, they conceded, pressing a quick kiss to Jon’s hair instead. Shooting Gerry a look, Jon rolled his eyes, turning away and putting the order into his phone,

“Big one and we share?”

Over dinner, they talked about Gerry’s art. Past shows and exhibits his works had been a part of, how he always stood in as one of Gertrude’s assistants to participate without being questioned.

“So there you have it, finally you know all there is to know about both of my jobs”, they nudged Jon’s shoulder. Due to Gerry really talking about his art most of the time through dinner, Jon had eaten probably two slices more than them. Not that he minded, except for Jon trying to snatch the last slice as well.

“Ey!”, they gasped in offence as he immediately bit off the tip,

“You prick!” Jon just grinned, sticking the tip of his tongue out,

“What are your gonna do about it?” Gerry’s expression darkened, glaring at him as they leaned closer, right up into Jon’s personal space. He had the presence of mind to hold the pizza slice away from them, as Gerry growled at him,

“I’ll do something about it alright.” The next moment, Jon blinked in surprise. Gerry’s lips were on his, he could even feel them smiling into the kiss before he sunk against him. As soon as he pulled back, Gerry gave a triumphant “ha!”. Only then did Jon notice he had been robbed of the pizza which they now finished off before he could even grab for it.

“You’re an ass”, he tried for stern, he really did. But with Gerry’s self-satisfied and dopey proud expression, Jon didn’t stand a chance against his laughter bubbling up. Wiping their fingers on a napkin, Gerry grinned down at Jon,

“You love me”, he made sure his hands were grease-free before they offered a hug. Instead, Jon just put a hand to their chest and gave him a shove,

“Yea, I have had better taste”, his fond expression betraying the quip. Gerry let their arms drop, positioning one on the backrest of the couch,

“Careful, four-eyes”, he had leaned in, teasing glint in his affectionate look. Jon played along, snorting and crossing his arms,

“Or what?” On cue, Gerry straightened up to his full height, putting his weight forward and gradually caging Jon in. When he actually did slide back on the sitting cushions, Gerry paused, a questioning expression crossing their face. At Jon’s silent eye-roll and minute head-tilt, he grinned. Using his height to tower over Jon, they even put out his other arm, bracing their hand against the armrest behind Jon. He was fully caged in between Gerry and the couch. Jon visibly enjoying their banter had Gerry smirk down at him,

“Take a guess, doll.” Another amused snort, before Jon huffed and tried staring him down. As that didn’t work, he raised a brow,

“You want a kiss or something to let me go?”, nudging Gerry’s arm with his. Raising a brow in return, Gerry made a show of contemplating it,

“Well… “or something” does sound rather interesting, actually. What are you offering?” Their smirk turned into a grin halfway through.

Jon shook his head,

“God, I hate you”, before stretching up to kiss them. Relaxing their arms just a bit, Gerry still blocked Jon from standing up with his body while the two of them kissed.

“Sure you do”, he gave a quick peck to Jon’s cheek. Sighing, Jon looked around himself,

“You’re gonna let me go or what?”, he didn’t really sound happy to ask,

“I really don’t want to take the underground any later into the night than I have to.” He sighed, deflating a little and looking down at his skirt. Gerry felt their own shoulders sag at that, shifting his weight they sat up. Still close to Jon, they shifted until he sat next to him, letting their arm slide down onto his shoulders,

“Then don’t?” His shrug sort of worked to pull Jon in against their side again,

“It’s late, the weather is probably shit anyway…”, they turned to look at him again.

“I don’t want you ending up in an unsafe subway situation. You don’t have to leave just -“, Jon interrupted him.

Jon’s expression had darkened, not in the playful way from before but honestly threatening, which also carried in his voice,

“Gerry…” They slowly withdrew his arm, affected by Jon’s tone. Nonetheless they kept close, his shoulder still touching Jon’s. Trying to comfort him against whatever this sudden shift was, Gerry kept their tone gentle,

„Just offering, Jon.“ With grumble, Jon turned away, pushing them back in the same move. Finally getting up from the cushion, Jon wrapped his arms around himself, trying to mask it as crossing them.

„Just…“, he pushed his glasses up and rubbed at his eyes with both hands, resignation settling into his shoulders,

„Stop the aggressive flirting for a moment, please.“ He turned back to Gerry, the defensive bristling long gone. Gerry stared, the sudden uncertainty in their expression was laced with worry. His shoulders sagged as they deflated with the tentative hesitance suddenly washing over him.

Clearing his throat, Jon regarded him with a deeply exhausted look, making him look even older than what the grey-white strands of hair accounted for,

„You know just as well as I that you won’t get me into bed.“ Despite chewing on his bottom lip, his face was set, signalling every way he could that this wasn’t up for debate.

As soon as the shock released them, Gerry gave a half-hearted shrug, feeling awkward all of a sudden,

„Not my intention. I would never try talking you into sex, jeez. I just …“, unsure how or if to continue, he wrapped his arms around themself. With a deep sigh, they looked up at Jon again,

„I would love if you stayed the night and slept over. Is all.“ Trying for a friendly smile fell short anyway.

Hesitantly reaching out a hand, which ended up just hanging in the air between them, Gerry shook his head,

„I’m sorry if it sounded like…“, their hand dropped back to his side,

„I’m sorry.“ Jon blinked, taking in their pleading expression and overall non-threatening, suddenly timid posture. Jon’s voice sounded foreign, somewhat husky, even to his own ears,

„Of course.“ He shook his head, stepping back towards the couch, towards Gerry,

„I’m sorry.“ Offering Gerry his hands, he gave a weak smile,

„You’re right and I overreacted on a false assumption. I just… met some bad apples over the years…“ When Gerry’s face fell anew, this time with worry on his behalf, Jon huffed, retracting one hand to wave the thought away. With a questioning look, he stepped even closer to them, until he could hug him to his stomach.

„Of course I know you would never pressure me. I promise you, I logically know that“, he pressed a kiss to the top of Gerry’s head.

[memoriashell]

the luck of the draw ( surely is not in her favor )

Characters /  Pairing: Fukawa Touko / Naegi Komaru ( focused ), ft. ( some of ) Class 78

crossposted on ao3

Notes: day two of @tokomaruweek, i'm combining the killing game and talentswap prompts!! it’s still before midnight i’m totally not late at all here,

featuring my totally not original talent / roleswap luck student komaru au. because creativity is dead and i think komaru being stuck in a killing game is ??? when you think about the fact that komaru canonically sees ghosts. you KNOW she ends up possessed by one of the dead students in the last trial bc someone wants to say fuck you to the mastermind :/ also the fact that syo remembers shit but just never says anything feels like great potential!! they just want to love their partner but toko won’t let them front this is homphobia /j

anyways this au just lives in my wips rent free bc i keep changing my mind on how i want things to play out anyways. so this is more of a concept and not canon to that au if i ever finish it and that's also why this takes place in ch1 so i don't gotta think too hard on the details <3 any talents brought up are the ones i'm for sure sticking with.

tws for touko's general paranoia / anxiety / etc, mentions of murder bc kg au, and also since i usually depict syo as nonbinary with they/them pronouns, komaru’s technically accidentally misgendering them from her pov bc she doesn’t/can’t tell that syo is fronting, in case that bothers you!!

Summary: for being chosen on the basis of luck, it doesn't feel like she's ever going to catch a break here.

It’s quiet, this morning.

Not that she really knows any better— they’ve only been trapped in the school with the murder bear for a few days, after all. So maybe Komaru’s focusing on the wrong part.

It’s less that it’s quiet, there’s a few faces missing that she’d have expected to get there before her. Especially since she’d managed to sleep through her alarm again and had been kind of late; she had fully expected to be greeted with a lecture as soon as she’d gotten to the dining hall. Alright, one person specifically that stands out in her mind, but it hasn’t gone unnoticed by her that Fukawa’s not there yet. Weird, given the moral compass had lectured her for being tardy to meet up with everyone on their first day, and then for sleeping in the first morning, but...given the videos that bear had shown them the previous day, she supposes she can’t blame some people to feel reluctant to show up. Maybe that’s where she is? Going around to check on people? She had seemed a little paranoid that people were skipping out on gathering in the morning on purpose...

( Because she really, really doesn’t want to think about the possibility that Fukawa, or any of her other classmates might possibly be dead. That someone would have actually gone through with trying to kill one another? So she simply won’t think about that fact. It feels kind of like a Pavlovian...no, wait, that’s the wrong person. Uh. Freudian theory? Ah! Schrödinger’s cat. Yeah, that kind of scenario )

Okay, that settles it! She should probably have breakfast first, and if Fukawa hasn’t shown up by the time she finishes, she’ll go see if she can find her. Besides, she’s sure they aren’t the only ones who are concerned about the ones that haven’t shown up. Maizono seemed super nice ( unsurprisingly ), so maybe if she’s still hanging out in the dining hall, Komaru can convince her to help her in her search! Now that she thinks about it, she can probably ask anyone that comes by the dining hall for any leads.

...But why does she care so much in the first place? It’s not like she doesn’t care about the others: even the ones already dead— she can’t place why exactly she feels attached to people she barely knew, but she’s always been pretty sentimental. Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s the way Fukawa seems to try so hard to be close to people in one moment, and then so distant in the next.

In any case, standing in front of the fridge and spacing out is probably far from a good idea, besides the obvious fact that she’s in the way— she doesn’t even notice that someone has decided to take advantage of her distracted state to pull the wool over her eyes. Er, the hoodie of her jacket, technically.

She’s hardly gotten a chance to push the hood back before a hand comes down on her head to ruffle her hair. Or, well, she presumes that is his intention, even if the gesture comes off as more of a light noogie. She puffs her cheeks out in a pout, glaring up while the other smirks down at her. “‘Sup, squirt? Falling asleep on yer feet, or is there another reason yer zoning out in the middle of the kitchen?” The baseball star tosses an apple in his hand like one would with a ball, and she considers lightly kicking Oowada’s ankles in retaliation.

“Just thinking. You probably shouldn’t play with your food like that though.” She responds, and he makes a face at her.

“Ah, so ya do still got something still rattlin’ in that tiny head of yours, good. Worried I knocked everything outta ya.” He teases, reaching past her to open the fridge door. “An’ why would you do that to yerself? It’s still too early in the mornin’ fer that shit.”

“Well...I’m just a little worried. There are fewer people hanging out in the dining hall this morning.” She admits.

He scowls. “Pretty sure they’re just antsy ‘cause of that damn bear ‘nd if any of them have a lick of sense in ‘em they’ll be busy looking fer a way out or somethin’. Don’t worry yer pretty lil’ head about it.”

“...Yeah, I guess.” She can’t help but worry, but her concern isn’t exactly going to help right now, at any rate. Maybe she’ll just find something that she can take with her to eat. “Oh! But speaking of that, did you happen to see Fukawa-san on your way here? I would’ve thought she would have stayed around here this morning, honestly.”

“Her? Mm, yeah, heard her and Ishimaru goin’ at it in the halls earlier—”

“They were what?” Before he can finish his sentence, Asahina’s voice cuts in from behind her, pitch breaking midspeech.

“Fighin’! They were jus’ yelling at each other! N...Not anything weird!” Oowada backtracks in a panic when he realizes how poorly his wording could be misconstrued, even if such a thought never occurred to her. “Jeeze, ya think the Public Morals chick would engage in that shit? Not that I don’t think she might be a bit hypocritical with her rules ‘nd shit but—”

“No! No, I don’t! That’s why I was asking!” Asahina retorts with a huff, and while they bicker, Komaru takes this as an opportunity to slink out of the kitchen with a slice of toast. Unfortunately, Maizono seems to have left in that span of time, but the Clairvoyant happens to be sitting alone, so she figures she might see if she has anything interesting to contribute.

Enoshima opens an eye to stare at her upon hearing her footsteps, presumably, and before Komaru can even greet her, she speaks, monotone. “Four.”

Whatever question you’d planned to say dies in your throat, instead sputtering out a bewildered, “H-Huh?”

“It’s your lucky number for the day.” She sounds bored, as if she’d been stating the obvious, instead of some cryptic statement.

“...Isn’t that the number of death?” She is less certain of herself than she wants to be, ignoring the shiver that runs down her back upon realizing this.

Enoshima grins at that, for reasons she doesn’t understand; cheery voice a total 180 from what it’d been moments ago. “Well, perhaps it means you’ll be having a meeting with death today? Probably about time someone kicked the bucket, someone was bound to snap sooner or later... I’m sure your luck will kick in though, right? But I’ll wish you good luck anyways!”

“Thank you...?” Is that the appropriate response here? She’s not sure, but it’s probably not worth lingering on any longer than she already has, and decides with a rising urgency that maybe she should find Fukawa.

Although, recounting the conversation in the kitchen, she wonders if she should check on Ishimaru as well. Neither of them really struck Komaru as the kind to fight ( with their fists, at least, Fukawa’s mouth seemed set on picking a fight half the time ), so to say she was a little concerned might be an understatement. Given the writer had a tendency to be more openly friendly she could probably get a straight...well, an honest answer from him as to what had happened.

But she wanders for what feels like ages, and doesn’t have any luck ( haha, the irony ) in finding any hint as to where either of them might have gone, and decides to stick to her efforts to find Fukawa first. Ishimaru seemed like the type to be more resilient, so maybe she can catch him around their next meal time. If he didn’t lose track of time again, at least...

Ugh, she’d kill to honestly run into anyone around here. Not literally kill, obviously, but for reasons she’s been trying to keep quiet on, she really hates wandering the halls alone: or most places that they can access right now, to be honest. She keeps seeing this one ghost this one ghost in particular ( or at least Komaru is pretty sure she’s a ghost ), but she refuses to acknowledge her hanging around because that would be weird, and she would like to seem normal and if someone saw that it’d be a hassle to explain.

Fortunately, her search finally turns up fruitful when she finds Fukawa spacing out in the A/V room.

...Unfortunately for her, finding Fukawa earns her a pretty close brush with death. In the blink of an eye, a pair of scissors are thrust against her throat, pinning her back against the moment she steps into the room.

Oh. Uh. Oh god? Was Enoshima actually right about that? Her breath catches in her throat and for a moment, she wonders who would find her if she was killed here. Would they care? What about her parents— Makoto?

Would they sigh and just ponder if she’d ever been lucky at all?

And just as quick, the cold metal is pulled away from where it rests against her neck. “Oh. It’s just you.” The words are spoken with more warmth than she can ever recall hearing Fukawa speak with, which is really weird considering what just went down.

Ever so smartly, Komaru doesn’t actually process what is said to her, and responds with, “Isn’t that technically against the rules?”

A thin eyebrow is raised at her, scissors being tucked away under her shirt. Uh. “No? That’s what they want, right? Or are you so naive that you think that everyone would really follow the rules?”

Well. She’s probably not entirely wrong in thinking that she’s naive, but... “Isn’t, uhm. Isn’t that your thing, though? The rules?”

Fukawa looks startled to have this pointed out to her, for some reason. “Oh, hahaha, yeah. T-Totally! I was just...uh, testing you.”

Okay, now she’s just downright acting strange? Komaru’s willing to give her the benefit of the doubt that maybe she’s just acting odd because the videos are weighing on her mind. They are in the AV room, after all. Something doesn’t add up though, but she can’t quite place what it is...

Komaru opens her mouth to ask the other a question, but when she looks back over at Fukawa, her expression has gone kind of...distant? Hazy? She doesn’t quite know how to describe it, and begins to ask if she’s feeling okay when the other girl sort of...collapses into her, arms going around her loosely. She panics a little because that can’t be a sign of anything good, right? Is she feeling dizzy? She’s not passed out, and at least she’s breathing normally. She’s surprisingly pretty light, so it’s not like it’s really an issue to just help support her until she feels better.

The only warning that she gets is the feeling of the other girl tensing up before Fukawa suddenly bolts upright and shoves herself away. Komaru frowns a little, not because of the sudden change in attitude ( if anything, she finds that strangely reliving ), but moreso out of concern, attempting to reach her hands out to help steady her on her feet, but gets her hands slapped away before she can do so. “Don’t touch me.” She hisses.

Okay she’d be lying if she said that didn’t sting, but she can’t help but laugh for a moment. “Ahaha— sorry, I’m not laughing at you. For a moment there, you seemed like a completely different person! I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, Fukawa-san.” If she were more aware of the situation, she might feel more guilty for being unintentionally insensitive: but as she doesn't, she simply misses the way the other looks nervous for a moment while she wonders what that had been all about ( but can’t quite gather the nerve to actually ask ).

“Y-Yeah, real likely story. You just...just came to l-laugh at me in a moment of weakness, r-r-right?” She glares, hands clenched. “I know your type! No one is...is actually that nice w-without some kind of ulterior motive.”

Is that what she actually thinks about me?

“No! I really am glad to see you’re feeling better. You really had me scared there for a minute.” She says sincerely, offering her a reassuring smile. “If you want, I’ll listen to whatever’s bothering you. It’ll stay between us.”

Fukawa scowls, watching her for a long minute with a guarded expression. “There w-was something on the, uh, disc that Monokuma gave you, right? Just like— like everyone else?”

Huh? Well, if this is what it takes to get her trust, then she supposes she can talk about it... “Yeah. It was my parents and my older brother. It’s...kinda scary to think about, honestly. What about you, Fukawa-san? Was it also your family?”

“No. M-M-Mine was blank. Because...because there was no one to choose. Or so he says.” Her jaw is clenched. “Of course, I had to— I acted like I was the same as everyone else, b-because it’d be strange if I didn’t, right? You’d think I was, was working with them or something...everyone would really hate me after th-yhat.”

“Uhm, I’m pretty sure Togami-san didn’t even blink an eye...?” She tries to bring up as a counterpoint, but apparently she has more to say.

“A-A-And before you ask, it’s not like they’re wrong about that, so...so it didn’t surprise me to here it. But everyone got s...something similar, right? All these personal th-things about us...just how much do they really know? How are we supposed to act like, like this is all normal when they’ve got that kind of leverage over us...!”

Oh. She’s shaking— she’s scared. She’s been putting up a front? Komaru puts two and two together after a moment, gently taking the other girl’s hands in her own. This time, she doesn’t get pushed away.

“I’m scared too.” She admits. “Thinking about it like that is scary. But that’s what they want from us, right? To make us scared, so we act the way he wants us to, right?”

Fukawa remains silent, but the conflicted look on her face at least indicated that she was paying attention to her and not ignoring her like she might’ve feared. Komaru squeezes her hands in an attempt to be reassuring. “But you think we’ll all get out alive, right? So no matter what, as long as you believe that, no matter what they might know we’ll be okay. And if you don’t think you can do that on your own, I’ll be right here to support you. So we’ll definitely get out alive, it’s a promise...!”

“You...You really don’t know wh-wh-what you’re saying.” She mutters under her breath, but Komaru takes it in stride with a grin.

“That’s not a no!” It’s not a yes either, but Fukawa doesn’t humor her in further acknowledging the subject: it doesn’t really mater, because Komaru sees a hint of what might be called a smile in her gentle expression.

Yes, at least with one of your peers, you are sure you’ve grown a little closer with today ( and for today, that is a good enough start ).

[elenajohansenauthor]

no one:

no one:

me: here’s a 5K full chapter of partially edited smut from my WIP

[content warnings: light BDSM with a strong dom/sub dynamic but no toys, bondage, or pain. full and clear consent. very explicit.]

Amber bent down to give a highly embarrassed Liesl a peck on the cheek. She'd been flushed red to the roots of her dark brown hair since the moment Will had coaxed her out onto the stage. Liesl wasn't a rock star, she was a sound tech, a damn good one they were lucky to have. She wasn't used to being the center of attention.

Having a few thousand people sing you "Happy Birthday" could unnerve a person that way.

Will finished up his banter with the audience as the rest of the band gave Liesl her chaste birthday kisses. Kenzie looked like she wanted to give the woman a solid spank for good measure. As far as Amber knew, Liesl wouldn't be into that, and Kenzie wouldn't actually do it. Hopefully that extra energy would translate to a wild night with her lighting-crew paramour instead. She hadn't been sleeping on the bus much lately. Amber watched Rob give Liesl her kiss with a pang of completely unfounded jealousy. She had no reason to indulge her insecurities. If Rob was anyone's, he was hers. They had a contract, half-unwritten and signed with a few minutes of heady, passionate making out. More accurate to call it an understanding, but they'd both stick to it.

They hadn't had any opportunities to act on it, though. After three days of waiting Amber was antsy. The nights had been replays of so many before; she woke up, found Rob in the lounge, and cuddled with him while they talked. He was a little more free with his hands, stroking her hair and massaging her scalp as he'd learned she liked. And he'd kissed her a few times, gentle presses of his lips to her temple or her forehead. Never her mouth. Never anything that couldn't be the actions of a close but still platonic friend. He was treating her like a skittish horse ready to spook. He had good reason to, even if Amber hated why that was true. She appreciated the thoughtfulness, but she needed more from him, and soon.

Standing beside him while he sang, even if was "Happy Birthday," even if he'd placed himself back from the shared microphone so it only picked up hints of his amazing voice . . .

Would he sing her, just for her, if she asked? She wanted to, but that wanting embarrassed her, especially since she doubted he would.

And as sweet as a lullaby would be, it wasn't what she wanted, not now, with barely leashed fire running through her veins.

She wasn't sure she could wait until tomorrow night.

Liesl dashed off-stage, and the rest of their set passed in a pulse-pounding, ear-numbing blur. Amber had hit her stride, fitting into the Brody-shaped hole in the band and making temporarily her own. Everything was finally meshing.

As the curtain dropped after their encore, Rob approached her with a water bottle and a smile. She lifted her guitar strap over her head and handed the instrument to one of the crew to pack.

Though the others were breaking down their gear as usual, laughing and hyped up after a great show, Amber felt disconnected from them. She and Rob were in their own bubble, a separate world where everything else was distant and dim. Even the lights faded, leaving them in a half-darkness tinted red from the emergency exit signs. She took the offered water and drank half the bottle.

Rob shook his sweat-darkened hair back from his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but Amber held up a hand to stop him. After a quick glance to see if anyone was paying them any attention, she jerked her head toward the door and led him into the hallway. After turning a few corners, they were out of sight, alone. She kissed him, using her greater height and his surprise to propel him backwards into a wall.

His hand lifted to her chin, forcing her back, breaking the kiss before she had even half of what she wanted from him. "Bad girl," he whispered. "Bad, impatient girl." But he was grinning in the bright glare of the hallway lights.

She waited for the sting of embarrassment to hit, but it didn't. Rob's tone wasn't angry or vengeful or cruel. In fact, he almost sounded impressed, like he was pleased she'd forced the issue. The waiting might not be any easier on him.

His hand closed firmly on her good shoulder, pressing down. "On your knees, pet."

Amber shivered, hearing that endearment. She might have chosen something else, but she didn't mind it, not if he made it carry that much warmth. She steadied herself as she descended by holding on to Rob's waist. The leather of his belt was smooth under her touch, and she gripped it tightly to stop herself from tearing it free from his jeans. She looked up, waiting for direction.

"Should I be disciplining you for being so greedy you want to take me in public, or letting you have what you want because you're being so brave?" His other hand traced soft lines over her cheek. They were alone in the hallway, but exposed. Amber couldn't decide if she was more excited or afraid someone would catch them like this.

She made some choked, almost animal noise, being so close to him yet still holding back. She didn't know what he wanted from her, what he would allow.  But her body cried out for him mindlessly, urging her closer. She wanted to rub her face against the bulge in his jeans, open them, take him into her mouth.

"No, pet," he said, as if reading her mind. More likely, he understood the the press of her hands on his body. "Not here.  I'm sure you could be so quiet while you suck my cock that no one would hear you. But I'm not about to share you with anyone if they find us. No one else gets to watch."

She let him lift her up and guide her deeper into the maze of corridors behind the stage. Impatient and greedy as she was, she didn't mind when he propelled her through a door without knowing what lay on the other side.

It was a single-occupancy restroom with a lock on the door. They'd be safe from discovery here. She thought she could pick up where they left off, but Rob kept a grip on her arm while he pulled his phone out with his other hand. "It's Will," he said. "Asking if I want to join him and Ben at a bar."

Which explained why Amber hadn't received a similar text. And Kenzie was undoubtedly somewhere hooking up with her new girl. "We could go back to the bus, no one's there," she suggested while Rob texted her brother back.

Rob shook his head. "The dressing room will be empty. There was a lock on the door." At her look, he grinned. "Yeah, I checked. I could make a bathroom work," he added, gesturing at the white-tiled walls. "But we'll be more comfortable there."

The walk back through the corridors flew by with her racing thoughts. The room had to be empty, and she dreaded running into anyone on the way. No one could look at Amber's face and not see what she'd nearly done, what she was about to do, written all it. And she didn't even sure what she was about to do, because Rob hadn't said. They'd barely said anything, but she'd gotten a taste of Rob as the confident, powerful lover she needed--

Words. Amber halted in the middle of the empty hallway.

Rob came to a stop behind her, one warm, broad palm on the small of her back. "Amber?"

She charged forward. When she reached the dressing room, she threw herself onto the couch. He followed her in, scanning the room and locking the door when he was certain they were alone.

He hovered near the door, giving her space. "What's wrong?"

"Safe words." Her knees were shaking, rattling together like castanets. "I never picked one out."

In an instant, Rob was on his knees in front of her, petting her arms, her face, her shoulders. "You're right, Amber, that was a mistake. I shouldn't have let that happen." A small, quirky smile came to his face. "You caught me off guard, is all. I would have stopped if you said."

Amber hung her head, ashamed of her attack of nerves. "I know." And she did, as soon as he said it. The trust she'd misplaced came flooding back. "I know," she repeated. "I do, it's just . . ."

"That can't happen again." His face grew serious. "And I do want to indulge your exhibitionist side, but I think we can agree that was a bit too reckless. We shouldn't actually get caught."

She nodded. "I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

"I am too." He leaned forward, drawing her mouth down to his for a sweet, short kiss. "Take a few minutes to calm down, then tell me your safe words. After that, we can keep going, or not, whatever you want."

She'd calm down better with him close. She pulled him in, nuzzling his neck with her nose, letting herself be coddled, petted, cared for. Rob didn't rush her. She was the greedy, impatient one, after all. She was the bad girl.

"Rob," she said suddenly.

His hands stopped mid-stroke. "What is it?"

"What you were saying, calling me a bad girl. I know it's part of the game, but that's about as much as I can take. Nothing more than that, please."

He let out a sigh. Was he disappointed? "I hear you, Amber. Do you want me to back off even that? For me, it's only play. I don't have the same gut reaction to it you do."

"No, it's fine. I even like it, just that little bit, because I know you don't mean it."

He drew her in tighter. "I don't."

"I'm sorry, I'm such a wuss about humiliation--"

"Stop." He straightened, taking her shoulders in his grip to face her. "Don't do that to yourself. I'm not judging you, and you don't get to judge yourself." His voice went hard. "I'll make it an order if I have to, pet. I don't want to hear that again. I won't listen to you tearing yourself down."

Another time, the sweetness under his dominance might have brought her to tears, but somehow instead it gave her strength. "No, sir." Her voice was as wobbly as her body felt, but she got the words out. "I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

He raised one blessedly warm hand to her face, and some of the anguish drained from his expression. "Your safe words, pet. Have you decided?"

"Yes." She took a deep breath, hoping this might make him laugh and take away whatever guilt he was still feeling. "Beluga for caution, and elephant for stop."

Rob tried to hold in his laugh, so it came out halfway to a snort. "Well, I'm not going to mistake that for anything else."

She offered a weak smile. "Hope I won't need them."

He gave her another brief kiss. "Me, too. So what now, pet? What do you need?"

She clung to him, overwhelmed by all the options, the scenarios, swirling in her mind. She tried to speak, letting out a soft squeak instead when he touched her back.

"Shh, pet, it's okay. Need a little help deciding? You need to come, don't you." His voice was soft and his breath hot against her ear.

"So much."

"Do you want me to get you there, or do you want me to watch? I'd like to learn how you touch yourself."

His suggestion was a gentle nudge, but not a subtle one. Subtlety might come later, when they knew each other better.

Or it might not, because this could be over so fast. But Amber had to shove those thoughts aside. She couldn't let her doubts ruin what they might have before it even got started.

"Yes," she breathed. "I can do that for you."

Rob drew back from her and smiled. "All right, pet. I want you to sit right there and show me yourself. Take off whatever you need to, leave on whatever you like. I'll be over there," he explained, jerking his head at one of the canvas folding chairs facing the bank of vanity mirrors. "Not far if you need me, but this is your show."

She nodded as he left her. He turned a chair to face her and settled into it, legs spread, elbow propped on the arm of the chair, chin in hand. Ready to watch whatever she wanted to do.

This was almost more decision-making power than she wanted to have. A deep part of her craved not only the loss of control, but the giving over of it. Even if this wouldn't be much of a strip-tease, straight on to her pleasuring herself, it felt like Rob had handed her too much of her power back. She wasn't sure what to do with it.

She wasn't ready to get completely naked. If they were in a bed together in a hotel, in true privacy, she might have been able to. She would have been shy about it for so many reasons, but she didn't doubt Rob would have coaxed her out of all her clothes.

In the dressing room, though, her hands paused on the buttons of her shirt. Not exactly the most seductive clothing, but Rob was watching her with obvious interest anyway. He'd already been sweet about her scars, too, but the ones hidden under her shirt, the ones he hadn't seen yet--

She could save those for another night, another few inches of trust. She dropped her hands to her jeans instead. For a heartbeat she wished for one of her maxi skirts, something full and flouncy she could draw up her legs as a tease, or something tight she could shimmy out of. She had to settle for peeling the skinny jeans off one leg at a time, which didn't feel particularly sexy. Rob's gaze traced her body as she revealed it. Aside from the thin, straight surgical scar on her shin, her legs were unblemished, the part of her with the least damage. Hopefully he was a leg man, because she didn't have much to speak of in the tits-and-ass department.

She folded her jeans and set them on the end table, turning when she heard Rob choking back another laugh. Only then did she realize what she'd done, and she giggled. "Not something a stripper would do."

"But it does explain why your bunk doesn't look like a tornado hit it." Rob gestured with one hand. "Go on, pet, you're doing fine."

He sounded like he meant it, so she continued, sliding her fingers into her panties at the hips and working them down her legs. This time, when she had them off, she flung them across the room at Rob, who plucked them out of the air. He held the scrap of soft blue fabric to his face, his eyes dropping half-closed as he took a deep breath of her scent. "Good girl," he murmured. "Hope you don't want these back just yet."

"No, sir," she answered as she lowered herself onto the couch. "I'm not going to need them for a while."

When she lifted one leg to drape it over the arm of the couch, his attention focused on her again. He kept the panties in his hand but lowered the clenched fist to his leg, rubbing his erection though his jeans idly, almost meditatively. He must mean it when he kept telling her there was no rush. He was obviously in no hurry himself.

When she moved one hand to her mound, she had a moment's panic that he'd make some comment about the state of her grooming, or lack of it. But of course, she was wrong, Rob wasn't so crass. Instead he tilted his head a few degrees, following the path of her fingers as she traced her labia once, twice, three times before dipping in, circling her clit without touching it, then moving back out to repeat the sequence a few more times.

"Do you always tease yourself so much first, or is this for me?" His low, husky tone filled her ears with warmth and raw delight.

"Sometimes I do." Her own words were breathy, strained. "Sometimes I can't wait that long."

"Patience doesn't seem to be your strong suit, pet. We'll have to work on that."

"Yes, sir." She brushed her clit once, the contact a tiny shock that rippled through her body, lifting her back off the seat. His pronouncement hadn't sounded like a threat--they hadn't discussed anything elaborate about denial. Ironically, that made her want to go even slower, to make this last for him, even if she wasn't getting off at the end of it. Which he had implied she was. But he could change his mind, make her do something else instead. Or at least make her work harder for permission to finish. So she took her time instead of rushing headlong into the unknown.

All this wondering about what he intended meant she wasn't focusing on the moment enough. She was grasping at control by trying to anticipate him. But Rob had given this much power back to her. He wanted her to have it. He trusted her with it.

She could do this.

Rob shifted in his chair and asked another question, which pulled her from her wandering thoughts. "Only one-handed? What do you do with the other one?"

Oh, so many things. Which to mention first. "Sometimes I touch my breasts." Before he could request her to, she went on. "Or if I have a toy, a dildo, I use my other hand for that."

"For what?" Rob sounded vaguely scolding, like a teacher prodding for the right answer.

"To fuck myself with it."

"And if you don't have a toy? Do you fuck yourself with your fingers?" Oh, she liked to hear him say fuck. He didn't swear much, not casually, and the few times she had heard him it had never been an f-bomb. Maybe he reserved it for dirty talk.

"Not usually. Harder to roll over and go to sleep when I'm done if I have to clean up first."

"Ah." Rob raised her panties to his nose again and inhaled before speaking again. "I don't think clean-up is going to be a problem tonight. Show me everything."

Everything would take several hours and more toys that she had on hand. Which was none, because no way did she want anyone finding that shit on the bus. But she knew what Rob meant. She brought her left hand to her core and pressed in, already so slick her body offered no resistance.

"Starting with two? Brave girl."

"Horny girl, sir," she corrected with a whimper. "I need this so bad."

The admission slipped out of her, but at the widening of his eyes, she couldn't regret it. She really did need to get off. She needed something better than the silent, panicked darkness of her bunk. She was always afraid someone would hear her, or worse, not hear her and interrupt. Even if Rob never touched her again, even if what they had was over the moment her orgasm hit, she was happier with her sex life than she'd been in years.

But it wouldn't stop. She saw it in the considering, attentive look in his eyes. He needed this, too.

"When you're ready, add another finger."

That wasn't much of a test. Her fingers were long, graceful on the guitar strings, but they were narrow, almost dainty. Three was no challenge, but if she were bold enough to say so, he might push her to four right away. When she followed his instruction, she couldn't help a cry at the fullness and a sudden wish that it wasn't her own fingers filling her.

Soon. Soon, he would have to touch her, wouldn't he?

"Are you close now?"

Amber opened her eyes--when had she closed them?--and saw Rob stroking himself more firmly, though he hadn't taken off or even opened his jeans. "Yes." It was hardly more than a whimper, but it carried over the sounds of her fingers moving against her body. Beyond that and her heavy breathing, the room was silent.

"Do you want to come now?"

"Yes!"

Rob lifted an eyebrow at her, his hand moving slowly, almost as if he'd forgotten he was touching himself. Or that he was too busy concentrating on her to put more effort into his own pleasure.

"Yes, please, sir," she amended breathlessly.

"Go on, then, pet. Show me how you come."

In a perfect world, that would have set her off, but it didn't. Having someone watching her like this was too new. So was prolonging the experience. It had been so long since she had masturbated for anything other than getting off as quickly as possible. Even alone in her own house, she didn't take time to savor her own enjoyment. It had become a painkiller, a sleep aid, a necessity rather than a pleasure.

She'd never been the type to come on command, anyway. Knowing Rob was watching her, waiting for it, was almost enough to get her there.

She slipped her pinky inside and widened her fingers, sparking enough of a bite of pain to push her that last distance. She heard Rob groan as she bucked against the couch, her hips working against her hand, putting her at risk of sliding right off the cushions. Her toes curled and her head thrashed from side to side. Her eyes squeezed shut, as if the poster-plastered walls of the dressing room were to blame for the overwhelming rush of sensation.

When she came back to herself, Rob had crossed the room to kneel before her again. Shouldn't that be the other way around? He lowered his head between her legs, licking her fingers where they'd fallen out of her body and planting soft, sucking kisses on the slick skin of her inner thighs. She stiffened for a moment, ready to push him away because she wasn't ready for round two, then she realized what he was doing.

This wasn't foreplay, he wasn't about to go down on her. He was cleaning her up, as promised.

Her entire body went supple and boneless on the couch. She lifted her other hand to stroke the back of his head, which earned her a soft chuckle and an even softer bite to her sensitive labia. Nothing that would hurt or mark, but with enough teeth to warn her not to get too free with her hands. Permission to touch him must be a privilege she had to earn, something Rob liked to keep under his control.

Though she should have felt sated, the idea made her hot again. Long-term denial wasn't a kink she'd played with, but short-term? Needing permission to touch him or to come? Totally worked for her. He'd make her frenzied with want by withholding himself.

Amber didn't want to make assumptions about his control of himself, but in his position, she'd be about to burst. She couldn't string together a polite, humble request to get his cock into her mouth. But there was one thing she could manage. "Sir?" she asked softly.

Rob lifted his head. "What is it, pet?" Not demanding or harsh. Warm. Pleased. He didn't need to say "good girl" because she could hear it in his tone.

"Thank you."

That made him smile. "Of course. Need a few more minutes to rest?"

She shook her head and straightened. "No, sir."

He pressed one more kiss to her thigh before sitting back on his heels. "Okay, then. Next time you come, it's going to be all over my mouth--you taste too good to skip straight to fucking. But right now, I want to come in yours."

As he stood, Amber slid off the couch onto her knees. The old pose, legs spread, wrists resting on her thighs with her palms turned up, came to her more easily than she expected. She hadn't presented herself to anyone for years, but her body hadn't forgotten how.  She lowered her gaze, staring at the worn knees of Rob's jeans and listening to him undoing his belt buckle. He shoved his jeans and underwear down far enough to free his erection. After he raised her face with one finger under her chin, he gestured for her hands, placing them on his hips. "I won't be too rough tonight," he began, "but you're not going to have a lot of control, either. If you need to use your safe word and you can't get free fast enough, pinch me. Understand?"

She nodded, but he only raised that demanding eyebrow again. "Yes, sir." She had no problem with him insisting on verbal consent.

It only made her feel safer, more cared for. He stepped closer, his cock almost brushing her cheek. She felt the heat of it and breathed in the salty, warm musk of his body. She glanced up. "May I begin, sir?"

"That's my good girl," he answered, resting one hand on her cheek. "Show me what you can do."

She started with slow, sweeping licks, as soft and maddening as those he'd used on her only a few minutes before. His other hand came up, bracketing her jaw with light pressure. He wasn't forcing her movement or even guiding her, at least not yet. Maybe it made him hot to feel her cheeks working beneath his palms.

They had so much to discover about each other, and not enough time to do it.

Amber refused to let those thoughts plague her for a second time, and certainly not when Rob's smooth, hard cock was between her lips. She concentrated on that instead, wanting to serve him more than anything else in that moment.

Her burst of enthusiasm was appreciated, because Rob smoothly took some of her control back, shifting his hands to point his fingers along her throat, positioning her head for a deeper thrust. Not more than she could take, but even that small bit of force exerted brought a fresh rush of arousal to her core. What would it be like if he really let go, if he was rough, if he fucked her face? Would she drip right onto the carpet?

She moaned at the thought, and Rob took over, holding her still as he pumped smoothly in and out, setting a fast but manageable pace.

Soon she wondered if they'd waited too long to get to his turn, or if he needed more, because Rob showed no obvious signs of coming. She wasn't impatient for it to be over, but eventually she would tire.

She wanted to give him everything he'd given her, though, so she brought one hand over from his hip for an experimental touch to his balls, gently cupping them in her fingers.

Rob shuddered. "Yes, yes." His words came between harsh pants for air. "Lift them, squeeze them, not too hard. Feel all that? That's for you."

Amber didn't know what that part of his anatomy usually looked or felt like, but he did seem tender and swollen. Clearly it had been a while for him, too--never enough privacy on the bus. She kept her movements careful, not wanting to tickle him or cause any pain.

A choked sound and the sudden tensing of his leg under her other hand gave her a second's warning before he spoke. "You ready, pet? You ready for me? Good girls get--"

Come, he might have said, or maybe rewarded. But he cut off with a low groan as he spilled into her mouth, hot and slick. Amber swallowed, taking him as deep as she could, ignoring the tears in her eyes as she gave up the ability to breathe. Rob let out a high, keening whine of surprise, his fingers tightening on her skull for a heartbeat before he let go, as if afraid he would mark her.

By the strength of that grip, he might have.

Amber let go when he pulled back, twisting his body to drop onto the couch and rest. He made a face at the scratchy upholstery against his bare ass. Amber hadn't enjoyed that either, but it had stopped mattering when she'd gotten turned on high. Coming down, it couldn't be comfortable. She faced him, still kneeling, and helped him get his clothing back in place. "You get dressed too, pet," he told her with a wave at her discarded clothing. "Then come up here and let me hold you."

The couch was too short by a mile for her to stretch out on it, but she could curl up, laying over Rob's lap. He braced a throw pillow against the arm of the couch so she'd be more comfortable, then wrapped both arms around her and drew her close.

They rested in silence for what felt like a long time. Amber listened to the gradually slowing thump of his heartbeat and relaxed against the warmth of his chest.

"You okay with everything we did, Amber?"

The switch back to her name from pet let her know his frame of mind. They were done; time to assess. "Yeah." The word came out dreamy and slow.

"You surprised me. You didn't tell me you could deep-throat."

She giggled, which almost made her giggle again because it was so unlike her. "I can't, not for very long. That's why I saved it for the end."

He nuzzled her ear with the tip of his nose. "You want more practice, say the word. That felt amazing." After punctuating that thought with a light kiss to her undoubtedly disheveled curls, he sagged against the cushions. "What did you like best?"

Knowing that he wasn't fishing for compliments let her be honest. "It would have been hot if you'd been masturbating while I was, really into it, I mean. But I liked that you were so focused on me that touching yourself was an afterthought."

He squeezed her gently. "Unless we want to try some sort of more active denial, where I ignore you, you're always going to be my focus. If you're interested, I'm not opposed, but it's not really my thing."

She sighed. "No, I like being your center of attention. I could definitely get used to that."

Rob laughed. "Ready to get up? Because we both need feeding, and then I think it's time to get you to bed. The bus'll be quiet with everyone else gone."

A sudden, sweeping longing for Rob to curl up in her bunk tonight came over Amber, but she only smiled at him and sat up. That wasn't part of their arrangement, and it would only raise uncomfortable questions. "Pizza?" she asked lightly instead.

[roraruu]

wip: lies MORE VAMP AU BC INTSYS SAID FORBIDDEN SHIP RIGHTS!!! IVE LOST MY GODDAMN MIND I’m so sorry this is unedited

Python isn’t there when she wakes. He’s probably slipped out to the forest to rest and hide. It’s a cool, cloudy day outside. Perhaps he could slip out and walk beside her as they head for the borderlands? No. He couldn’t risk the sun hitting his cheeks and turning him to ash.

Gods, could she think about something other than him for just a moment? What will she do when he is gone? It’s not like they’re... together. After all, this devil only wants her because he’s got some of her life. She is doing a favour for him, a kindness although he knows nothing of the word, the meaning. How will she be after this chapter of her life ends? What was she before it? It’s hard to remember something other than running through the forest, eyes on that torn cloak all night long.

She was holy before. Prayed to Mila at daybreak and nightfall, before every meal and at every hour the Mother was in her thoughts. She wrote sermons praising her, she sung hymns blessing her, she was one of her obedient children. Now she is not.

Although she is the only one who can see it. There in the mirror, looking back at her with dark circles under her eyes and a glassy gaze. She, the sinner.

She pours the rest of the water into the wash bowl and washes her face. The water is cold but comforting... strange, she’s come to associate cold with him. She identifies coldness, chill, with him. Whenever she feels it, a bit of calm washes over her.

She brushes her fingers through her hair and reaches for the veil. Her fingers graze against the cloth for a moment.

It doesn’t suit her. Did he mean that she wasn’t holy, or that it was too much for her simple tastes? She does not know.

She shoves the cloth into her leather bag and dunks her head into the washbasin, rubbing soap into her scalp and quickly drying her hair. She tugs a comb through it. The water wont take away her regrets or her doubts. It won’t do much but take the dirt out of her hair and distract her for a moment. But she needs that short distraction from life. She needs it desperately.

Silque can hear the inn come to life, beds creaking through thin walls as people wake. She collects the rest of her meagre belongings and takes the key the innkeeper supplied her with. She’s finally able to look at the inn and absorb it.

It’s small, with wood panelling that looks expensive. There’s more flower pressings and even a tapestry hanging along the staircase. At the bottom of the steps, there’s a bookcase, filled with hardback books. A surprising sight: the owner of the house must be educated. Reading is still a privilege.

The front room of the inn is large, with two worn, but well-kept armchairs facing a window that over looks the Valentian countryside. A sitting space for the guests, perhaps. She stops to look at a large coat of arms over top the entrance to the inn. It looks old.

She feels eyes on her. Silque turns around and barely catches a glimpse of a brown-haired little girl in a yellow frock. Her brown eyes grow wide and she runs back to the kitchen, calling for her mother.

Silque takes a step closer, gripping the strap of her leather bag tightly.

“Posey, it’s just a guest, not a ghost. Don’t be so silly.”

She stops when the woman in pink comes around the corner. The little girl is behind her leg.

“See? Morning.” She says to the little girl.

“Good morning.” Silque says back.

“Care for some breakfast? You look about ready to head out.”

“Yes, please.” Silque says, following the woman into the kitchen. It’s larger than most. There’s a long table in the middle of the room, with two chairs at either end and a wooden bench on either side.

There’s two bowls of porridge at the head and on the bench to the left. Silque takes a seat at edge of the bench.

“Where are you travelling to priestess? The Temple?” The woman asks, bringing over a bowl for Silque. Her other hand holds the little girl’s. She must be her mother or guardian. Pink ribbons stick out of her pocket.

Silque nods and thanks her. “Yes, the temple.” She says.

“You’re a cleric there?”

“Only visiting.” Silque says. “I hail from the Novis priory.”

“That little island out east? That’s quite the journey for such a short amount of time.” She sighs. “Duties to the temple and all that, right?”

“Indeed.” Silque says, tasting the porridge between words. It’s sweet and warm. A good meal after a bad night.

“I saw you looking at our coat of arms. You recognize it?”

Silque nods. “The Zofian royal family crest.” She says.

The woman smiles. “My husband is a commander. He is away with work at the moment, but we run this inn together.”

“It is a beautiful home you have.”

“Thank you.” She says. “What is your name, Sister?”

“Silque.” She watches as she moves her daughter’s bowl closer to her hands. The little girl’s gaze moves from Silque and back to her meal. “And your name, ma’am?”

“It is Faye.” The innkeeper says. She reaches out to touch her daughter’s nose. The younger’s face scrunches up. “My daughter, Posey.”

“It is lovely to meet you both.” Silque says as she begins to eat her meal. It is sweet, a nice change from salty and bitter shieldfish and provisions. Real food, warm and filling.

Faye moves between finishing her bowl of porridge and tying Posey’s hair with the pink ribbons from her pocket.

“Mommy, can I ask the cleric something?” The little girl asks.

“No Posey, let the Sister eat in peace.” Faye says.

“But Mommy—“

“What is your question, Posey?” Silque asks softly and leans towards the little girl. Her hair is a soft brown, almost auburn. Her eyes are big and brown.

“Papa said that ghosts always wear white. Are you a ghost?” Posey asks.

She might as well be. What with all these lies and slander against Mila’s holy name. Running around with a vampire and catching feelings for—

She shakes her head. “I’m no more dead than you are.” She forces a smile. “I can’t be a ghost.”

The little girl doesn’t look convinced. “I’m sorry.” Faye says. “She’s got an overactive imagination. Gets it from her father.”

“Do not worry. It’s quite endearing.” Silque says.

Faye pulls her daughter away to help with cleaning up, as other guests come down stairs and help themselves to a hot meal. When she’s finished, she begins to leave, thanking Faye for the hospitality. And as she says goodbye to the innkeeper and her daughter, she feels a pit form in her stomach.

—

Python told her to follow the road to the borderlands and that he would watch while she walked. The inn faded from her view. The winds grows colder and colder as she closes in towards Rigel.

Images come to her mind. Of life before Novis. They’re blurry, unfocused. Nothing she can clearly recall. Only a little church in the mountains. It’s nothing show at state to remember, being frank.

The path is straightforward—almost like a highway between the two countries. Border crossings are illegal by divine decree, but people always find a way around the laws of their gods.

She wonders how Novis fares. If Mae has run around their forests and sworn she almost caught the vampire; or if Boey has called her bluff on it. Probably nothing have occurred. For a moment, it brings a smile to her face.

But then she remembers that she is lying to them. She has is not just delivering their tribute to the Mother’s temple, but helping their enemy, the one who threatened their home.

The sun begins to fade as she comes closer to the village. Python comes out, catching up to her tracks in a flash. She watches as he pulls off his cloak and offers it to her. “Rest.” He says. “He’s busy now.”

“How—“

“I went by his house.” He says as she pulls the cloak around her shoulders. The evening chill fades underneath it. She stops walking, seeing the town, just beyond the forested plains. Her feet ache. She longs for the bed at the inn. She longs for comfort, for kindness—but will get neither of them.

He doesn’t say a word. Could he... not want this to end too? Does he feel the same about the end? Never. He only cares about her because she’s doing him this favour. Of course.

“This is the place?” Silque asks him. He paces nervously, his worry becomes hers.

It is a tiny town, no more than fifty people. The land is cold and freezing, frosted over with ice that will become dewy in the morning.

“Yeah. I saw him here,” he says quietly.

He is no longer smug or smarmy. All that annoying cheer has washed away like a stream. He’s quiet, withdrawn.

“It’s pretty.” She says. “Everyone must know each other well. Close knit probably.”

He doesn’t answer. Her fingers curl nervously around the strap of her bag. “Should we prepare?” She asks trying to fill the silence as best she can.

“Suppose so.” He murmurs.

“Now, will I introduce myself first and say you’re  OMING sunset, or...” she trails off.

He avoids her gaze.

“Python?”

“You’ve gotta lie to him.”

Her brow raises. “Pardon?

“I thought that was clear, that you’d be speaking in my place.”

“It’s a sin to lie.”

“Well you’re already friends with a vampire.” He says lowly. “What’s one more sin to the collection.”

She hates that he’s right. When she returns to the priory, she will sit confessional and tell Celica all her sins. She’ll wear that veil and never leave the priory grounds again, devoting herself day and night. In time, and by Mila’s Grace, she may be absolved from her guilt.

“I’m begging you, Silque.” He says, finally meeting her eyes. His red gaze, the one that had scared her when she first met it, softens in pleads.

It is a tenet belief that clerics and priests must not withhold help from the needy. There is no clause forbidden helping those who aren’t human. She sighs and shakes her head.

“Fine.” She breathes.

He almost looks elated for a second but looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. She sits down, drawing her knees to her chest. He begins to pace around the little alcove, telling her lies to repeat. He fumbles for words, trying to rephrase himself. His charm is failing, not that he’s using it. She doesn’t feel the muddy mind or fuzzy thoughts.

Says that they are his, not hers. It makes them easier to swallow, easier to commit to memory, though she wishes she had her journal and pen, it would be easier to remember that way. At one point she bites down hard on her lip to stay awake and begins to murmur back his lies as if they will keep her awake. Her head nods back a few times and then she feels cold fingers on her chin.

Her eyes flutter open, his face just a few inches from hers. She doesn’t flush, just sucks back a thin breath. The blood and bruises from his face are gone and she realizes���she realizes...

“Sleep.” He says, interrupting her meandering thoughts. “I’ll keep watch and makes sure no one comes by.”

She stares at him for a moment, trying to focus on something. She tries to figure out if he’s using his charm but doubts it highly. Slowly, while still holding his gaze, she eases back onto the soft, cool grass. She pulls his cloak over her body like a blanket.

She watches as he sits down beside her, resting a hand just a few inches from hers. She plays with the tattered edges of his cloak for a moment before focusing on his hand. Slowly, she slips hers from under the blanket, fingertips brushing against the back of his hand. Her breath catches as he stretches out his fingers, entangling with hers.

It only leaves hers when the sun begins to rise.

—

Silque wakes and he is gone again. But the cloak remains wrapped around her body. She clutches it for a moment, trying to focus her frantic thoughts.

Her duty. Her job. Forsyth.

She takes one more selfish moment to hold the cloak tightly before folding it up. It is conspicuous and will catch attention. Wearing it in a border town is asking for an arrow in the back. She wonders if that’s how he got the slash through the crest.

Is this a gift? Or did he forget it? If he forgot it, he’ll come back for it; she’ll see him again. One last time. No, he’ll probably just rout through her bag when she’s resting somewhere and take it back. Why would he do something nice for her? He doesn’t care about her—

Then she remembers. His fingers entangled with her while she fell asleep.

He may care. He may love in her in return.

Silque hides the cloak in the bottom of her leather bag and rises, beginning the march into town. As she goes in, workers pass her, eyeing her white robes. Even here, clerics are an uncommon sight. She keeps her eyes to the path ahead, avoiding the gazes of townspeople as she presses forwards and repeats the lies to herself.

—

Forsyth is soft, just as Python said.

Python had told her which house to go to, picked it out from the handful of town homes. The one with white shutters and ivy along the stone walls.

The end is in sight. She doesn’t want it to come. She could turn heel and run; she’s done enough for him already, she doesn’t need to do this too. She could go back to hunting him and keep it up as a facade to continue seeing him, to stop an inevitable goodbye.

But that would selfish, a violation of the Mother’s tenets.

She takes a deep breath and then summons all the courage she has to walk to the door. Silque knocks and a woman with short hair opens the door wide enough to show a typical villager’s dress. Not who she expected, her face falls a little bit.

“Can I help you?” She asks.  

Silque stands a little taller. “I’m looking for Sir Forsyth. Would he be here?” She asks.

“Do you have business with my husband?” The woman asks cautiously. The door closes a little further. There is no such thing as too cautious in this part of Valentia.

“I come with a message from an old friend.”

The woman wipes her hands on her apron before turning into the house. Two children appear behind her legs, each at the edge of her skirt. Silque smiles thinly at them but they look up with wide, terrified eyes. She worries what they have seen before.

“Darling, you have a caller.” The woman says, taking the children by their pudgy hands. She hears boots against the floorboards a moment later, then sees a tall man take up the frame of the door. He looks tired and worn and soft, just as Python described him. His green hair is streaked with grey, a tell-tale sign of age.

She recognizes the expression he wears. Melancholy; a loss weighs on his shoulders.

Gods, the lies she’s about to tell. May Mila smite her down and stop her before they leave her tongue.

“Yes?” He says in a soft voice.

“You are Sir Forsyth of the Zofian army?” She asks, just as Python told her to say.

He nods, standing a little taller. Probably The door frame grows smaller. “May I be of assistance?”

“I... I’m Silque. I carry a message from your comrade, Sir Python.”

His eyes widen nervously.

“Is it good news?”

She nods. Just as Python had instructed. “Yes. He lost his memory after the battle when the army thought he died.” She says. “But he is alive and well.”

Forsyth looks as though he’s about to double over. The woman, who Silque can only assume now is his wife, hurries over to steady him. As if a tiny woman will do anything to help steady that massive man.

“You’re are lying are you?” She asks Silque with wide glassy eyes.

Silque can hear her begin to cry, Forsyth too. She shakes her head. “No, never. I am the one who cared for his wounds.”

The lies are too easy to say. But the soldier cracks a smile between tears and shakes his head. Forsyth’s relief is contagious.

“The idiot’s all right?” He asks, voice growing full.

She nods. “He sent me after he regained some memories. He’s protecting a village down south and was not able to come but... He’s all right.”

Forsyth holds his head, his wife holding him tight. He reaches out for Silque, pulling her close to his body. She feels both bodies wrack with tears. She feels a guilty happiness wash over her as she halfheartedly hugs back.

—

Forsyth’s wife, Penelope, insists that she stay the night. She makes a hearty stew for supper, Silque’s first good meal in ages. It fills her with warmth, fighting off the stark chill of the borderlands. And again, Silque is met with the gaze of children. Two—a girl and a boy—watch as Forsyth batters her with questions about Python and where they live now.

Which he assumes. Of course he would—a pretty cleric arrives at his doorstep and said she nursed the wounds of his dear friend. He has a debt to repay to that pretty cleric and her church that supplied the space, the funds, the medications to save him. Gods, if it were only that way.

“How do you stand him?” Forsyth asks with a laugh as they help clear away dishes from the table. And she slowly realizes that Forsyth thinks they are together.

And what’s worse is that Python predicted it.

Fake a flush and go on with it. He’d said and looked away. When he noticed her flush he’d said that is all a lie to ply him. Make him believe that he’s still human, still flesh and blood and not some monster that stalks the night and kills.

Forsyth shakes his head. “Apologies Lady Silque, I did not mean insinuate...” he fumbles awkwardly.

“Do not worry. I suppose you could say there’s a certain charisma about him.” She says. “Makes him quite the character.”

Penelope snorts and Silque’s brows furrows. “My wife was also in the army around the same time. She knows of Python’s behaviour.” He explains.

“I had to apologize to many, manywomen.”

Silque flushes.

“How long d—have you known Python for?” She asks them both. Penelope excuses herself to put the children to bed.

“Penelope has known Python since she joined the army. Just before he went missing.” He explains, moving about the kitchen to put away dishes. Silque fidgets with the cloth. “Roughly twenty years, I believe.”

Twenty years? Her eyes widen.

“I bet he looks rough. Losing your memory and gods... He must be scarred from the battle. It was a horrible one.”

She doesn’t remember seeing a single scar on his face. His skin was like marble, unblemished and perfect. And his hair... It isn’t greying like Forsyth’s is.

How old is he? She wonders. What has he lied about or covered up? He’s always avoided her questions about his personal life with such blunt and quick remarks.

“Sir Forsyth, how long have youknown Python for?”

He winces and paces for a moment as she dries another plate. He holds out his hand. “All my life. About—“

Penelope returns. “Forsyth darling, poor Silque is probably worn from her journey. Let’s let her rest.”

She bites at a frown. Stopped from another answer. Gods.

“Oh yes.” He nods quickly, taking the cloth from her. “Please, wash up and relax. Our home is yours.”

“I’m fine as I am. I would rather talk a little more.” Silque says. “I plan to leave early in the morning. I have missed too much back home.”

“Then you must rest.” Penelope urges, taking her hand and pulling her from the kitchen. The little woman is stronger than she looks.

“Really—“

“Lady Silque you’ve come far from your home to deliver a message. It’s here and you must rest.” He says voice sharp. It makes her stand a little stiffer.

done more for us in a day than the kingdom has in a lifetime.” He says, voice sharp. “Who knows if they forged his record.”

“Sir Forsyth...”

“You are welcome in our home whenever you need it.” He says. Penelope nods, adding in soft words that Silque can’t hear. “I beg of you, rest. You are an angel that heaven sent and you must return to my friend.” He laughs softly and she feels her stomach churn. “Who else will keep him from death again?”

—

They put Silque up in the front room of the house, sitting her in a pretty armchair. It’s all they have. Penelope apologies all over the place as Forsyth drags out an old chest full of sheets and linens. The woman unfolds several thick blankets to cushion the chair and warm Silque.

It is miles better than the forest floor that she slept on the night before, but she can’t sleep. Instead she listens to the creaking floorboards of the house and the silence that follows. She watches the moon come out from behind the clouds and shine into the front room.

She longs for sleep.Her body screams for it but melancholy overtakes her. This is farewell. Her debt is paid. In the morning, he will leave pay in the ivy for her passage to Novis. It was apart of the deal they’d struck—Silque had nary a penny to her name, and strangely he had more than enough.

And then, she sees his figure in the window. He stares at her for a moment, almost woefully. Is he... saddened by their farewell too? Or is he simply trying to commit her face to memory before he makes a run for it?

She sits up in the chair, and as quietly as she can slips out of the house. She will return in the morning to say farewell to Forsyth and Penelope, but she wants answers. Three years of chasing him and only more questions prop up. Now is the time to end it.

“Is it done?” He asks, avoiding her gaze.

She nods. “He believed it.”

The ghost of a smile crosses his lips. “Good.” He murmurs. He stretches out a small sachet of marks, the price for passage home. She stares at it.

“I want answers.”

“You have a book full of them.”

“Not about what you are, I want to know whoyou are. Who you were.”

He looks away.

“Python, I want to know about you.” She says in the sharpest voice she can muster. Her hands knit into fists. “I deserve that much after all I’ve done.”

His eyes trail back to hers, glowering with something between sadness and fury. He looks as though he’s about to beg her to not to continue her thought. His pale lips purse together.

“Will that get you to go back to Novis?” He asks.

She looks aghast. “What���“

“You’re supposed to hunt me Silque.” He says sharply. “A favour is one thing but this has gone too far. I’ve let it go too far. I should’ve left you alone.”

She stares at him, eyes growing glassy with angry tears. “If you tell me about how long you’ve lived, I’ll go back to Novis.” She says.

“Promise?”

She nods and holds out her hand for the sachet of marks. They clink together as she puts them into her bag. He watches her with an intent gaze. “Let’s go.”

“You can’t tell me here?” She asks.

“You want the whole truth don’t you?” Silque nods. “Then follow me.”

Silque follows Python along the same path they took into town. She will be back in the morning, in time to give her hosts a thankful farewell. She promises them in her mind when they leave the front yard.

Python stays right at her side. She’s not wearing her necklace. She hasn’t put it back on since they buried his father. She feels a little... barren without it. Like Mila’s blessings and protection are not with her.

He has gotten so cold all of sudden. The night before he had the gall to touch her so tenderly, and now he was telling her leave and not come back. What changed over the course of a day? Was her value gone now? Her use fulfilled and now she was nothing more than just another holy cleric he could drain of blood?

Gods, what if he was leading her out to kill her?

No. He couldn’t. He looked pained when he told her to leave. But that could have easily been an act. And touching her tenderly could’ve been another act completely.

At last, she asks. “Where are we going?” She asks.

“Outskirts of town.” He says severely. “There’s something you need to see.”

She stays silent and focuses on the dark road ahead.

[endowrites]

WIP Day #1

WIP Week: Day 1 - Your Oldest WIP

Title: Timeless (how’s that for a fitting name) Fandom: Naruto Rating: T Characters: Minato

Start Date: 10 July 2016 Last Touched: 19 March 2017 Word Count: 3.8K

It’s not technically my oldest WIP, but it’s definitely the oldest writing project I’ve got that I’m still planning on finishing and publishing someday. 

The tl;dr of this fic was that it was an attempt to give Minato’s Hiriashin some introduction and background. Essentially, I turned it into a time loop jutsu, because I hate every time loop fic in this fandom but still thought it was a cool concept. It’s also canon compliant, which is a feat unto itself.

Here you can find a more detailed description I wrote up of the idea that eventually became this WIP. I modeled it after those “Twenty Times” style fics you’ve probably seen out and about (most famously this one), so that’s why it reads the way it does.

I’m just going to dump the whole thing, because it’s long and difficult to split into pieces and maybe by having a majority of it up on the web I’ll finally get the motivation to finish it. Enjoy!

Timeless 

The first loop Minato didn’t consider a loop at all. It was his prologue - the beginning of his beginning.

Minato became a soldier in the first loop, as was expected of him. Dull wooden kunai were replaced by their sharp, deadly, real equivalents. Childhood was replaced by reality. Art was replaced by war.

But more often than not, Minato found himself daydreaming about new jutsu and seals and the almost magical properties of a well timed technique, rather than brute force and physical strength.

Minato was just as much a creative as he was a fighter. It was just his luck, then, that there existed the perfect combination of the two.

All of the studying, all of the work, all of the sleepless nights - Minato tucked them away under the veil of the first loop - the loop of life.

The loop that started it all.

-

The second loop was short, confusing, and sent Minato half into a tree.

He wasn’t aware at that time why they should have been called loops, however, so he simply referred to them as various failed experiments. Because that’s what they were - failures.

Failures in a never-ending struggle to tame time, no less, but still failures. No one ever accused Minato Namikaze of being anything less than ambitious.

The Second Hokage was a genius: a truly gifted shinobi. His ideas, however, were loose and scattered - much like the leaflets of paper filled with bizarre jutsu he penned (and then subsequently shoved into drawers that Minato later found in the Hokage’s library, after pestering the Third about it for so long that the man gave up and handed him the key).

Minato supposed, in hindsight, that it took one to know one.

Perhaps that was why the Hiraishin jutsu stood out to him above all the others. It was a technique that was so close to being something, that Minato could not rest until it was.

And that, after several months of endless experimentation, was why Minato found himself lodged in a dense patch of foliage.

He had overshot the calibration, and wound up freezing time for all of three seconds. Just enough time to trip, fall forward, and end up with a leg pierced on a stalk of sheared bamboo.

Kushina had not been happy about that incident.

Minato spent the brief period of time after the second loop tweaking his adjustments to the Hiraishin even further, perfecting what the Second Hokage had deemed imperfectible.

Time travel itself was impossible, that much had been proven to him by Tobirama’s extensive notes on the subject, but Minato wasn’t interested in time travel.

No. Instead, he found himself pouring hours of his time into the study of time dilation - the means by which to stop time, rather than wrestling with it. It was the path of least resistance, and still yielded the same effect: allowing him to move about in a bubble, out of phase from the rest of the world. Vast distances could be travelled in mere fractions of a second. Enemies could be struck down effortlessly, as if frozen in solid ice, and would die before ever seeing their killer. The world would pause for him, and wait at his beck and call.

He would be a god.

But it was all still theory. An impossible feat, for certain, but not impossible enough for Minato Namikaze.

The long, sleepless nights between loops Two and Three were spent under the quiet embrace of a desk lamp aside a pile of weathered old books from the Third Hokage’s personal library, and copious amounts of lukewarm tea.

As with all things Minato pursued, he found what he was looking for.

The next loop awaited him.

-

Loop Three proved to be just as much a failure as Loop Two, but no less important.

Having determined that simple concentration wasn’t enough to prevent himself from disengaging from the Hiraishin’s effects, Minato found himself locked in a bubble of space-time for nearly thirty-six hours. He sat alone, waiting for the jutsu to expire, the world around him frozen in motion. He had gotten so bored, in fact, that he had begun to count the leaves in the trees - and from that point on, Kushina bragged about the fact her boyfriend was fast enough to count entire trees worth of leaves in what seemed like a split second to anyone that would hear it. “That’s the power of the Hiraishin,” she’d brag.

Minato let her. They didn’t need to know the hows or the whys.

-

Loop Four was frustratingly similar to the one previous. Minato had managed to reduce the offset by a considerable amount - but that meant he still was forced to sit in a sphere of frozen time with nothing but himself, the pebbles at his feet, and his own unpleasant thoughts for nearly three hours.

The next time, he would bring a book. Or, at the very least, a stick to draw in the dirt with.

-

Loops Five and Six experimented with the diameter of the sphere. He still found himself stuck in what was, essentially, an isolation chamber for a far too long amount of time, but now he could stretch and move a bit - at least, as much as he was able to before chakra exhaustion began to eat away at his senses, eventually knocking him out the farther he pushed.

He woke up after Loop Five with a concerned Kushina shaking him to death, and woke up after Loop Six to an enraged Kushina shaking him to death. There was no middle ground.

He promised, rather half-heartedly, he would “be careful”; but he suspected Kushina saw through the ruse as soon as the muttered, sheepish promise slipped past his lips.

The way she shook her head and looked at him told him just as much.

-

Loop Seven tested the boundaries of the sphere. He purposefully left the diameter up to as much as ‘winging it’ would suffice, and began walking.

He found that he could move the sphere with him as he went, but it was very draining. Many factors, it seemed, cut away at his chakra reserves, almost to the point only a jinchuuriki would be a worthy wielder of the technique.

Minato realized soon after that Tobirama wasn’t being ignorant in dropping the project and focusing on his library of others with far more potential. Instead, he was simply being economical.

Minato was anything but. He had his heart set on the Hiraishin, could feel the potential power coursing underneath the lines of each page in Tobirama’s notebook.

No, Minato wasn’t economical. But he was determined.

-

Loops Eight through Fifteen proved fruitless, and it was only in Loop Sixteen that Minato discovered the missing link.

Kushina.

After several consecutive days of coming home tired and exhausted, Kushina demanded to observe Minato as he trained.

She watched him as he activated the Hiraishin, only the slight tilt in her eyebrow showing she was impressed. Once firmly settled in the cockles of near-frozen time, Minato had the chance to simply watch her - frozen in place, eyes bright as diamonds, her posture ragged and daring.

Minato bent over and plucked a small yellow flower from a bush to his right, feeling the tug of his jutsu extending to the flower’s space in the universe. His chakra encapsulated it in the grasp of the Hiraishin, moving it along through time parallel with Minato.

He reached over and tucked the knotweed between Kushina’s hair and her ear, smiling for a moment, before he disengaged the jutsu.

After he came back from under the influence of the space-time technique, the redhead clucked her tongue and waggled her finger at him.

“Seals,” was all she had said. “You need to focus your chakra so you don’t waste it all? Use seals. That’s what they’re there for, y’know.”

Minato’s eyes widened. Was it really so simple? Seals?

She blinked, reaching into her hair to grasp at something that wasn’t there before. She lowered the knotweed, smiled, looked up at Minato in surprise. “Wait, when did you do that?”

Minato was already gone.

-

Loop Seventeen was long delayed. Seals were the key, Minato realized that now.

The Second had used a basic seal when he first created the Hiraishin, that was certain, but Minato had dismissed the idea almost without a second thought. But he may have thrown the baby out with the bathwater in doing so.

Minato sat in the library at the desk that all but bore his name at this point, pouring over scroll after scroll, detail after detail - anything and everything he could get his hands on regarding seals, sealing arts, and just how he might be able to pull something off.

He started with Tobirama’s seal, attempting to decipher the strange, cryptographic means by which the man had crafted his art. He truly was a visionary, Minato had to admit, but the Second Hokage had many neurotic tendencies that made using his notes as reference next to impossible.

And then when Minato returned home that evening, angry and disappointed in himself, it was Kushina (again) that brought him out of his slump.

“What is it, exactly, that you’re trying to do?” she sighed with an eyeroll, murmuring ‘do I have to do everything around here’ under her breath as she dragged him to his study, an inkwell and brush finding their way into her hands almost by means of magic. “Look, it’s not that hard. All you have to do is use your brain a little.”

Minato watched her work, memorizing every minute detail as she laid brush to tapestry.

Loop Seventeen happened three days later.

-

After the thirty-second loop, Minato felt the Hiraishin was complete enough for an exhibition.

He had done all the testing - the seals did a fine job of localizing the sphere of the Hiraishin’s influence to an area on its own, and a small bit of flourish Kushina had taught him as he was completing it allowed for the bubble to extend to his location regardless of where he was, pulling upon little to no chakra in doing so.

It was around the time that he demonstrated the technique to both his sensei and the Hokage himself that Minato truly realized the extent of what he had accomplished.

“Tobirama was an inventor,” Sarutobi had mused that afternoon, from between lips gripping a pipe. “But you, Minato, are an innovator. Far too few shinobi have this skill. And it is one that will carry you far indeed.”

“Sensei’s right, kid,” Jiraiya smiled, crossing his arms across his chest. “You managed the unthinkable. The Second created more jutsu that is probably natural in his lifetime, and I’d be hard pressed to call any of them, save for maybe the Shadow Clone jutsu, complete.”

He was right. Minato had reduced the chakra costs from astronomical to hardly a drop, made a somewhat inconsistent technique that relied on the caster’s concentration and chakra potency into something based around seals and numbers, and created something that had the potential to devastate. Destroy.

Minato only nodded. “I certainly hope the Hiraishin’s complete. At least, complete now.”

Jiraiya let out a barking laugh. “Brat, you’ve spent more time researching for that technique than I did for any one of novels. Hell, all of my novels. I’ve seen what you can do with it. If it’s not finished, I’ll eat Gamabunta.”

Minato paled at the proclamation, but before he could respond in some sort of timid manner, the Third spoke up.

“I have a mission for you,” Hiruzen hummed, plucking a sheet of paper from his desk and sliding it forward. “Well, rather, a mission for your certain subset of skills. You say the Hiraishin allows you to… stop time?”

“Slow it,” Minato corrected. “And it requires a base. Tobirama used force of will, but that was far too unpredictable, and nearly impossible to use in battle. Not to mention how draining it can be. Instead of that, I’m using seals. But that means--”

“We get it, Minato,” Jiraiya interrupted, waving him on. “Spit it out.”

“I… yes. But only around markers I’ve already placed.”

Hiruzen paused, uncertain.

Jiraiya spoke again. “What about kunai?”

“Kunai?” Minato asked. “What about them?”

Jiraiya shrugged. “I dunno. Can’t you attach your seals to kunai and throw them?”

Once again, Minato found himself back at the drawing board.

-

Loops Thirty-Eight, Thirty-Nine, Forty, and Forty-One were forgotten in the heat of battle.

Minato swerved to the right, slashed his kunai at a shadowed figure, and ducked back as the foggy forest swallowed him.

He had just assassinated the military commander of the Hidden Mist. It was understandable that they would send their best men to return the favor.

Minato ducked, rolled, and slammed his elbow behind him as the hunter-nin stumbled forward. The movement carried Minato forward, and he dove out of the way of an explosive blast that rattled the surrounding clearing like glass in a windowframe.

He saw the blade before the shinobi that held it, tucked aside like an afterthought, forgotten in the heat of battle.

His body moved faster than his mind did, flaring chakra, molding it in a way that had become something short of second nature to him.

Time slowed. Flickered. Stopped.

Minato blinked again, his own body caught in the technique. He was hung in the air like a cloud, dangled above .

But he was safe.

He could have used a shunshin, or even a kawarimi. But instead, for some inexplicable reason, his body moved first - and here he was, caught in the throes of life-threatening battle, his most imperfect, most unrefined jutsu keeping him alive.

He smiled. Fitting.

Minato landed on the ground with catlike grace, his neck angling upwards, analyzing the battlefield. He leaned forward, grabbed the kunai from midair, and used it to slice the Mist ninja’s throat in two, quickly and without emotion.

He froze for a moment when the blood didn’t come pouring out. But then he remembered: time dilation. For some bizarre reason, the sensation of killing without blood sickened him. It made the job more... surgical, almost.

He plucked a basic kunai from his pouch, a seal - temporary - tied around the handle with thin white string, and launched it across the clearing, watching as it pierced the bubble of the Hiraishin’s influence and trailed its own path through time. The blade landed, and the two points connected.

The bubble expanded, grew like a small pocket of air trapped underwater, and Minato vaulted across the clearing to the other Mist ninja.

Another bloodless murder, and Minato disengaged the technique.

The job was done.

Minato took two steps forward, listening with a grimace as his actions out of time began to catch up with him, and the two ninja gurgled and moaned as they bled out.

Another step.

This time, he heard another sound.

It took him a heartbeat, then another to realize it was coming from his own mouth.

He looked down at himself, at the blade of the kunai that was piercing through his chest like a tumor, and the way blood, black as coal, began to trickle past his flak jacket and seep into the earth.

His heart seized.

“Heh,” the third Mist ninja said from behind him, cockiness bleeding into his words, “you may be fast enough for those two, but you’ll never be fast enough for me.”

He didn’t remember why he did it - why he felt compelled to use the Hiraishin. Perhaps Minato wanted a moment to kill his killer before the man could watch his death, or perhaps he wanted a moment of carefree silence to mourn himself… for the life he was undoubtedly about to give up from simple inattentiveness.

An image of Kushina flashed through his mind, bedecked in white and surrounded by the vibrance and beauty of color and marriage and love--

He roared, enraged. The jutsu flared, bubbling up past his skin like boiling water, flickering through the air, far more powerful than any time Minato had used it before.

The forty-second loop was the loop where Minato died.

But it was also the first loop - the first real loop. The first loop where time really did go back on itself, change itself, become anew.

He watched with disbelieving eyes as the blood spilled on the grass between his feet began to move, travelling up his body until nested within his chest once again. He watched as the kunai dislodged itself from his chest, and watched the fabric in his jacket stitch itself back together. He watched the leaves in the trees, as they retraced their steps in time and danced a familiar dance.

The bubble expanded past his skin, chasing time away like a skittish animal, until it returned to the way it was every other time - a shimmering sphere of impossibility, hovering just outside of his reach.

Minato turned, and saw red. The red of blood, the red of anger and rage… the red of the hair of his wife on the wedding day he so nearly missed.

Hiraishin had given him another chance, and he wasn’t about to soil it. The forty-second loop was where Minato died, but was also the loop where Minato was reborn.

-

The previous forty-one times Minato had used the Hiriashin, he realized later that month, were all loops. Every single one of them.

Sure, he hadn’t noticed it at first. But calling the forty-second ‘loop’ the first of its kind wasn’t accurate.

The Hiraishin twisted time more than just by freezing it. That was merrily because Minato hadn’t been pushing it as far as it could go, for fear of depleting chakra reserves and leaving him stranded, locked out of time.

In the heat of the moment, death on his doorstep, Minato had thrown any and all caution from his mind. He pushed everything he had into the technique, and it had delivered.

Minato could cheat time. He could cheat death.

“No shinobi, regardless of title, has ever held within them the power of a god - the true power of a god,” Sarutobi had said one lazy afternoon, after Minato had revealed his discovery, chest still heaving from returning to the village following another round of tests. The Hokage twiddled with his beard a little, staring out past the tall, imposing pillars that adorned the top of the Hokage’s Tower and down into the village he oversaw.

He turned, looked at Minato’s wide-eyed face, and gave him a look of fierce honesty - of expectation. “But you, Minato, are the first to truly wield it.”

Minato could cheat life. He could cheat chance, and reason, and calculation.

He turned, leapt from the rooftop, ran all the way home. His hands shook as he landed in front of his doorstep. A mix between terror and gratitude, adrenaline-bolstered fear locked them in place above the handle to the front door, and Minato just stood there.

He stood, and quivered.

Kushina had jumped when she opened the door to come looking for him an hour later, only to find him inches away. She pulled his shellshocked body inside, held him as he took massive gulps of air, rubbed the tension in his shoulders away with the soft pads of her fingertips.

“You’re alright,” she whispered to him as he stared, dazed, out the window into the fading light of early dusk. “You’re fine.”

Minato could cheat life, cheat death, cheat time. He had become a god, wielding that which had never before been wielded by man alone.

But Minato could not cheat the weight of the world on his shoulders, pinning him to the earth like the mortal he was.

-

“You should try teaching,” Jiraiya told him over dinner, two weeks after loop number one hundred and fifty-two. “It suits you.”

Minato froze. “Sensei?”

“Exactly,” Jiraiya winked, leaning his forearm across the table. “You’d be a fantastic sensei, kid. You’ve always had a knack for explaining the unexplainable. You would be a fantastic role model.”

“He’s right, you know,” Kushina said with a sly smile as she walked by, a bowl of ice cream in her hands. She slid into the seat in between the two men, and watched with a cocky grin as Minato floundered under their combined scrutiny. “What’ve you got to lose?”

He met Kakashi, Rin, and Obito three weeks later.

War followed not much longer after that.

-

He remembered the four hundred and ninety-sixth loop very well.

Everything was routine. Everything was supposed to be routine.

But war was war, and not even Team Minato, led by a god, could survive unscathed.

Minato had used the Hiraishin, just as he had many times before, as a means of traveling across continents - and the four hundred and ninety-sixth loop was no different in that regard.

But Minato quickly realized just how wrong he was, and how life changing Loop Four Hundred and Ninety-Six would become.

After Obito’s death, Minato receded into his jounin shell. Life dulled, drifted past his glazed eyes like beads of water dripping down stained glass.

He failed as a teacher. He failed as a shinobi. All of his uncertainty came flooding back, and more often than not Minato found himself marching towards the Hokage Tower, hands clenched into fists, to hand in his resignation. It was Kushina, only Kushina, that held him back, reminding him of his obligations.

But then Rin died too.

Kakashi took it harder than Minato did at first, but Kakashi’s pain fed into his own. He felt like a father would, struggling to stay strong for someone when he needed someone strong himself.

But still he powered onwards, simply because he had no alternative. Minato was a logical man by nature, and he knew his own strengths and weaknesses. He knew how his mind coped with loss.

So he buried himself in his research, studying seal after complex seal, mastering the art in a manner that few before him had ever accomplished.

He discovered the Reaper Death Seal after Loop Five Hundred and Twelve by accident.

He poured through several old Uzumaki tomes that Kushina had dragged up from the basement, long forgotten. He pieced together the archaic technique after weeks of backbreaking, exhausting research, and in the end, even after testing the jutsu’s less lethal components with rigorous valor, Minato still wasn’t certain the jutsu would work.

And then he became Hokage.

And his life went from stressful to chaotic with the snap of the Third Hokage’s fingers.

-

Loop Five Hundred and Thirty was a simple trip to the Hokage Tower - a summons.

“So you say this jutsu allows you to split… souls?” Hiruzen asked, scanning through the large ream of paper Minato had composed on the Reaper Death Seal.

“Well… yes.”

“Teach me,” the Third said, and his eyes were steeled and resolute.

Thanks for reading! It definitely is a bit rusty and reads more like my old style than my new, but I still really like it and the concepts it introduces.

I’m gonna cheat and use this as my response to the WIP Meme I was tagged in last night by @blackkatmagic (because otherwise I won’t have enough WIPs to use for this week!). the first line is:

The first loop Minato didn’t consider a loop at all.

...which is 10 words long. I don’t really know that many people here that write regularly, so instead I’m leaving this as an open tag to anyone that wants to participate themselves! And join WIP Week - it’s super fun and has done a great job of reminding me of projects I had completely forgotten about!

[jngukie]

WIP Tag

i was tagged by @floofyeol! idk if this is a blessing or a curse let’s find out.

some of these fics have been in drafts for ages? so tbh i don’t even know if i will post them but hey we’ll see. (so assume for now that none of these will be posted—except when stated otherwise with an *)

the first couple will be ships. the later ones are reader-inserts. all are still protected by the Creative Commons license.

slide it up in here: chapter 10* pairing(s): jikook, namjin, yoonseok genre: humour, crack, drama, angst tags/warnings: texting, college au, slightly filthy, innuendoes, Awkward Jeon Jungkook™, slowburn, self-esteem issues, self-hatred, implied/referenced homophobia, everyone is a mess™

SUMMARY

gguki: [image attached] gguki: what should i do with it chimothy: um chimothy: dude idk if i’m entitled to give you suggestions but chimothy: i mean you could always just stick it in the ass???????

or jungkook accidentally sends a stranger a picture of his roommate’s brand new dildo

PREVIEW

the (9)7 wonders of the world

tol: ok here’s the plan dabs 24/7: yugyeom no offence but your plans kinda suck muscle pig: ^^ what bambam said muscle pig: i don’t trust you anymore tol: wow that hurt tol: but i promise you this one will be better dabs 24/7: don’t do it kook tol: it won’t backfire in any way

untilted vhope pairing(s): vhope, namjin genre: humour, fluff tags/warnings: college au, skype dates, profanity, neurobiology/pyschology major!namjoon, ra!jin, music major!yoongi (i think), some major!hoseok, and high schooler!tae, tbh idrk bc i haven’t finished writing it lmao

SUMMARY

When Jung Hoseok signed up for college, he didn’t think he’d end up on academic probation so soon. Hell, he’d never guess he’d have friends who would use him as a fucking lab rat for their atrocious experiments. He definitely did not expect to fall in love with his resident advisor’s little brother—and then proceed to sneak into said resident advisor’s room and hack his computer just to have one more Skype date with the little brother. Without getting caught by said resident advisor. Yeah—he’s a little stressed, to say the least.

→ a continuation of It’s Burning Up in Here.

PREVIEW

He didn’t sign up for this. He thought college would be a great idea—who would pass up the opportunity for ultimate freedom and youthful stupidity? No, he was ecstatic for college—but he definitely hadn’t signed up to be the fucking victim for his resident advisor’s boyfriend’s experiments.

“Hoseok-ssi, please stay still or otherwise this will hurt. A lot,” Namjoon begged as his friend Yoongi tried to hold him down on the fragile coffee table.

“That’s not what your needle’s saying! You said it was a harmless experiment! You said I’d be fine!”

“You will be! I just need practice drawing blood once—”

“You’ve never even done this before?” Hoseok shrieked, writhing some more. Yoongi growled in frustration and flung his entire weight onto Hoseok’s body—and thus effectively snapping the legs of the coffee table and sending them down towards the floor.

His advisor ran into the room then, eyes wide in alarm while holding a skillet filled with half-cooked meat, his creased white apron reading World’s Best Dad! in pretty cursive pink. “What the hell is going on here?”

untitled taekook* pairing(s): taekook, yoonjin genre: fluff, angst, humour, crack tags/warnings: restaurant au, running away, mentions of nudity, exhibitionism, does getting caught dancing naked in your room count as exhibitionism idek, mention of mpreg, but there’s no actual mpreg, i mean it’s the sims it’s not real, many many references to the male organ, but sorry folks no smut (A/N: this is literally what i have in my docs wow i’m such a nerd for preparing ao3 tags LMAO)

SUMMARY

The last thing Jungkook expected after running away to Seoul is to score a private live viewing of Naked_Neighbour_Dancing_In_His_Bedroom.mov—and then proceed to bump into him when he’s not-so-naked. And then also manage to greet him with a slap. It also probably doesn’t help that Nude Neighbour is his new boss. All in all, Jungkook just maybe kinda wants to die. (But of course Seokjin isn’t gonna allow him, so he’s just going to suffer—for now.)

PREVIEW

He sighs, turning his head to gaze out of the window, only to freeze when he realises his view isn’t exactly the most… decent.

Because across from his small studio apartment window is a perfect view of a larger apartment in the building across, and currently, the tenant (he hopes the boy’s the tenant) is enthusiastically dancing through his room completely naked, dinglehopper fully on display. He’s mouthing the words to some song, throwing a finger up in the air as he shuts his eyes and nods his head as though the music (Jungkook thinks there’s music) blasting in his room is speaking to him on a spiritual level.

Jungkook’s face is bright red when he finally breaks out of his trance, and he wishes he wasn’t so bad at reacting appropriately to inappropriate situations so he could at least have saved himself from adding a thirty-second clip of Nude Neighbour to his collection of non-digital memories. He rushes to the window and pulls the curtains close, fingers stiff as he tries to rid his brain of such scandalous images.

At least he was hot.

His face is redder now—if that’s even possible. “Fuck me,” he whispers, and then flushes even more. “Wait, no. Don’t fuck me. That’s not what—why am I even talking to myself. Agh.”

take these words out of my lungs (and set them free) pairing(s): vmin genre: angst, fluff tags/warnings: major character death, suicide attempt, depression, body image issues, depressed!jimin, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, ambiguous original character that appears for like five seconds, high school au

SUMMARY/PREVIEW

three pounds. that’s how much he’s gained since he last stepped on the scale, the dictator that rules over his life. he stares at the numbers again, frowning at the digits glaring up at him. perhaps there was a mistake; maybe the scale is rigged or jammed or simply broken. he couldn’t have possibly gained three pounds in a span of two days. hasn’t he been walking around his neighbourhood enough?

he sighs, stepping off the scale and turning around to flush the toilet before washing his hands. even the cold water burns his skin, and he wishes he could melt through the cracks on the floor. would he slim down then? would he finally be skinny enough?

“jimin!” he hears his mother call, and he forces his way from the sink, sneaking out his parent’s bathroom and into the living room outside. their apartment is small but cozy. jimin hates it.

untitled kim seokjin* pairing(s): platonic OT7 genre: fluff, angst tags/warnings: anxiety, depression, eating disorder, negative body image perception, lapslock (lower case)

SUMMARY

honestly, he can’t remember what it’s like to live anymore.

PREVIEW

breathe in. breathe out.

three lucky charms. four cereal pieces. seven bits down the drain.

he smiles, staring at the milk-stained sink as the spoon clatters against metal, bowl turned upside down. it’s ugly—white ink staining burnt grey like liquid cobwebs feeding on rust. it looks exactly as how he feels: dirty, wasted, trash. one-seventy-nine centimetres down the drain.

untitled kim taehyung pairing(s): Kim Taehyung/Reader genre: fluff, humour, probably angst bc knowing me tags/warnings: (sor far) nudity, profanity

SUMMARY/PREVIEW

Kim Taehyung has no regrets. Sure, he probably should’ve thought twice before he spent all of his money on BIGBANG merch just to show Jungkook that yes, he’s the bigger fanboy, and sure, he definitely should’ve listened to Jimin when he warned Taehyung that no, he shouldn’t eat three whole pizza pies by himself, but that doesn’t mean he regrets any of his decisions. Even though blowing all his earnings on people he’ll never meet did cause him to starve for a good or so month.

(Thank god for ramyeon.)

So, no, Jimin, he doesn’t regret running out of the shower butt naked when he heard her singing on her way to the second floor of their co-ed dorm, doesn’t regret shouting, “I love your voice!” before she screamed, “Oh my god, you’re naked!” And he definitely doesn’t regret yelling, “Oh, shit!” into Oblivion before sprinting back into the bathroom to resume the hot shower he abandoned.

“For fuck’s sake, Taehyung,” Jimin says to him once Taehyung’s finished recounting the story, the two of them lying side by side on Jimin’s bed. “You’re going to get us kicked out.”

“I should probably say hi,” Taehyung muses, blinking at the ceiling. “Do you think she remembers me?”

Jimin glances down, and snickers. “With how small your dick is, she probably does.”

untitled park jimin pairing(s): Park Jimin/Reader genre: fluff tags/warnings: (so far) blind!reader

SUMMARY

He is an angel; and she doesn’t need to see to believe. She fathoms his widespread wings as he gently picks her up, worriedly and urgently asking for her health, voice so soft it touches her skin like silk on smooth glass. His eyes must be crinkled in the corners, a smile stuttering through apologies, heart too warm for the human hand to touch. She imagines what he looks like, faintly deciding through his rapid Korean that he must be chesnut if not vanilla, not in skin but in connotation because he sounds and smells and feels like home.

Her pause is a millennia long, and she hears him repeat himself again, the sound of melting marshmallow oozing out of beautiful lips: “Are you alright?”

She produces a smile, feathery and light, eyes glassy and the world continues to remain black. “I’m fine,” she replies, and her voice is cracked from its lack of use; she hasn’t met anyone worth talking to in what feels like a century. Another smile reappears, much strained than what she’s used to, and she picks herself up from where the concrete lay, the dust falling from her voile skirt. “No damage done.”

untitled kim taehyung #2* pairing(s): Kim Taehyung/Reader, platonic OT7 genre: fluff, angst tags/warnings: i think it’s schizophrenia?, mental illnesses, depression

SUMMARY/PREVIEW

There is a moment when time stands still. It’s fleeting, escaping the moment your fingers curl around it and pull. But it is during this moment happiness enraptures you with its warm hug as your heart thunders against your chest—the steady thump, thump, thump of a snare drum awakening. It is during this moment pain ceases to exist.

But after, everything will come rushing back.

i have more but these are the ones that are decent, at the very least.

to pass the torch on, i’ll tag @minmelly @kinky-koreans @pasteljeonggukk @haneulismykoreanname @rnjmnster and anyone else who wants to do it! (if you don’t, no pressure. good luck to you and your writing!)