#sorry this isn’t longer!! I’m very cold and I feel stiff typing

[river-of-wine]

I read your post about the Resident Evil 8 villains and I agree with you about everything, especially about Donna. Her characterization in fanon is particularly frustrating to me. Honestly, I hate to say it, but I think it's because of a particular kind of ableism. It's like people saw the dolls and read the files about her mental illness and immediately went "oh she's just a poor baby who doesn't know what she's doing!!!" And completely woobified her. Which does not at all reflect her canon characterization. Like, mentally ill people can be tragic and complicated and still do really fucked up stuff. I think another element that often gets ignored when it comes to Donna and Lady Dimitrescu in particular is their wealth and status. Dimitrescu clearly comes from a long aristocratic bloodline, as she literally lives in a castle and makes repeated references to "the bloodline of House Dimitrescu." She had a position of power and influence even before she became one of Miranda's lords. She very likely already viewed the villagers and her servants as beneath her, and from there it was a very small step to treating them as livestock. While Donna isn't aristocratic, she still lives in a mansion and clearly comes from a family of some wealth and position, especially since she had servants too. She is a twisted take on the wealthy orphan trope. We know she's alone and her whole family is dead by the time she's infected, the gardener's files say as much. But she views other people as dolls, playthings for her to use and throw away once broken. The mannequin of Mia, the dolls hanging from the trees that were actually bodies, etc. She is detached and sees herself as above others in a way that is very different from Lady Dimitrescu, but present all the same. Wealth, power, and privilege also shape those two characters and create important context for who they are and what they do. (I could go on about how Moreau and Heisenberg represent different forms of toxic male behavior, but this ask is already really long.)

I have to also agree with you about Donna. Her and Heisenberg’s characterisations frustrate me the most because from what I’ve seen, their personalities and motivations get the most warped by the fanbase. The fact that Donna in particular is made out to be an innocent little baby who just didn’t understand what she was doing despite her being a grown woman who has done this before and is intentionally showing Ethan hallucinations that target his specific fears about protecting his family. Given the fact that Donna is the only lord who is to have specified some kind of mental illness in her file in another Miranda’s lab as well as, like you mentioned, her thing being dolls and those being considered a childish interest, it does feel particularly ableist for people to reduce her to that. The dolls honestly to me feel more like that frightening spin on childhood and fatherhood than anything, especially because Ethan has a daughter. Dolls are typically associated with young girls, and the fact that the dolls and Rose herself, or at least the hallucination, is what is attacking Ethan seems very thematically relevant.

Very good point about Alcina and Donna’s wealth and status! I hadn’t actually considered that about Donna, but I think a huge thing with Alcina is exploitation. Vampirism has often been used as a metaphor for exploitation of some kind, and her obviously wealthy status even before Mother Miranda only furthers this. She also seems to be quite high up in the hierarchy within the cult itself. The lords all have power over the villagers, but Mother Miranda seems to value Heisenberg and Alcina more than Donna and Moreau. The obvious thing is the maidens. She’s using her - presumably unpaid - workforce as a source of food, and she brutally takes what she wants from them and leaves their corpses to shamble around aimlessly. I think a lot of people forget how horrifying this concept even is because of how many people ship maiden ocs with Alcina.

There is also the matter of her daughters. I left this out of the original post because it’s more up to interpretation than the rest, but Alcina has never struck me as the caring mother a lot of people make her out to be. She does not, while her daughters are alive, show any motherly affection to them, and aside from her “how dare you talk about saving your daughter, when you’ve murdered mine?” voice line that she says during her boss battle, she never seems that upset? She has those remarks about the daughters after they die, but she seems very detached and unaffected. Even after finding out Bela is dead, she makes a phone call to Mother Miranda where she is remarkably composed for somebody who just learned of her daughters murder. She does nothing to protect Cassandra and Daniela, even sending Cassandra after Ethan purposefully, and her reaction to Cassandra’s death as well as her placing the same amount of anger in attacking Ethan for killing Bela as she does in breaking into her castle and trying to steal from her. Her daughters are not really children to her, at least how I interpret things. She’s using them to do her dirty work, going after Ethan despite the danger even going outside would present. The girls are swarms of flies, but she is lacking that connection she outlined in the files about the experiment that made them. She’s again using others for her own gain.

Obviously Alcina herself is also being exploited, but I think that adds an interesting angle. While a victim of Mother Miranda, she is taking advantage of her own swarm of victims.

Excellent point about Donna - it didn’t even properly occur to me that she had staff, and VERY TRUE ABOUT HEISENBERG! Moreau I’d have to think more about, but I’ve always noticed that about Heisenberg and people always seem to ignore it. His language towards Alcina and Mother Miranda is quite intentionally misogynistic. He’s a bit too fond of the word bitch. That and the fact that he’s dressed like a cowboy, such a classically masculine trope.

[sneezefiction]

untouchable | vi

Atsumu x Reader

desc: in which an accidental run-in with pro volleyball player, Atsumu Miya, at a 7/11 leads to a strangers-to-lovers situation… but the catch is, you have no idea that he’s famous.

warnings: slight language, anxiety

wc: 6.6k

part 5 ⚬ part 6 ⚬ part 7 

untouchable m.list

—

Recap:

And for the first half of this year you found yourself falling in love. Falling for this second glance of a man.

So finding out that Izumi Kenji had a partner was a punch to the gut. 

Reaching for his hand that summer was a defining moment for you. The way he snatched his hand away from yours would have knocked all the air out of your lungs if you’d had any breath to spare.

—

Laughter echoes off the sides of buildings as you make your way past food stalls and restaurants. It’s warm. A gentle breeze tussles his hair, different strands catching purple and orange light from the store signs.

There are several things that are begging to hold your attention right now. 

A new café to your right is stringing a “Grand Opening” banner across its shop doors. Bike bells ring off in the distance, the wheels gently thrumming against dusty cobblestone. Groups of teenagers snicker as they pass you by, their voices carefree and teasing. Two dogs tread loyally next to their owners on the other side of the street, their claws clicking as their paws hit the pavement. 

But even among all of those distractions and details, all you can see is him. The mop of messy hair atop his head. His umber brown eyes. A curious smile.

Izumi Kenji had stolen your heart slowly and carefully; he did so without a balaclava or a disguise to lure you in. And as you meander the downtown area with him, your fondness for him only grows.

Meeting him at that after-work party may have been the best thing that happened to you this year. You were comfortable - in the middle of a bar, talking to a stranger and laughing with him. And who were you to turn down the one good thing life had sent your way.

Although, with how nonexistent your social life was, you would’ve let almost anyone into your social circle. You just deem yourself lucky that it was Kenji who happened to be in your vicinity.

He’d ended up asking for your number at the end of the night - you rattled off the digits faster than you could blink.

“...if you ever need anything, just send me a text.”

It was an outstretched hand of a sentence. A bone thrown to a starving dog. Finally, there was a person you could rely on.

You took his words to heart.

After that night, it was almost unfair how easily he broke down your barriers. 

It was Kenji who took you sightseeing through all of Osaka in the Winter months, making sure that you’d mapped out the area so that you were more comfortable when you went exploring on your own. Your snow boots and his became well acquainted.

He’d shown you his favorite eateries and shops, rambling quietly about his favorite pastries and old, dusty memories that came from his time spent in the area. 

His jacket made its way to your shoulder when you visibly shuddered from the cold as Winter shifted to Spring. And as Summer approached, you allowed yourself to let your guard down. With distant eyes, you learned about his family and his plans. You wondered if maybe there was a place for you in that future.

Any doubts about this connection you had with him had melted away. 

He was your closest friend by far… and who’s to say he couldn’t be more?

You glance to your left, a small smile working its way onto your lips. Kenji’s eyes wander the street, completely lost in thought. His expression is serene under the violet glow of street lights. 

And his hand… his hand is achingly close to your own.

Its a position you frequently found yourself in: walking side by side, almost touching, but never quite close enough to grasp at his hand. 

You’ve never really seen yourself as someone to make first moves, but this has gone on for too long. And your fingertips are begging you to do something about this distance between you two. 

You swallow hard.

Choking back your hesitation, you brush your hand against his.

He doesn’t pull away, only sending you a quick glance. Kenji’s soft smile doesn’t budge, though he does raise an eyebrow at you.

You assume that this is a good sign. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, the moment feels natural, and this… this could actually work.

You take one more deep breath and gingerly link your fingers with his-

But before you can even blink, Kenji snaps his hand back to his side. His head whips toward you, feet stopping in their tracks.

“What… what are you doing,” he stammers, eyes widening.

You wince. That wasn’t the reaction you were hoping for. Far from it.

“I think that’s-” You glance down at your rejected hand, eyes wide, “-kind of obvious.”

He stares at you, mouth agape. You take a step back, heart dropping. Why would he pull his hand back? Did I do something wrong-

“I’m seeing someone-” He breathes, “-you knew that.”

Like a tree branch splintering after a lightning strike, you feel as though something inside of you has cracked and split. 

Your body can’t decide if your blood should turn to ice from shock or if it should succumb to the heat of humiliation rising in your chest. How did you not know this?

And why hadn’t you just asked him first? 

That’s what normal people did. If you hadn’t acted based on a silly impulse maybe you would have spoken to him about your relationship with him first… but it’s too late now. And the pressure continues to build up in your stomach until you feel like a balloon on the verge of popping.

“...you knew that… didn’t you?”

Something sharp stabs at your heart.

“I had no idea.” Your reply is flat. Distant.

It twists.

“I- I’m so sorry, I could’ve sworn I’d told you…” He responds softly.

In a tearing motion, it rips back out.

“No. You hadn’t.” You say curtly, eyes glazing over.

You let on to the bitterness welling up in your chest more than you wish you would have… but who could blame you? 

Tucking your hands deep into your pants pockets, you try to hold your composure. 

Your mouth is uncomfortably dry and your hands are suddenly very sweaty. 

What does someone do in a situation like this? 

You’d always assumed that this was the type of thing to happen to somebody else. Thinking that feelings were mutual and then being struck with the fact that your “almost-boyfriend” was actually already deep into a relationship. It sounds like something out of a teenage romance novel... but it’s clear that the shame clouding your mind is not secondhand.

Unintentionally or not, Kenji had led you on… and here you are, feeling like you’ve just been publicly gutted.

He doesn’t owe you anything. No, not at all. 

If anything, you owe him for all of the kindness he’s extended to you. 

But that doesn’t explain everything he’s done for you these past few months. 

Paying for meals even though you’d practically fought him for bills at every restaurant you’d visited together. Spending hours together on weekends when you both had work to complete. Meeting his friends, taking the train together on days when your schedules collided, exploring the city and your past with him…

You’d wondered why he hadn’t asked you out yet.

It didn’t make any sense.

Maybe he was confused too?

A thought crosses your mind that maybe he may have been using you as some sort of support system. Maybe you were just let into his life to comfort him through his own relational instability. Were you just Kenji’s escape? Is he just completely unaware?

But now you’re just jumping to conclusions. It might not be anything of the sort. Trying to piece together a story that doesn’t add up in the first place won’t help you at all - at least, not right after such a blatant rejection.

You take another step back, effectively tuning out anything he has to say. The light on his face no longer reflects something inviting; instead, all you can see is the confusion marring his previously peaceful expression.

He’s trying to talk to you, he’s taking steps toward you, he’s even reaching a hand out… but you just can’t. Not with the discomfort in your chest and a thundercloud of tension rumbling above you.

You can’t remember what shitty excuse you’d made to get out of there, but not even 10 minutes after this awkward, messy, fucked up moment, you’re on a train back home. 

And everything is numb. 

The shuffle and shake of the passenger car is enough to distract you for now.

But the moment you get home - the very second you kick off your shoes - insecurity comes knocking at the door of your mind. 

You lay face down on the couch. The room stirs in darkness, gloom sinking into the cracks of the wall and pooling at the corners of your eyes. Because how was this fair? What had you done to deserve this? Was nothing going to be easy for you?

You let yourself cry.

Questions swim through your mind. Fears too. The pain of, once again, being alone exposes itself through heavy tears and spluttering sobs.

So you attempt to bury it all deep down...

As far from the surface as it can go... 

But as most things do, these questions and insecurities will resurface. 

It’s only a matter of time.

—

You noticed it from the moment you woke up.

The stiffness in your arms and the churning in your stomach were telltale signs… but as the hours rolled on and the sun sunk lower in the sky, it became more obvious. 

Your lungs were fine yesterday, but today they shrink and tighten with every passing minute.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you’ve switched on the TV and turned to Netflix for comfort. It isn’t much, but the modulated noise of a baking show and a warm blanket draped over your lap blocks out some of the dizzying worries in your head.

First date nerves are a thing.

The clammy palms, the jitters, the loss of appetite… you have it all. 

You’re well aware that this is a universal experience, so you try to empathize with yourself. There’s no reason to be embarrassed by it. Shame would only drag you deeper into this muddy pit of nerves that you’re so desperately trying to claw your way out of.

But this technically isn’t even a date. 

And you’re not about to assume that it’s anything like one.

Just to be safe, you’ve decided that this outing would blandly be categorized as a “sporadic meet up with a stranger.” Your words, not Atsumu’s. 

But just because it isn’t technically a date doesn’t mean you can’t be jittery… 

You grip the remote in your hand tighter. It accidentally shuts the TV off, but that’s probably for the better. You haven’t gotten ready yet and it’s getting close to 5 pm. Somehow you’d managed to snuggle the day away in your apartment. Again.

Letting out an anxious yawn, you hop up from your nestled position on the couch.

You step into the hallway and make your way to the bathroom to wash your face. As you patter the length of the hall, you finally allow your mind to roam. It immediately hones in on your anxieties like a dog chasing a delightfully peeved squirrel.

Is it pathetic? To be 20 something years old and petrified by something as simple as a dinner date? 

Your brain says “no,” but a part of you is whispering out a quiet “yes” in response. Most people would be excited to see someone after being lonely for so long. 

So why are you this bothered? What’s with this piercing fragility that makes your hands shake and your skin crawl? 

When did you become so… scared? Like you would crumble just by being in the presence of another person?

And then it hits you. Your head plummets into your hands.

Ever since you’d met Atsumu, you haven’t had the mental stamina to think about Izumi Kenji. 

Or what he’d done to you. Or how he’d metaphorically pushed you when you were already toeing at the precipice of a cliff. You’d been a step away from falling and breaking under the weight of the past few years, and he’d shattered you in a single night.

So, yes, that would explain the current twisting in your chest. It’s also probably why you’re so worried about Atsumu. Or, at least, it’s one big reason as to why, you conclude.

But, even with this epiphany, you find yourself stepping into the bathroom, wrung dry and physically unsteady. Thinking about Kenji doesn’t make you feel any better.

Your fingers grip the rim of the porcelain sink, eyes fixed on the drain in the center. 

You stare at it. 

One reminder of him and you were already weary. 

The glossiness of the bowl reflects a splotchy, humanesque blob back at you. You swivel the faucet handle, letting warm water coast around the bowl and spiral down the drain. It erases that human-like reflection.

If only it could wash away your problems. Now that’d be something to write home about.

The cool of the tile beneath your feet and a splash of warm water on your face is a welcome distraction… but short-lived. The water drips off of your face. You blindly feel around for a fresh towel and, after laying your hands on one, you gently pat your face down.

Blinking your eyes open, you stand up straight.

As you do, you find yourself studying a much clearer reflection than the blurry face in the sink bowl. Sunken features bore into you from the bathroom mirror. You sigh and turn to open up a medicine cabinet to grab a few facial products, applying them one-by-one.

If you do happen to crash and burn tonight, you figure you might as well look damn good in the process. Skincare would help with that.

But before you can further sink into the idea that tonight might turn into another nightmarish scenario, a friendly face, someone sunny and charming, enters your mind. 

The picture Atsumu’s wavy hair and that smug smile of his. While the rest of his face is a little fuzzy in your mind, you vividly remember how his mouth quirk upwards and the electric buzz you felt from the sheer warmth of his eyes.

Atsumu has been on your mind a lot these days. And, as much as it’s been a distraction, it’s also been a welcome mental detour. 

Somehow, the very thought of him coaxes your own lips to relax into a smile. You sigh, tilting your head back in defeat. So this is what 3 years of loneliness can do to a person - how embarrassing.

But you can’t deny that he gives you something to look forward to - an emotion you can’t quite put your finger on. You two share a connection; there’s some common ground that hasn’t been dug up just yet. And, for whatever it’s worth, you want to keep digging until you figure it out.

As you smooth a moisturizer over your skin, you decide that you’ll wear something nice tonight. Maybe you’ll pick out an outfit you haven’t worn before and do your best to drown your shaky hands in the fabric of a long-sleeved shirt. If it goes well, maybe you’ll have found someone who actually likes you.

If it doesn’t work out, you can just drive back home and forget he ever existed. Simple as that.

But... 

You’d like to think that Atsumu could be just as sweet as he seems; assuming the worst about him would get you nowhere.

You continue to repeat that to yourself before you leave. That all you can do is hope it goes well. 

Nothing more, nothing less. 

—

You rest your foot firmly on the brake and switch the gearshift so that your car is in park. You rub your eyes and double-check the location on your phone’s GPS. Back at your apartment, it looked like you would be arriving at a café near the park… but you’re not so sure anymore.

Did… did Atsumu really send you here?

You never entertained the idea of him being a prankster… but if this was, perhaps, a practical joke? Well, you’re not above calling him and telling him to “fuck off.” There’s nothing stopping you from driving away and blocking his number right now.

Scrolling through the map application, you notice that you’re relatively close to several restaurants, so there is that. He’d promised you dinner and there’s an abundance of food within walking distance.

But you weren’t expecting to pull up to such a secluded location. You shiver in your seat and grip the steering wheel. Does he realize just how scary it is to meet someone at a random place like this?

Whipping out your phone, you tap a quick message containing something along the lines of “why the hell did you send me to a park.” Your therapist would probably give you a high-five for being so straightforward.

You hit send and sink into your chair. 

A brief glance out your car window helps to settle your frayed nerves just a hair. 

It’s not quite as empty as you thought it was. The area is just… calm. Many couples stroll along the main path, hand-in-hand. Others are sat on picnic blankets, tucking their toes into the cool grass and chattering away. 

And, most comfortingly of all, it’s still bright outside. 

You thank the sun that it still rests above the horizon, drenching the trees tops and green grass with deep-honey hues. People and daylight mean safety. You’ve had to learn that after living alone for so long.

A text notification pings on your phone only seconds after messaging him. 

You’ll give him some credit. Atsumu is a timely texter. You’ve found yourself in more real-time texting conversations with him than almost anyone else you’ve met in Osaka. And it’s been how long since you met him? A few weeks? A month?

Atsumu’s text reassures you that you’re not at the wrong place.

At least the park was intentional, you nod to yourself. You’re doing your best to trust that he wouldn’t take you somewhere that would make you uncomfortable.

Another text informs you that he’s already seated on a bench near where you parked.

Your heart skips a beat and your head jolts upward, scanning the area. A hand also shoots up to clutch at your chest, gripping the fabric of your top. 

Yep. You’re still jumpy.

But this time, the shaky hands and pounding nerves are rooted in restlessness instead of fear… and maybe a little bit of excitement?

Suddenly, the park is far less frightening.

You step out of the car, wallet and keys in one hand, and smooth out your outfit with your free hand. The wind nips at you through the fabric of your clothes, but with the sunshine painting your skin, it isn’t too bad. 

Maybe bringing a coat would’ve been wiser than relying on this sweater to keep you warm… but it’s too late to think about that now.

Your eyes dart around and you trod through the grass and onto a graveled pathway. It crunches satisfyingly underneath your feet, but you can’t enjoy it when you’re so intent on finding him. With a few short strides, you’re quick to spot the back of someone’s head. A familiar head of blonde waves shines golden thanks to the setting sun. 

You’re almost entirely sure it’s Atsumu.

And as if he had sensed your presence, the man in question tilts a glance over his shoulder.

His face is blank until he catches your eye. 

An easy grin, one brighter than the stars, bursts into existence.

For someone so conventionally attractive, he sure looks excited to see little ole you. Raising your hand, you wave and send him a shy smile back.

He’s quick to jump to his feet and as he does, you’re quickly reminded of just how tall he is. Atsumu’s head matches the height of several tree branches. It makes you think that he’s probably walked into a number of things. Door headers, branches, signs that are hung a couple of inches too low… you’re sure he’s learned to duck and dodge over the years.

You wish you could ask him about that.

You blink.

That’s right. You can ask him about that - you’ll do that later, though.

“Hey there.” He chuckles.

His voice… it’s huskier than you’d remembered.

You spoke with him over the phone just yesterday to confirm that tonight was still happening, so why was his voice giving you chills now? It’s deep and smooth and, without the static from the phone audio, it’s actually kind of sexy.

Okay, you’ve got to calm down.

“Hi,” you reply sweetly, tilting your head.

Should you hug him? Just keep standing there? Hopefully, he’s better at filling awkward silence than you are. You’re not bad at handling social situations, but it seems safer to wait for his cues.

Atsumu keeps his hands in his pockets, “Long time, no see.” 

It’s phrased as if you were both old friends reuniting after years of distance. It kind of feels that way too.

“I don’t actually think it’s been that long.” You raise an eyebrow, keeping a straight face.

“It’sa turn of phrase, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

That word sounds so easy on his tongue, damn it.

A few beats pass… and both of you break into grins once again.

But before you can respond, and much to your confusion, Atsumu spins on his feels to face the pathway. The pebbles under his feet shift as he takes a few steps forward.

He turns his head to catch your eye, “Well? C’mon then, let’s walk and talk,” and juts an arm out.

You stare at him for a moment, confused. 

“Are ya gonna leave me hangin’? Atsumu tilts his head back, a coy smile on his lips as though whatever he’s trying to do is ridiculously obvious.

After a few moments of deep contemplation, realization dawns over your features. He’s extending his elbow out… for you? To hold onto?

Oh.

With a slight flush, you step forth and link arms with him. He grins down at you, perfectly resembling a fox you saw in a National Geographic magazine last week. This is a lot closer than you’d anticipated on getting with him; not that you’re complaining.

Although, for someone you’ve only met twice, you feel like you’ve known him for years. 

The few phone calls and those text conversations have given you some insight into his life, but they don’t explain why you two click so well in person. He’s illogically familiar.

You decide not to question the closeness and instead choose to spark a conversation. 

That should be easy enough; after all, he’d promised you dinner, and you were given directions to a park - you’re anything but questionless.

You lean into his side slightly and break the silence, “You smell good.” 

Considering he’s crossed that line with you already, you aren’t too worried about saying it back to him. 

“Thanks, I showered.” He smiles and shrugs as if to brush off your compliment, but you swear you see a fleeting blush on his cheeks.

“Thank God.” You sigh in mock relief, relaxing your shoulders.

He squints, clicking his tongue, “Okay, no need to tease. At least get to know a guy first,” but his voice is void of offense.

“So if I tease you, you won’t take me to dinner?” A curious tone rings in your voice.

“Oh, I will even if ya do. Where do ya think we’re walkin’ to?”

You snort, “Hopefully a restaurant?”

“Bull’s eye.” He winks.

Atsumu looks down at you and you can’t help but smile up at him. Your nerves had melted away like a popsicle under a blazing summer sun; all that’s left is a sweet, melty feeling that has you feeling a little too comfortable.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so trusting. Protecting yourself has been your number one goal since Kenji let you down…

But that doesn’t mean you can’t laugh or get to know Atsumu. 

It just means you need to keep your expectations in check. This may seem like a date, but until he says something, you won’t jump to conclusions. In the meantime, you just need to keep talking. Enjoy it while it lasts and laugh a little.

You nudge his side, “By the way…”

“Hm?”

“What’s with bringing me to a park?”

You’ve been dying to hear this explanation since you arrived. Sure, the atmosphere is perfect; fall weather is notorious for pleasant walks and colorful leaves. However, you’d like to hear his reasoning.

“I thought we could get to know each other better before stuffin’ our faces.”

You make a face, “Well, doesn’t that sound lovely. You sure have a way with words.” 

Atsumu is nothing if not blunt.

He pouts, eyes narrowing, “You gonna make fun of the way I talk now? I’ll have you know, I’ve been mocked enough to last me a life time. I ain’t all that sensitive anymore.”

You laugh and subconsciously tighten your hold on his arm. 

“Alright Mr. Not Sensitive, I won’t make fun of you anymore.”

If you were paying attention to his face, you might’ve seen another flush of pink… but your eyes are squinting from the sun and Atsumu is sure to pull himself together before you can notice it.

“But I do have some important questions for you,” You begin.

Those words are sure to spark fear into anybody. This is confirmed when his arm stiffens ever so slightly and your eyes crinkle in mischief.

He swallows, “Yeah, go for it.”

“Favorite color?”

Atsumu’s eyes flick down to yours, squinting. They seem to say, “important, my ass.”

He instantly loosens, “Easy. Red.” Confidence is clear in his tone.

You nod. You don’t have to know him well to know that the answer suits him. Atsumu is fiery and he’s burned bright in your mind since you met him. If anyone should be allowed to like red, it’s him.

“Favorite food?”

“Mmm…” He furrows his brows in deliberation, “ I gotta say fatty tuna. But my brother makes some killer onigiri, though. I think that’s a close second.”

Your brows shoot up, eyes widening. He’d never mentioned anything about his family before this.

“You have a brother?” You press, leaning in to study his face while trying not to trip over your own two feet.

“Technically, a twin. But I’m the older one...” He huffs, “...and the better lookin’ one.”

Your jaw drops. “I can’t believe you hadn’t mentioned him before this!” 

As an only child, you can only imagine what it’d be like to have a sibling, much less a twin. 

“Well,” Atsumu rolls his eyes at you, “He’s alright…”

It looks like he’s about to change the subject, but one glance at your face is all it takes for him to realize that you want to hear more. Your eyes are sparkling. Full of vibrant curiosity… how could he stop now?

You’re actually interested in him.

“We’re really close actually,” Atsumu clears his throat, straightening up a little. “I mean, he isn’t like me at all. He’s real’ calm in comparison. A great cook. Some people say he’s handsome - but he got the looks from me, y’know?”

You roll your eyes, keeping in stride with him. “Yeah, yeah, keep going.”

“He’s good with the ladies, smart, athletic...” He rambles on. “If he’d just slow down a little, he would probably be married by now...”

You just listen, fully invested in his words. 

It’s nice to hear about family - you haven’t seen your’s in a long time. 

The fondness in Atsumu’s expression seeps through his abbreviated words. 

He looks almost pained as he compliments his twin and amusement flickers in your eyes as you watch it all unfold. You hadn’t asked for a dating profile description of his brother, but you’re not about to shut him up.

“I bet you’d like him. Not as much as you’d like me, of course,” he smirks and your chest tightens. 

The butterflies you’d thought you’d left back in highschool seem to have dusted themselves off and started fluttering again.

“But, yeah. He’s a good guy.”

Atsumu’s free hand then runs through his hair, pushing the waves back. You can see a sudden onset of nerves on his face. He’s quick to hide it though.

“And, uh, just so you know… he may or may not own the restaurant I’m taking you to tonight.”

That’s enough for you plant your feet in place. Atsumu stops as well. 

He’s… taking you to his brother’s restaurant.

You gaze up at him, at a loss for words.

Is his brother going to be there? I mean, it is his place. But meeting his family? Out of the blue, like this? It’s all out of order. 

You can’t help but wonder if he’s ever going to give your racing heart a chance to settle.

“Is that too much?” Atsumu is quick to cut in. His voice isn’t gentle… but even with it’s roughness, you can hear something that resembles concern.

“A- ah, no! It’s fine!” You reassure him, “I… I’m happy to go.”

His shoulders drop down again and so do yours.

There’s no point in getting worked up about it. But it’s becoming clear that Atsumu isn’t a very conventional person. Nor is he daunted by sporadic plans. Next time, you’ll ask for a point-by-point itinerary, just to be safe.

Atsumu reveals the name of the restaurant, “Onigiri Miya,” and you find yourself asking more family-related questions as you two dawdle down the pathway…

Which naturally leads to conversations about high-school.

It turns out that he and his twin were on a volleyball team together. Which makes sense. He definitely has the muscle, the height, and the spunk to be an athlete. 

You know shit about the sport, but that doesn’t mean you don’t see the gleam in his eyes when he rattles off a story about one of his old games. It’s been a long time since you last listened to someone speak about something so passionately.

But there’s even more. 

You hear mentions of many boys’ names. 

There’s his brother, Osamu; he mentions their little spats and occasional fist fights. Although he makes sure to clarify that they’re both a lot more level headed nowadays. Next is Atsumu’s upperclassman, Kita; he’s someone Atsumu respects and fears with every inch of his being. Then there’s Suna, Omimi, Aran, and… too many others to count.

Games and nationals and several terms you can’t quite grasp swim through your head as you re-live some of Atsumu’s own memories with him.

His high-school years sound exciting, bright, and funny. Of course, those experiences would create the charming mess that is Atsumu Miya.

After padding under draping treetops, you both finally make it out of the park and onto the sidewalks. 

Restaurants and small shops line the streets and pedestrians cross in groups across the narrow roads. At this point, the sun is loosing its shine, sinking beneath the trees’ branches and ever-darkening buildings. But you, with your phone in your pocket and your arm in his, feel safe. 

Atsumu’s effortlessness and his blunt way of speaking really made for easy conversation. 

But before you can ask him if he still plays volleyball, you find yourself standing in front of a small, bright storefront: “Onigiri Miya.” The words are plastered on a wooden board in white, chalk paint. It’s sleek and cute - if you’d stumbled upon the shop before this, you’d have walked in of your volition.

“I’m thinkin’ I just talked your ear off the whole way here.” Atsumu sighs apologetically.

You shrug, “I guess that just means I’m a good listener.”

In all honestly, you’re glad he rambled. It got rid of your restlessness and calmed your racing thoughts.

He unlinks your arm from his and your side is now exposed to the cold air. It only just hits you how physical that walk had been. Even without a coat, having him at your side had kept you warm and cozy.

How long has it been since you were comfortably side-by-side with someone? It’s been months since you’d been around Kenji… years since you last slept with someone you actually liked… but when was the last time you held a hand or wrapped your arm around someone else’s? 

Atsumu’s words cut into your thoughts, “You’re easy to talk to, but I wanna hear more about you when we get inside.” 

And he’s holding the door open for you, one hand clasped around the handle and the other tucked casually into his pocket. You thank him… he didn’t give you the impression of being “gentlemanly” or whatever that word meant, but you find the gesture to be sweet. 

As you step inside the small restaurant, your senses are overtaken by the smell of freshly cooked rice and an explosion of delicious seasonings. There are bar stools open at the front counter and metal chairs surrounding worn-down wooden tables. The atmosphere is homely and diner-like; as though, no matter how often you actually visited, you would be treated as a regular.

Someone calls out from the back, “C’mon in, I cleared the place out for y’all.”

The voice resembles Atsumu’s style of speech; gruff and straight to the point… but a little smoother. Then you realize what that voice had actually said. There’s nobody else here.

“Alright, we’ll make ourselves at home then. I can take your-”

He scans you for a jacket… that doesn’t exist.

“You didn’t bring a coat.” He says flatly.

You glance down at your outfit, grasping the edge of your sweater and feathering a thumb over its seam.

“I forgot one.” You admit, looking back up to him, “Why? Is that a problem?”

“Nah, I was just gonna offer to take it.”

You hadn’t noticed what he’d been wearing before this, but now that you’re under the soft lighting of the restaurant, you realize he’s dressed up a little. 

Atsumu removes a short, tan coat and places it onto the back of a chair. A black turtleneck sweater is revealed underneath. The fabric outlines his chest and arms in the most unfair way while the dark color pleasantly contrasts his lighter skin tone. 

How hadn’t you noticed how gut-wrenchingly attractive he was before this? 

With how fast things were moving and how comfortable you felt talking to him, you must’ve conveniently glossed over this fact. It’s not like you’d planned on getting to know him.

But now that you do? Well, it doesn’t hurt that he basically has the body of Chris Hemsworth. Atsumu’s definitely not some Walmart version of him though - this boy deserves his own brand of attractiveness.

You swallow hard as your eyes trail his body.

“Like whatcha see?”

You startle, shuffling backward. If you weren’t already out of your element, you sure are now. Caught red-handed (red-eyed?) staring at your not-date. 

“Awh, c’mon I’m joking - take a seat,” Atsumu pulls a chair out for you, cringing when it lets out a shrill squeak on the floor. The sound rings through the air and you find yourself laughing.

In a swift motion, you jump up and onto the chair.

He slides the chair back toward the bar counter, except this time you both expect the screeching of the chair’s legs. It’s worse than nails on a chalkboard, but it’s perfect for loosening up any tightness in the airspace. This time, it’s his turn to chuckle.

He mutters out a quick, “Sorry,” but you just shake your head, amused.

Snagging his own chair, and this time lifting it off of the ground to avoid bursting another eardrum, Atsumu slides up next to you.

You lean on the counter, a hand propping up your cheek. “That was very smooth, Atsumu.”

“Thanks,” he rolls his eyes, “I try.”

“‘Tsumu? Smooth? Yeah, right,” that same voice travels from the kitchen to the front of the store.

Footsteps are soon to follow it and you’re greeted by Chris Hemsworth 2.0. Maybe you should refer to him as Liam Hemsworth? Nope, Osamu, you quickly decide, is also his own genre of attractive.

Although Osamu is dressed in a simple, black “Onigiri Miya” t-shirt and cap, he could probably be a Calvin Klein model. For someone who owns a restaurant, his muscle tone is absolute perfection - these brothers are really something. 

And their resemblance of each other, though twins, is almost uncanny. You thank some unknown force that hair-dye exists, because if you saw them from a distance, you may not be able to tell them apart.

“Ah, shaddup. You’re just sayin’ that cuz you’re jealous,” the blonde snorts.

“Jealous of what? Your shit attempts at flirtin’?”

“That’s below the belt, ‘Samu. Don’t be such an ass.”

‘Tsumu? ‘Samu? That’s cute, you chuckle to yourself. Of course, these guys would have nicknames for each other. It was common sense.

You sit back as they bicker, wondering who must’ve raised these 6-foot chaotic giants. You’d love to meet them just to give them a medal and a bouquet of flowers for putting up with them. They must’ve dealt with so much bullshit.

“I could say the same to you. Ya haven’t properly introduced me yet.” He nods his head toward you, cool-grey eyes warming up when they meet yours.

Your lips quirk into a smile and before you know it, you’ve introduced yourself. 

He copies your smile, though it’s much softer than your own, and begins his own little introduction; although you’re sure that, with all the information Atsumu has already listed off to you, you don’t really need one.

“I’m Miya Osamu, but that’s probably obvious by now,” he adjusts his cap, “Callin’ me Miya would be confusin’ for all of us, so just Osamu’s fine.”

He’s polite and carries himself confidently, but his voice is a little softer than Atsumu’s. Or, it is when he’s speaking to you. There’s a brotherly gentleness to his tone and it relaxes you instantly.

“Please keep in mind that I’m the better twin,” Atsumu adds, shooting daggers at his brother.

Osamu shoots them right back, but you don’t fail to notice the playful fondness behind their eyes. You can almost picture them as kids, with band-aids on their knees and mud on their clothes. They make it seem like being twins meant having a built-in best friend.

Their closeness is overwhelming. 

There’s a warmth in the atmosphere, and you’re positive that it’s not just because something’s cooking in the kitchen. It feels special, just being allowed to sit and watch them banter. 

And the fact that Atsumu is sharing this with you?

Well, you’re counting yourself very lucky to be here right now.

[pine-lark]

Ooh trap him somewhere either very hot or very cold?? :D

Oh.

Oh.

This is a perfect excuse to write an old daydream from my childhood. Well, there's two-- Arion on a grill and Arion in a box. I chose the box for this one but I may be tempted to write the grill at some point. I haven't written The Box before now because it doesn't exactly... fit with the plot of the actual story, but I mean...

Alternate Rescue AU, coming right up, Anon. (Also sorry I'm like, infinitely late haha. School threw me into a hell pit and I've been recovering. I'm back now ((though I'm not sure for how long, things might change in a week or two... we'll see.)) For now, I'm working on a lot of Arion stuff that will hopefully pop up within a few days! Cheers!)

CW: Tiny whumpee, some blood, cold/hypothermia symptoms (duh), cages/referenced captivity, briefly implied forced nudity from said captivity, brief reference to a past fever and resulting vomiting, referenced/implied physical abuse, water/rain/storms/being submerged in/splashed with water, thoughts of dying (of the "I might die" and "Am I dead?" and wishing to be put out of misery type), crying, (thinking about) needles, short (kind of) graphic description of a bird being run over, brief religion references

-

His legs still ache from running.

Arion sits in the cardboard box he found on the side of the road, huddled in the corner, shivering in the dark. Although he tries to clamp his jaw shut and stop it, his teeth chatter and his shoulders quiver. It feels like the frozen autumn air has grasped him entirely in icy claws that shake him violently in an inescapable grip. It reminds him of being trapped in Heston’s hand, shaken, body tossed in every direction until his head pounded and his eyes watered.

It’s colder outside than it used to be in the garage. But it’s better out here. No one can hurt him here.

As long as they don’t find him.

He rubs his hands over the goosebumps on his arms, hoping to warm them up and calm down the wild pain buried deep in his skin. As he does so, blood smears along the path he touches. It’s still gently creeping out of the series of cuts etched into his forearms. With it, the image of Heston’s glinting eyes surfaces in Arion’s memory. He buries his head in his shaking knees with a wet sniff. But he’s done it, he reminds himself. He’s escaped. Finally. Chewed through rope, slipped through an unlocked door. Heston's gone. For now.

Please, please don’t come looking for me.

A dog barks somewhere in the distance. He jumps. It sets off an echo of shivers all the way down his spine as his hair stands on end.

A raindrop falls on the cardboard roof. Then another, and another. Thunder claps harshly overhead.

Arion shuts his eyes tight, bites back the frustrated tears welling up at the corners of his eyes. He curls up tighter, hugging himself, doing all he can to keep any scrap of heat he has close to his body. A storm might just do it. Might just kill him. A storm means wind. Freezing wind. And freezing rain. The last thing he needs right now is rain. It can’t rain. He presses his body closer to the cardboard wall, knowing it might not be standing there much longer if it rains.

And it does. It pours.

He sees the rain splash into the road before him. The storm swiftly grows. It’s ferocious and feral and cruel. The temperature around Arion drops. His tiny body shakes uncontrollably, as if it weren’t his own. It reminds him of the terrifying fever he had, long ago, in the confines of his red cage just weeks after being taken from his home. He’d been throwing up and twitching and having the most horrible, vivid dreams (on the occasions that both Heston and the illness let him sleep). The fits of shivering drove him mad, the endless teeth-chattering and flashes of uncomfortable warmth and sticky sweat made him feel even worse. It's like that, he thinks. Except, now, as he shivers, he’s unbearably cold.

An involuntary whine fights its way out of him. When he swallows, his throat feels stiff and achy. Snot runs profusely down his lips and no amount of wiping it away with his bleeding arms is helping it slow. Water has thoroughly and entirely drenched the cardboard, at this point. Has crept through the floor and the walls, and, gradually and persistently, has started to drip through the sagging ceiling. For a moment, Arion remembers he has toes, and that they’ve been numb for awhile now. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it, his feet haven’t felt like anything either, and when he tries to move his fingers, they only twitch. They feel heavy and prickly. He feels prickly all over. Like Heston had shoved a thousand frozen needles into a thousand different places all over his body. It hurts to breathe. There’s no way to get warmer. Nothing to hide under, not even something as decent as clothing. No way to escape, nowhere to run to, even if he had the energy left to try. He lets out a miserable sob.

And then the ceiling falls through, in a blur of collapsing cardboard and splashing waves of water that crash over his head and the rest of his body.

Arion tumbles out of the box, drenched. He coughs up water through jittery movements. For a second, he chokes on a mouthful, and he briefly he thinks he'll never breathe again, before his chest jerks and with another cough, the water falls out of his mouth. He tries to get his arms and legs under him, to stand or even crawl, but his limbs fail him and he crumbles face-first back to the harsh surface below him. The rocks mixed in the road’s tar are sharp. They cut deeply through his nose and cheek and the shoulder that followed his face in the fall. Arion winces against the fresh, sharp pain and the beads of blood that begin to form where he’s been hurt. His breaths come in ragged heaves.

He sniffs. Tears drip from his eyes. He lays helpless in the middle of the little road, in his mind begging to no one that a car doesn’t come along and crush him. Under any other circumstance, he’d love to be put out of his misery. But he’s seen a bird been run over before. Under a truck’s tire. And the memory makes his stomach churn. Flattened face, open stomach, popped like a bubble in a stream.

Briefly, Arion thinks of himself in place of the bird. He thinks of the smear of red underneath his empty, open eyes. He thinks of the way the headlights might look as they would suddenly appear right in front of him. The horrid, mind-numbing honk of a horn. The image he creates in his mind of those headlights, his last moments, is vivid. It’s so vivid that he thinks it might be real, or maybe hypothermia is setting in and beginning to ruin his mind.

It’s just his imagination, he thinks.

And then he smells exhaust from a car.

And the screech of brakes.

And for a second, whilst his body is numb and bright white light is all he can see, he thinks he might be dead.

“I swear, if I keep stopping my car for every mouse that sits in front of it, I’m never going to get anywhere.”

That voice drifts from the car stopped in front of him.

Not dead, then.

Almost, he thinks.

“Can’t help it though. What else am I supposed to do, run them over? Just vet instincts, I guess. Huh, Jasper.” There’s a meow in response. Arion’s breath hitches. The voice says, “Me-ow. I know, I know. I’ll be right back.” A car door shuts. Then there’s heavy wet footsteps. Boots clopping over puddles and asphalt. Panic floods Arion’s chest as a shadow cuts through the blinding white light from the vehicle. The outline of a human lowers, kneels in front of him. His breath stops. His mind goes blank.

“What…”

A moment passes. Something touches him. He flinches hard, but trying to run isn’t an option. His body is completely, entirely, wholly exhausted and far too numb to move more than flailing back a couple inches.

“Oh, geez, that’s-- not a mouse. Okay.” Her head turns in a way that Arion can see her face. A young woman with red hair, watching him with a warm but frantic gaze. “Okay. Okay okay. Oh, God, you’re injured pretty bad, little buddy. Your arms are all… cut up. That’s not good. Um.”

Arion stares blankly ahead. Suddenly, freezing to death isn’t something he feels like putting too much effort into avoiding.

“Okay. Here’s what we’ll do,” the girl continues. “I’m gonna bring you into my car where I can see you better, alright? Then I can help you. It’s gonna be okay. Here. I’m picking you up now, ‘kay?”

The feeling of a warm hand washes over his body. It’s both terrifying and incredibly welcome. The sting of cold seems to seep out of his skin, albeit very slowly. Quickly, though, burning prickles replace whatever comfort the touch brought him.

“Oh, you’re freezing, little guy. You must have been out here for a long time. That can be really dangerous… I’m glad I found you. I’ll get you all warmed up in the car.”

Arion whimpers against the hands that carry him to somewhere warmer, where he hears the faint, deep sound of a large beating heart. For a second, he wonders if this is God. And then the car door opens and creaks, and the girl curses under her breath, and Arion remembers he’s an atheist.

Still, as the stinging in his warming skin subsides, the warmth of her hands starts to feel… nice. If his mind were still intact (instead of shattered into vague, useless fragments as it is now), Arion would have done anything and everything to get away from any human or other predatory beast in sight. But with his head swimming, he leans into her touch, and compliantly accepts the soft feeling of some kind of cloth being wrapped all around him.

Words are spoken to him, but he can’t listen. To him they sound broken up and blurry as the insistence of sleep becomes more desperate in the back of his mind. As he gets warmer, his muscles relax, and his eyes get droopy. His vision darkens, and the girl’s voice hushes.

Just before he drifts off into a far overdue, deep and restful sleep, he thinks to himself, vaguely, that he hopes this human is different. He hopes that when he wakes back up, it won’t be in another cage.

-

Tag list because this ended up being a full drabble:

(Also, let me know if you'd like to be removed from the tag list. No hurt feelings! I know it's been a long time and if you've lost interest that is A-Okay, friend)

(Also, if you'd like to be added or if your username's changed, let me know!)

@whumping-every-day, @deluxewhump, @sola-whumping, @haro-whumps, @inaridriscoll, @whatwasmyprevioususername, @kiretto-laorentze, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @ahorriblebimess, @whump-me-all-night-long

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 23

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger!

It's harder to say it out loud.

Jon and Martin catch up.

As the seconds ticked by and Martin failed to respond, Jon adjusted a small bag slung across his shoulder. “It’s um- I understand this might come as a shock. I hadn’t meant for my entrance to be so dramatic, but this place seems to insist on a particular atmosphere.”

Martin heard the words as they slipped past on the wind, the skin drawing his full attention. It wasn’t like his mother’s, dusty and worn and so very old. No, this seemed to shine in the rain and seawater, but his chest constricted at the sight of it.

Despite Jon’s efforts to conceal it, a shiver ran through his shoulders. 

“Right, sorry,” Martin croaked out, then coughed until his throat behaved itself. He found his hand still gripping the door knob and gave it a twist. “Sorry. Yeah, come on in.”

Jon’s stiff shoulders dropped, and with some eagerness he walked up the stairs to escape the rain. “Sor- Thank you. It’s not the best night to be out dressed like this.”

He wasn’t wrong. Warm light poured out from the doorway onto the front porch, illuminating Jon in his soaked-through fleece jumper and jeans, a far cry from the waterproof seal coat in his arms. It was no wonder that Jon was quick to enter the house and leave the damp, cold night behind. With one last look outward, Martin dipped inside and shut the door behind him. 

Jon seemed uncertain where to go next and stood next to the coat hooks, leaning from one foot to the other. 

“Do you want to...um, put it down? You can hang it up in the shower if it’s still wet,” Martin said, placing his own coat on a hook as casually as he could manage. “I don’t know if hooks would be, um, good for it?”

With a nervous glance downwards, Jon nodded and slipped his shoes off. “Right. That makes sense. I guess it is dripping everywhere.” Yet he continued to stand on the front rug.

Ah, right. “If you don’t want to lose sight of it, that’s-”

“It’s not- I’ll go hang it up now. Is it down the-”

“Second door on the right.”

“Right.” And Jon stalked down the hall into the toilet and closed the door, leaving Martin by the front entrance.

Martin wasn’t going to scream and freak Jon out right off the bat. Not that Jon worked too hard to give him the same courtesy.

Jon was a-

Shit. Martin pressed a shoulder against the wall and forced himself to breathe. It was fine. It made sense, right? Jon’s interest in selkies was bound to come from somewhere. He was knowledgeable in a way that would’ve required access to a selkie directly, and finding one couldn’t have been easy. 

There was a twisting in his upper chest, but he heard the door down the hall open and straightened himself out. Jon came out in a plain t-shirt and different trousers, evidently leaving his other clothes to dry. 

He rubbed his upper arms. “An explanation is probably necessary.”

Martin took a good look at him, all skinny limbs and uncertain glances. Bags much deeper than before dragged down under his eyes and without the extra layers hiding him away it was even harder for Jon to hide how much he was shivering.

“You-” Martin pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eyes. There was no helping it. He walked to the living room and motioned for Jon to follow. “I’ll make some tea.”

In spite of himself, Martin found it in him to fuss. He ushered Jon onto the couch and pulled the old blanket down from where it lay over the top just so it fell behind Jon, resisting the urge to pull it snug. At first Jon lifted a hand to wave him off, but as he sank further into the seat he let out a weary sigh and leaned forward onto his knees.

“Thanks.”

“Mhm. Be right back.”

Martin strode toward the kitchen in a way that he hoped didn’t look like bolting and escaped Jon’s line of sight.

A kettle. There was a kettle on the countertop. It was… technically not washed, not for a few days. Good. That gave him some time. He got to work, scrubbing at it much longer than necessary to settle his thoughts. As if there would ever be enough time for that.

So. Jon was on his couch after revealing himself to be one of the sea folk, looking cold and tired and very uncomfortable with the circumstances. That was all he had to work with, that and the cheap tea bags he tossed onto the countertop. 

He’d gotten groceries for two. That would be the polite thing, to offer food. 

If Jon intended to stay for more than an evening. This might be one rest stop on the path to elsewhere, land or sea. He certainly wasn’t packed for an overnight stay with that tiny bag he’d apparently managed to fit with him inside his coat, a train of thought Martin had no desire to follow. Maybe he’d even eaten… on the way? Hm, no, that wasn’t a great place, either. Whatever, he might not be looking for much more than a place to sit a while.

And then the tea was ready and poured out into two mugs, one with a pastoral scene of some sheep and the other a faded logo of a long-gone tackle shop. He’d run out of time.

The two mugs lent warmth to his hands as he walked back to the living room, catching himself before he tripped on his own feet. On the other side of the room, Jon had chosen to bundle himself up at one end of the couch, legs and all tucked into the blanket. It was all Martin could do to offer him the sheep mug without making eye contact and pray that the lamp light was too dim to reveal the red across his face.

Thankfully Jon didn’t seem to notice Martin’s awkward demeanor as he slipped his hands from under the blanket to curl his fingers around the mug. “Thank you, again. I’m sure you have questions.”

He would, wouldn’t he? He had several a moment ago, but unfortunately with all the heat emanating from his ears it seemed every question had risen right out of his head. Instead Martin sat on the other end of the couch. “You’d know better about where to start.”

From under the blanket Jon squared his shoulders. “Right. I don’t think there’s much to explain on this first point. I’m a selkie, or sea folk as you once said. I hope it explains the intensity of my… concern, regarding your mother.”

Martin squirmed a little. Jon's anger at the possibility of Martin holding one hostage took on a much more personal bent in hindsight. It must’ve been like a horror movie to find the skin there. “Yeah, I got that part.”

“As for my showing up here today, I…” Struggling somewhat with words, Jon took a sip of tea and gave a small noise of approval. “Okay, from the beginning. The day I’d finally finished with all of the extra work piled onto me, I’d settled on digging further into Elias’ connection with the Lukases. Possible overlap in goals, reasons for why the three of us were sent to this town, etcetera.”

He continued. “There wasn’t much. If I had to guess, it’s all largely in financial records that I have no access to, but I’d hoped that other strange happenings connected to the Lukases would explain something.”

“But they didn’t,” Martin said.

Sighing, Jon said, “No. So I changed direction and focused on Elias’ goals. If it wasn’t the lighthouse he wanted us to look at, then there were two options: either he just sent us out there to look at nothing, or he thought we would find something else of interest. Or that I might find something I’d been looking for.”

Martin’s heart could’ve stopped. “You don’t think-”

“He of course knew of my research into selkies. It’s the main reason I was eager for this position, all the resources he offered. I kept my more… personal motivation quiet, of course, stuck to how it was ‘underrepresented in our field’, which is entirely true and I could- anyway, I thought I was careful.” Quickly, he turned toward Martin as if he’d realized something. “And I was, with regards to you and your mother. I promise I never said anything about what I found. That secret isn’t going anywhere.” He rested the mug in his lap, tapping his fingertips on the white ceramic.

“But?”

“It appears I wasn’t doing a good enough job hiding myself. He always knew.” His mouth set into a grim line. “When we first got back I thought something was off about my flat, but the workload had gotten so high and there was so much to think about that I brushed it off.”

He gripped his knee through the blanket as it bounced with agitation. “I know someone came into my flat while I was gone. I know this because the day after your incident with Simon Fairchild it happened again, and this time he was sloppy.” 

A tremor had crept into Jon’s voice, just enough to be heard, though it wasn’t for the cold or for fear exactly. Anger? Irritation? 

“I was sent to check on something outside the city, not far but enough that I was able to get reimbursement for a night’s stay. It wasn’t the first time I’d been sent off without warning, obviously-” Jon motioned in the general direction of the town. “-but something was wrong. I could feel it, just like I could feel that someone had been in my flat.” At this point Jon stopped and leaned over to rub at his forehead, his shoulders rising and falling with long, deep breaths.

“Jon?” Martin said. He lifted his hand and then placed it on the back of the couch.

The tired man shook his head, “I’m fine. Just let me finish.”

“So I went back late that night. Didn’t tell anyone, didn’t cancel my hotel. And when I entered my flat, what did I see but a figure in the dark rifling through my things. A familiar one at that.” A sardonic edge snuck into his voice. “Never expected Elias to be the type to get his hands dirty in a work sense, let alone an illegal one.”

“There was a struggle. I rushed at him without thinking, and when pressed he eventually admitted to knowing what I was. I knew what he was looking for then, didn’t really need to ask, and so I… ran.”

Martin’s hand twitched, but he kept it in place. “That sounds… awful. I’m sorry.”

With a shaky inhale, Jon said, “I-I ended up staying with an old friend of mine for a few days, outside of town. When I initially got the job she’d agreed to keep my, um… my skin, while I was in the city. So Elias was never going to find it by looting around my things, on either attempt.” He smiled, eyes empty and humorless. “Paranoia pays off sometimes.”

“Sounds like you have a good friend, then,” Martin said, looking down at his barely-touched tea. “Why’d you leave?”

“Because three people and a cat take up a lot of space in a one-bedroom?” Jon replied with a small but genuine laugh. “My friend, Georgie, she lives with her girlfriend. Her girlfriend and I don’t get on at the best of times, and cohabitation while I’m a terrified mess is not the best of times. The cat didn’t seem to mind, though.”

“I figured the next safest place would be in the water, while traveling at least. I couldn’t take much with me, but I wouldn’t need much either. My main goal was to just stay hidden as best as I could.” He looked back at Martin sheepishly. “Which I hope is a good enough reason for my number being unavailable.”

Martin nearly dropped his tea. “What?”

“What?” Jon frowned, brows knit together in confusion. “Oh. Um, yes, I deactivated my account. Maybe a bit more precaution than necessary, but at that point I was too nervous to take any risks. Tossed my mobile as well.” 

A horrid wave of guilt hit Martin right in the stomach. The number wasn’t reachable, which he’d have known if he’d just called. Stupid, of course Jon had a reason for not calling. How much more of an ass could he be, assuming things when Jon had his own worries to deal with? Not everything had to be about himself and his problems.

“Makes sense,” he said, hiding his own unhappy mouth behind the mug. 

“Anyway, I left the land for… an amount of time. It was hard to keep track. And it’s still the wilderness, so it wasn’t safe. Eventually I decided being stuck surrounded by wild animals wasn’t going to help me and figured this was the best place to go next.” He leaned back. “I couldn’t exactly see Tim or Sasha for updates, though they know to pretend to trust Elias for now, thanks to Georgie. Once I see them in-person, it’ll be safer to explain why I’d disappeared on them.”

And in the meantime pretend that Jon was off to the side, too busy to bother with a group text. He might as well have been asleep the whole time with how obvious it all was. And there he’d been writing Jon off without evidence instead of feeling concern. Horrid.

Jon took a deep breath. Some of the tension slipped away from his forehead, smoothing the creases into faint lines. 

“Had a harder time than expected finding this place considering the lighthouse looming over everything. I think I got turned around after losing sight of the coast and the fog certainly didn’t help. But things cleared up enough, and now I’m here.”

Martin withdrew his arm from atop the couch and leaned away into the arm rest. “And now you’re here.”

There in the present, they sat on their respective sides of the couch. Jon settled further back into the cushion, pressing both hands to his mug of tea and enjoying the warmth it brought to his skinny fingers. 

The man needed to sleep. It was clear in his struggling eyes, his voice, his shoulders obscured by the blanket’s folds. How long had he been at it, swimming mile after mile until he found his way here? How much further was he planning to go?

“Are you okay?” 

Martin started, ripping his eyes from Jon’s face. “Fine, yeah. Just, just taking it all in I guess.”

Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “I know it’s a lot. If you wouldn’t mind, though, I wanted to ask if anything else happened here since I left.”

Martin replied, “Not much. I delivered the letter for Simon a few weeks ago. Peter has been spotty ever since and has been on a boating trip for a few days.”

“The only way to avoid Fairchild, maybe. Until he goes out on his own yacht. Or flies there.”

Martin snorted and took another sip of tea. 

“And nothing else has changed?”

In the grand scheme of things? “No. Not really.”

“Good. I’d worried about getting here- well-”

“Too late?” Martin said with a rougher edge than he’d intended, and he saw Jon flich. Quickly, he continued, “I’m fine. If anything you didn’t have to deal with weeks full of nothing like Tim and Sasha.”

It was Jon’s turn to snort. “That would’ve been preferable, I think. Being so out of the loop, not knowing what to expect when I managed to get back. It wasn’t pleasant.”

“So, what now?”

Jon chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I’m not entirely sure. There isn’t anywhere else for me to go now. But since you asked, there was something I’d been considering.”

Twisting in place, he faced Martin directly with a nervous expression. “Truth be told, I don’t know anyone else like me, not personally. The sea might as well be the woods or the mountains for all I know on how to navigate them. If anyone was going to be able to help me with my particular situation, I figured it would be-”

“My mum.” The words came out throttled. 

The room shifted, the sides of his vision blurred until all he could see was the dead television. If he stared at that point long enough, he could almost see the burnt-in images of something he’d left on pause for too long.

From beside him, he heard the rustling of the blanket.

“I- yes, th-though if that’s too much trouble I understand. I would never want to make you or your mother’s lives harder by getting her involved with me. I know I’m a liability to her safety just coming here, but I’d at least wish to speak with her, ask if there’s anywhere or anyone she knows that could help if she herself is unwilling. She’s already asleep I assume, so I could wait until tomorrow-”

“She’s gone.”

His words cut through the air with a swiftness, the quiet settling in so deeply that he could almost hear tv static as his mind tried to fill the gap. With nothing to be heard and his vision so caught by the television, Jon might as well have vanished into thin air.

But he hadn’t. With something between wariness and disbelief, Jon muttered, “...Gone.” 

“Four days ago.” Martin blinked away the tunnel, looking down at his own hands. “Took her skin and nothing else.”

“That’s… Did she say when she might come back?” 

Without answering, Martin stood up and walked to the kitchen. When faced with Jon’s protestations he placed a hand up, signalling for the man to wait, and from the kitchen table plucked the unmoved note. Then, wordlessly, he handed it over to Jon and sat on his own end of the couch. 

The note was short enough. “...That’s it?”

“Yeah. Sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“That’s- you don’t need to apologize to me. I imagine it’s been difficult.” A pause as Jon set the note on the side table, and then, “You did the right thing.”

Something pushed upwards in Martin’s throat, something bitter and harsh and awful, but he clenched his teeth and kept his tone even. “It’s for the best.”

“If there’s any… If you have any questions, I’ll do what I can to answer them.” As Jon spoke he was plainly starting to regret it. “But I suppose you would know her better.”

Martin frowned and said nothing.

“Right… right. Family business.” Jon drained the rest of his mug and then dragged his fingers down one cheek. “If you’re all right with it, I’d like to spend the night here and figure things out tomorrow, when I’m feeling more myself. I’ve sorely missed sleeping somewhere dry and horizontal.”

“You really slept that way with your face sticking out?” The image of a little seal head popping up out of the water fast asleep came to mind, a welcome distraction. He let himself smile a little and leaned a cheek into his knuckles. “You seem a bit drift-y, yeah.”

“I hope that’s not meant to be a pun. And sleeping in the water is difficult,” Jon replied, deadpan. “So I have permission to co-opt your couch?”

“Knock yourself out. I need to get to bed, anyway.” He pushed himself back up off the couch and grabbed both mugs. As he walked back to the kitchen, he looked back at Jon. “... She left her medication here. Does that mean anything?”

Jon shook his head. “She’ll be fine. She won’t need them unless she returns to a human form, according to my own, er, experimentation.” 

Martin nodded and waved goodnight with one of his full hands, making his way back into the kitchen one final time to place the mugs in the sink. Every motion reminded him that he too was tired, so tired, so they would be washed another time along with the plate of whatever it was he’d made for himself. Had he offered Jon something to eat? No, but the man was capable of asking for things.

One thing had been helpful. He looked at the half-empty pill bottles that sat undisturbed on the counter and with one swift motion tossed them into the bin.

[pasteljeon]

don’t need ur love (m)

❥ pairing: ot7/reader

❥ warnings: some vague descriptions of sex, just really angsty sorry :(

❥ based on this prompt: bts being in a relationship with y/n but then slowly all of them fell out of love with her and with another girl. from @/armyforlifelove :”)

❥ summary: four lessons on love.

❥ notes: exams are finally over so i’m super excited to share my upcoming projects soon <3 i hope you enjoy this little ficlet and lmk what you think!

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One. Love is fickle.

There is not one boy, there are seven.

“Jimin, I’m not angry. I don’t blame you. You don’t feel the same for me anymore. I accept that. I can’t do anything about it, and I’m not going to sink down and beg you to love me. I know my own worth. I am worth loving, I am worth being cherished and treasured.” You give his cheek one last fond pat, smiling lopsidedly as you pick up the handle of your suitcase.

His lips are downturned, eyebrows pinched and body stiff.

They watch with mirroring expressions of guilt and sorrow as you give the place a final, lingering sweep. But there is also relief and gratitude. You have never been the petty type, never been vindictive. You have always been the mature one, the fun one, the level-headed one.

You say, “Thank you for the memories. I’ll see you around.”

Jimin opens his mouth, like he’s ready to apologize again, but all that comes out is an uncertain, “You too.”

The penthouse is the same as always, clothes scattered on couches and loveseats and hung over the dining table chairs. Yeontan’s toys lying in a pile next to his little bed. Your mug, your clothes, your books and papers, they’re all gone. It’s like you were never here.

The door shuts quietly.

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You fall in love in summer.

They pluck you from the crowd, these gorgeous boys, and they carve a space in your heart and fill it with them, until your chest feels so full and warm.

You’re happy for a long time. Winters pass. Spring blooms, so lovely and sweet and it makes your nose itch. They’re soft and kind and their touch is reverent, sometimes bold and daring and always loving.

Then it stops.

He’s distant, shifty-eyed and avoids you like the plague. Slowly, they all become just as detached. And you realize.

Time’s up.

He cries and cries and begs for forgiveness, he buries his face in your stomach and his hands are shaky and cold. He’s sorry, he sobs. He’s sorry he fell in love with someone else.

Yeah, you think. You’re sorry too, because you could have saved yourself from it if you’d only looked hard enough.

Taehyung is the only one that stays with you that night. You send Jimin away, too anguished and defeated to comfort him.

He’s the last one, the one whose heart still flutters when he talks to you, touches you. But you know. You know that eventually, he will leave too.

He kisses your tears away and he holds you close, murmuring sweet nothings until you finally fall into fitful sleep, and his stomach hurts, hurts so much with the way you’re curled into him, so small and fragile, clutching at his shirt as your eyes flicker with whatever dream you’re having.

And he swears he’ll never let you go, never betray you.

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“It didn’t break me. How could it? I loved them so much, yes, but this isn’t the end. It’s not the be all end all. It can’t be. I believe that there’s more out there.” You stare into the dark contents of your drink, your reflection rippling across the surface as you trace the handle absently.

The person across from you watches you with a startlingly intense gaze, fingers crossed as they lean in, arms braced on the table.

“It was like … there was a bullet to my heart and a hole in my chest, and sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night drowning in anguish and tears burning in my eyes and cheeks wet. Sometimes it’s a struggle to breathe when I think of them, when I do something that reminds me so vividly of them.”

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Two. Love is painful.

There were seven boys, now there is only one.

You press your forehead against his. Your voice is soft, your breath is warm and your words are sweet. He thinks he’s dying. Your ache is palpable, your grief burns, lighting a dull pain travels, throbbing and expanding, at the base of his spine.

“It’s weird because it’s not like you wake up one day with this sudden revelation that you’ve fallen out of love. It happens slowly, over a period of time, when the things you did before and the things you liked about your partner no longer holds the same charm. Suddenly, the small things that had made you fall so hard for them are annoying. Their laugh is too loud, too ugly. They leave their utensils in the sink, they forget to separate the lights with the darks They look … ordinary. Just like everyone else you pass on the street. Suddenly, they’re just … somebody. Just not somebody to you.”

“It’s okay, Taehyung. You loved me, and that was enough.”

He sobs out a garble that sounds like your name. He puts a hand over his face, shame and guilt overwhelming him like a tide that threatens to choke the life out of him completely.

You pry them away gently, and you kiss him. It’s wet and uncoordinated, lips slick and salty with your mingled tears.

You stumble into the bedroom, and he presses you against the mattress, hands heavy and hot as he makes love to you one last time. He pours everything into it, everything you’ve been through together, everything he feels for you. Slowly, slowly, because he’s saying goodbye. For real this time, because he can never look back without this weight of failure and guilt.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, he chants, like a broken record, he sears the movement of his lips into your skin and you bear the scar even as you close the chapter for good.

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Three. Love changes you.

“But then it starts to fade. The hurt, it lessens with every day that passes. The tightness in your chest loosens and the world starts to regain some of its colour, your body begins to stomach more, your taste buds remind you that food can taste brilliant.”

You find retain old habits and find new hobbies. You reconnect with old friends, make new ones. You go out for dinner, drinks, dessert, the movies, to their houses for barbeque, the skating rink, rollerblading, the occasional club. Not all at once, never in quick succession, but you go when called, go when you ask.

You are reminded that you still have a life outside of the all-consuming romance.

You learn how to draw the perfect wing, you shop, you redecorate, you work, and at the end of the year, you take a two-week vacation to travel somewhere new. You take pictures, write stories, finish your thesis and you graduate.

You enjoy your life.

You still see them, on billboards, TV shows, concerts, YouTube videos, articles, your friends buzz with news about them, at first hesitantly and apologetically, now eagerly and excitedly.

You are proud of them, of where they’ve come, where they are, who they are and what they’ve accomplished. They are an inspiration, legends, and you are grateful to have shared a part of your life with them, to have been born in the same era as them, because this universe makes no mistakes.

And you move on.

You are living.

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Four. Love is worth it.

It is worth every tear, the anger and sorrow, the loss and the sacrifice.

And sometimes, the world works in mysterious ways.

Sometimes, you go full circle, only to end up where you should have been from the very beginning.

“Is it too late, have we been through too much, have I lost you? Is it unfair for me to ask if we could start again? The moment you left, I knew … I knew I’d given up something good. Something beautiful and I wasn’t ready to commit, couldn’t see all that I had in front of me. I was foolish, I was … a coward.” He reaches out to touch your hand gingerly, barely a graze, gauging your expression. You don’t move, and he curls his fingers over your palm.

“I thought … I thought that it was natural for me to follow, I thought I felt something for her, but I was wrong, I was so wrong. God, you have no idea how much I hated myself for hurting you like that. I … I love you, I have loved you all this time, and I miss you. I miss your smile, your laugh, the way you hold me, the way you touch me, the way you can comfort me with just your presence. I miss the way you loved me. I missed … you. I miss the colour of your soul.”

“So, I was wondering. If it isn’t too late, if we haven’t been through too much, if I haven’t lost all of you yet, would it be fair to ask you to start over again with me?” His warmth is familiar, his eyes are a burnished gold and the truth is, you are strangers. So much time has passed, he looks a ghost from the past, he talks like him, walks like him, still hates bitter things like him, but he’s not him anymore. You know this because his expression is wiser, he has looked in the mirror and found himself and he is ready to try again. To do better, to dare to become someone better.

But is it too late? Are you ready for the risk of your heart being broken all over again?

Isn’t life a game of risk and reward?

You squeeze his hand gently. “I would like that.”

Taehyung beams. His smile is still boxy, his jaw line sharper, silky hair permed, and it flops over his forehead. He looks older, is older. He pushes the black locks back and strokes his thumb over your knuckles. He’s more comfortable in his own skin, you think his chest is wider, shoulders broader.

“Can I buy you a coffee?”

[dandyxrandy]

After-Shoot

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Length: 3k

Warnings: Protected Sex ; My Spanish sucks so Google translate helped. If a phrase is wrong, PLEASE reach out to me so I can correct it. Also not beta read. So if mistakes found, again, reach out. The easier for you to the read, the happier I am.

Gif Credit: @pedrospascl

It couldn’t get any worse, you told yourself. It really, really couldn’t. This was the first time you were invited to have coffee with another in God who remembers how long and you ended up being late. Not only were you late, but you were cold and soaked to the bone from the rain that ended up being a whole hour earlier than the forecast predicted and really, you should've known better than to listen to any predicament of weather because it was usually wrong anyways.

You checked your phone again and it was still dead as a door nail. You had dropped it in a puddle earlier when you tried to answer the call from Pedro, no doubt wondering where you were, and it shorted out the motherboard. You would have to replace it whenever you got home and you honestly had half a mind to just turn around and do just that. That would seem silly, however, with you being more than halfway to Pedro’s apartment where he had invited you for an afternoon coffee get together the day before when you worked together on the Style Magazine photo shoot.

    You were really, really tired of having a shit day. Frustrated and in near tears you saw the place that Pedro was staying in for the time being while he was in your state. It was a nice condo type home with large front windows that overlooked the city, the style modern and sleek.

    You let out a small breath, even as the storm crackled above you, and tried to muster your resolve up. You were a mess, but hey - you were here, right? Hopefully he wouldn’t be too upset with you. It wasn’t exactly your fault that you had to park six blocks away because there wasn’t any closer parking nor was it your fault the weather was wrong.

    You took a deep breath and rang the doorbell and before the small chime even ended the door swung open, Pedro filling the entire frame. Oh. He looked absolutely stunning. His soft curls were slicked back against his head and he wore one of the outfits from the shoot the previous day. One of the ones you had commented on, to be precise. His eyes took a long drag over you, from head to toe, his jaw working from one side to the other. His irritation seemed palpable.

    “I see the coffee isn’t the only thing that’s cold.” His hand slid down the door frame before dropping to his side, a hefty sigh heaving from his lips. “Come on, let's get you inside and warmed up. I have some spare clothes that you can wear.”

    You felt sheepish following him inside. He didn’t even give you time to explain and once the door was closed you were able to try.

    “Pedro, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to be late.” You, shuffled in behind him, following him to the bathroom where he grabbed you a towel.  “There wasn’t any parking and my phone died and I just - please don’t be mad.” And you did feel like crying then. You could tell he wasn’t happy with you and that on top of being cold and tired, you felt a little part of you break.

    He reached out with the towel and brought it to your face, gently wiping away the raindrops that stuck to your cold skin.

    “You have nothing to apologize for, guapa.” He brought his other hand to your cheek and you couldn’t help but lean into the touch a little. You blame it on how he was so warm and you weren’t. “I was worried that something had happened. And then worried you stood me up.”

    “Stood you up? Yeah - okay…” You laughed at him but when you caught his gaze you saw it had softened considerably. He looked relieved and you noticed the slight part of his lips as he turned away, going to another room and reappearing a moment later with a pair of sweatpants and a shirt that looked like it would even be big on him.

    “Why don’t you change into some dry clothes. We can throw your wet ones in the dryer.” He nodded to the clothes dryer that was in the bathroom. “I’ll go make us some new coffee while you swap out.” He set the clothes down on the toilet seat and gave you a half smile. “Mi casa es tu casa.”

    He left you then with a soft closing of the door and you felt a flood of relief course through your body. He wasn’t mad or upset or hell - anything that you thought he may be. Instead he was kind and courteous and worried, and you’d be damned if that didn’t make your heart melt even more. You thought of the moment when he had opened the front door and the dark look in his eyes and the tick of his jaw. It made a low heat curl in your belly at the memory.

    Was it wrong to think those things of someone who clearly wanted what was best for you at that moment? Pedro was, in all essence, taking pity and caring for you and all you could think about was warming yourself up by crawling into his lap. You were horrible, you decided, but the kind of horrible that could be forgiven later.

    You did change out of your clothes then, pausing as you tried to decide if you were going to keep your bra and underwear on but argued they would just soak the dry clothing. Off those went and joined the pile in the sink. You did a quick rub down with the towel to at least try to get most of the water off and then squeezed it through your hair before you stepped into the sweatpants and large tee-shirt, silently thanking the world at how warm they were. You wrung out your clothes as best as you could before you tossed them in the dryer and pressed ‘start’.

    When you opened the door the smell of freshly brewed coffee hit you and it instantly set you at ease. You padded your way into the kitchen but didn’t find Pedro there and instead turned to find him sitting on the couch without his red suit jacket on. Two cups of coffee set on coasters in front of him and a small spread of sugar and cream were there, too. The entire set up screamed ‘casual but obvious effort.”

    “Hey…” You rounded the side of the couch and sat next to him, unsure if this was alright. It was just your nerves.

    “Hey. I see everything fits well!” He teased lightly. “I wasn’t sure how you took your coffee so I figured I would let you do your own. I also turned the heat up a little to help get you warm.” Which would explain the missing jacket.

    Pedro took one of the cups and pressed it into your hands, his own wrapping around yours for a moment. “If you’re still too cold I can grab you a blanket or a sweatshirt.”

    “I think I have enough of your clothes on. If I end up with more I’m afraid that you might not get something back.”

    “Is that so?” The corners of his mouth quirked up in a devious smirk, hands coming to his own cup of coffee to lift to his lips, eyes peering just over the rim of his mug. “Well, I will have to take inventory of all articles of clothing before and after you leave.” Was he flirting with you?

    You hid behind your own cup of coffee, blushing. “What I mean is that it looks expensive and I could never afford some of the clothes you wear.” Even though you were pretty sure these ones were borrowed from the wardrobe department from the shoot.

    “Hm. Here I thought you were wanting a little memento from me.” He chuckled and you nearly choked on your coffee as you inhaled it a little too quick and it went down the wrong pipe. He was flirting, now, you decided as you tried not to die.

    “Hey, hey now…” His hand came to your back, patting you lightly to help you cough up the coffee. “Didn’t mean to make you choke! You okay?” He was finding far too much amusement in your predicament and you were caught between laughing with him and locking yourself back in the bathroom to wait for your clothes to finish drying.

    It took you a minute but you finally stopped coughing, your eyes burning and your pride non-existent. Pedro’s hand, however, was still on your back. He was no longer patting in efforts to help you but now his fingertips were stroking over the gentle curve of your spine, thumb pressing into the muscle just beneath your shoulder blades.

    “Sorry.” You croaked, voice scratchy from the coughing fit. “I wasn’t expecting to be called out so quickly. You certainly know my end game.” You hid your embarrassment with sass and you had to put the coffee down before you did any damage. Pedro’s hand stilled as you moved, but he didn’t stop touching you, not even as you leaned back again.

“You’re still cold. I can feel it through the shirt.” His arm slid across your shoulders as he tucked you closer to his side. You both sat in a stretch of silence as he waited for the silent permission of his touch. You realized he was stiff and not as at ease as you thought he would be. You rested your hand on his knee, fingertips curling against the red cotton of his pants as you leaned in against him, nose tucking against his side. You felt him relax then.

    “Thank you for this.” You whispered as you let your fingers trace his kneecap.

    “Of course. I couldn’t let a damsel stay in distress.” He let his other hand, now coffee less as he set his mug on a side table, come to yours on his knee, fingers lacing to hold your hand. “But I do have a confession to make, if I may…”

    “Hm?” You felt warm and cozy. You hadn’t quite expected that you were going to find yourself cuddling with this charming man today, but you weren’t going to complain either. The weather had taken a toll on you and you were quite ready for a nap. Pedro wasn’t helping either with the slow inhale and exhale of his breath that rocked you like a boat on a lake. Gentle and lovely.

    “I would very much like to kiss you.”

    He squeezed the hand on his knee before unlocking their hold and bringing his fingers to your chin, turning your face to his. He bumped your noses a moment, lips ghosting just over yours in a teasing breath.

    “May I?” He whispered. “Please, tell me what you want.”

        You shifted, your thighs rubbing together as you felt the curling heat span in your belly and you suddenly felt very, very hot. Pedro kept his gaze steady on yours, never once faltering as he waited for your consent. He was so close that you could smell the hint of coffee on his breath, the smell of the aftershave and cologne on his skin.

    “Please...yes, Pedro.” He tilted your chin a little higher, lips just touching. A mockery of a kiss as he smiled wickedly. “Please, kiss me.”

    He did then, his lips pressing firmly into yours as his hand slipped to cup your cheek. Neither of you moved for that moment, letting each other take in the press of your mouths until you let your hand slip a little higher, fingers tracing the seam of his pants on his inner leg and it broke the reserve he had. Pedro groaned low and he all but lifted you into his lap, your legs splaying on either sides of his hips.

    His mouth never left yours as he moved, his hands coming to grip the gentle curve of your hips, pulling you closer to him, yours breasts pushing steady against his chest. He groaned into your mouth as his hips rolled up and you felt the sudden hard length of him against your thigh.

    “Fuck -” You moaned out at the feel of him.    “I've wanted to do this since the moment I saw you, hermosa.” Pedro’s voice was husky against your skin as he moved his hands under your ass, fingers tight as he shifted your hips together, pushing his clothed cock up into your hand. “You lit up the room, you know. The moment you stepped foot into the light, I was taken away. Captured.”

    You couldn’t help but let your fingers curl around his length and give a gentle squeeze, testing the size of him and oh - oh, he was large beneath your fingertips. Pedro tipped his head against yours, lips ghosting along your nose.

    “Take off your clothes.” He breathed and you moved with him to pull your shirt over your head, his hands immediately coming to undo your bra and let your breasts hang free. His head dips to take a nipple in your mouth and you arch into the wet heat and you hiss when he sets his teeth against the sensitive skin.

    “Shit - Pedro. I need - “ You needed him out of his shirt, too. But it was hard to coerce him out of it when he was attached to you like he was. You pushed him away a little, trying to create space enough to get him out of his shirt, your fingers working at the buttons in a clumsy haste.

    “Bed.” Pedro grunts and you two move off of the couch, peeling from each other. You still kept your hands on him as he guided you to the bedroom and you both all but fell into the large bed. Pedro rolled to the side to flick on the bedside lamp to fill the room with a soft glow and the light highlighted the deep amber in his eyes. It was beautiful. He was beautiful.

    “C’mere.” You motion to him as you lay back on the plush pillows, arms stretched out to take Pedro in. He comes above you and rests on his forearms as he slides a knee up between your legs, making them spread wide and he settles there, his hips rolling into the crux of your thighs.

    You arch up to meet him again and he presses a kiss against your mouth, licking you open. He tugs at your pants insistently and you lift your hips up to let him shimmy them over your soft curves and down your legs. You kick them off in a haste and Pedro pauses, lifting himself to lean back on his knees, staring down at you. You blush under his gaze because it's so heavy, so slow. You don’t remember any man, any person for that matter, who looked at you like that. It was so needy.

    “Eres tan hermosa. You are so beautiful.” He reaches out and drags his fingertips along the side of your face, down your neck and across your collarbone. He keeps going lower and lower, mapping your body out with his touch until he comes to touch your between your legs. His fingers tease your outer lips first, a gentle drag of his knuckles and then he moves in deeper, pressing a thumb against your clit and circling.

    You moaned as he pressed a little more firm to work you into your pleasure and the tip of a finger teased you open and curled. Gods, he was good at this. You clenched around him and he added a second finger, curling up to rub against the textured spot inside you.

    “Pedro.” You moaned out as he continued to work you and you felt your climax climb, your body taught with need. “Pedro, I’m - fuck, I’m close. Don’t stop. Don’t -”

    “Por favor, mi amor. Cum for me.”

    You did as he told you, your eyes closing and head tilting up to close out the world as you focused only on your orgasm. He continued to stroke you inside, his thumb continuously applying the delicious pressure on your clit and only eased up after your thighs stopped trembling, returning to a soft stroke.

    Pedro caught your gaze as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, slipping them against his tongue, sucking in, tasting your orgasm that he brought out of you. He left you breathless. You parted your legs again as an invitation and his gaze dropped to the movement. Pedro shimmied his pants off, tossing them over the side of the bed and you wanted very much to touch him but he instead fumbled with the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a condom.

    You watched as he rolled the condom on with an ease and he moved over you again, taking your hands in his, twining your fingers together. It was an intimate gesture and one you adored. Pedro seemed like he couldn’t get close enough to you, even as he pressed his flush skin against yours.

    He slid into you easily with how wet you were and he bottomed out in you almost immediately, stretching you full. Pedro lets out a groan, his head dropping to yours as he rocked into your cunt. He was so intimate in this, so incredibly loving, and to a person whom he only just met. You felt him love with his entire being and it was a gorgeous act that he gifted you.

    “I won’t last long, I’m afraid.” He grunts out between thrusts. You bring your legs up and around him, pulling him closer and his thrusts turn into a grind. You were still blissfully sensitive from your climax earlier and you were more than okay with his admission. He took care of you first, above his own pleasure. “Please, Pedro. It’s okay. Please, just...it’s good.” You didn’t know what to say in his softness but you knew it was the right thing because he ground into you harder, his hips snapping as he tightened his grip. His mouth dropped open in a silent moan as he came, his rhythm breaking into stillness.

        “You will have to forgive me.” Pedro breaks into a wide smile against your neck as he relaxes against you, his weight dropping like a blanket. “You are far too soft for any man to last long.” He pulls from you and glances down to take off the spent condom and set it in the trash that was next to the bed. He settled beside you, his head propped up on his hand, his other tracing along your stomach.

    “You flatter me far too much.” You giggle, smacking his hand away. It instead settles against your face, his thumb brushing under your eye.

    “Will you stay with me tonight?” He asked.

    The offer wasn’t one you were expecting. In all honesty, you didn’t really expect any of this, but perhaps you were naive when it came to what coffee dates entailed now, not that you were complaining.

    “Of course.”

    You didn’t think he could light up any more than he already was, but he did. His face became childlike and gleeful. He was adorable, really.

    “Fantastic. I’ll make sure we get some proper coffee in the morning. Promise.”

[yandere-society]

Exorbitant

Member: Kim Seokjin

Synopsis: After being dumped by his long time girlfriend, Jin has given up on love. When his friend sets him up with a classmate, Jin thinks things have just turned in his favor. He’s in love, he’s certain. SO why is he being left on read?

Warning: Yandere themes

Headline: Stalker Sent Crush 159,000 After One Date And Threatened To Make Sushi From Kidneys 

Admin: @chimchimsauce​

The restaurant is fancy. Perhaps too fancy for a first date. There are glad chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and wall to wall fish tanks filled with all the fish to be slaughtered. The lighting is dim and people are quiet, only the sound of bubbling tanks in Seokjin’s ears.

Maybe this was a bad idea. After all, a year isn’t too long to still be hung up on someone is it? Is it?

Deep down he knows that it’s time to move on. Lana made it very clear to him that she never cared for him at all , and was only with him because he was in medical school. But Seokjin was entirely blinded. Lana was so beautiful that her coldness did not faze him, did not cause any alarm bells to go off in his head even when his friends warned him that she was no good. It caught him by complete surprise when he came home early one day and saw her in the midst of cheating, with one of her male friends she told him not to worry about. 

He’d been in tears but Lana didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. All she did was roll her eyes and pull the covers tight around her body, sending her man out the door and telling him that she’d meet him in a second while Seokjin lay on the floor sobbing.

It’s embarrassing every time he thinks about it. Seokjin was content to die alone, no longer believing in love. After many months of his moping, Seokjin’s childhood friend Jungkook convinced him to get back into the dating scene.

“Come on, hyung,” Jungkook said to him one day after knocking on his door to find Seokjin still in his pajamas, “This is getting sad.”

“I am sad, Jungkook,” Jin said, “My heart has been shattered.”

Seokjin slumped even further down in his chair. His mother would be furious if she saw his awful posture. 

“Lana isn’t worth all this. She’s already moved onto her next victim. It’s been months, hyung! Months! You are much too good looking, young, and rich to be giving up on life this soon. Why don’t you at least try dating?”

“I don’t know, Jungkook . . .” Seokjin said, hesitant.

“I know this really nice girl in one of my classes. She saw you pick me up last week and asked about you.”

“That’s nice, Jungkook, but I’m really not -”

“I kind of already gave her your number,” Jungkook interrupts, a bashful smile on his face.

“Jungkook!” Seokjin scolds.

“I’m sorry!” Jungkook says, tossing his hands in the air, “But she’s really sweet! And pretty! And you’ve been so lonely lately, it’s bringing everyone down. Just give her a shot, hyung, please. For my snake.”

Jungkook hits Seokjin with those infamous puppy dog eyes he always gets his way with. And just like always, Seokjin relents.

“Fine!” Seokjin says, “But if I don’t like her, I don’t want you to bring it up again!”

“Deal!” Jungkook says, locking his pinky around the older man’s even though they both know he’s lying.

Later that evening, after Jungkook left Seokjin’s apartment, Jin gets a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hey! This is Seokjin, right? Jungkook gave me your number.

Unknown: I hope that’s okay

Unknown: I’m YN 

Jin frowned, looking at his phone. Does he really have to answer? If he ghosts her, this YN chick will probably tell Jungkook. Deciding to play along, at least for a little while, he replies.

Me: Hey!

Me: Yeah, this is Seokjin. Kookie told me he gave you my number.

Unknown: Kookie? That’s such a cute nickname haha.

Unknown: Have you guys been friends for long?

Me: Ever since we were younger. His older brother was in my grade.

And just like that, interest sparks. The two of them don’t text much for the first couple of days but soon it evolves to being on the phone for hours. They send memes back and forth and have long discussions about their favorite shows. For the first time in a long while, everything doesn’t seem quite so awful.

Seokjin snaps out of his thoughts, looking at his phone. 

Did YN stand him up? She was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. Maybe she doesn’t like sushi. Maybe she was just playing with him. Maybe this is some elaborate prank played by her and Jungkook.

Seokjin thinks he’s going to be sick. He should have known better.

“Sorry I’m late!” A familiar voice calls.

Seokjin looks up and is faced with one of the prettiest girls he’s ever seen. Even though her hair and outfit look a little untidy, she’s absolutely gorgeous.

“I wasn’t waiting long,” Seokjin mutters, lying.

He’s captivated. He’s seen her picture several times but it’s another thing altogether to see her in person.

“Really?” YN asks, sliding into the booth across from him, “I’m glad! The bus broke down on the way here and I didn’t have any signal so I couldn’t tell you. I was worried that you thought I’d ditched you.”

“Oh, no,” Seokjin says, shaking his head, “I figured you were just a little behind.”

He laughs nervously. He hadn’t really expected things to go so far. He’s actually on a date.

“I’m glad!” YN says, straightening herself out a bit, “I’d never leave you hanging like that.”

Jin smiles.

“So,” YN says, grabbing the menu, “Have you been here before? Any recommendations?”

“This is the first time I’ve been here too,” Jin admits.

“Let’s get something different and then share,” YN suggests.

“That sounds good.”

As they look through and make their decisions, Jin can’t help but stare at her. He’s really pretty, from her face to the clothes she wears. She’s so opposite of Lana. Where Lana was stiff, YN looks relaxed and easy going.

“Is everything okay?” YN asks him, placing her menu down on the table.

“Yeah, sorry,” Jin says, “You’re just so pretty.”

YN blushes, a shy smile on her face.

“Thank you. You’re really handsome, Jin.”

His ego is now boosted. For the longest time, Jin wondered if maybe Lana dumped him because she wasn’t attracted to him. Maybe she left because he was ugly.

He can tell that YN isn’t lying. She’s so bright and honest.

“Did you decide what you wanted?” he asks her, not wanting to stare at her again and possibly make her uncomfortable.

“I’m getting the Tiger Roll,” YN says.

“I’ll get the Dynamite Roll,” Jin says a few moments later.

With their order placed, conversation flows naturally. YN talks about her family and her childhood and listens intently when Jin talks about his. In just this one date, Jin has learned so much more about YN then he ever did Lana.

And the sushi is delicious. It’s the best thing he’s ever eaten, even. Or maybe it’s just her.

When the plates have been cleaned and the bill has been presented, Jin offers to pick it up.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind splitting it,” YN says.

“Absolutely. I’d love to,” Jin says, trying his hardest to be gentlemanly.

YN smiles at him and he swears his heart stops.

“I really appreciate it,” YN says, standing up and brushing off her outfit, “This was fun.”

“Would you like to eat out again next week?” he asks her.

“I’ll have to see what my schedule looks like,” YN says.

The two of them make their way to the exit. Jin holds the door open for her.

“Make sure you let me know!” Jin says, hoping she doesn’t sound too eager.

“I will,” she says.

The moment is a little awkward. Jin wants to lean in to kiss her but she takes a small step backward, putting some distance between them. 

Jin isn’t bothered. Maybe YN isn’t a kiss on the first date type of girl. Now that he thinks about it, that makes him like her even more.

The two walk down the sidewalk in front of the restaurant for a bit. It’s gotten much darker now than it was when Jin first arrived.

Jin pauses when YN stops in front of the bus stop sign.

“Would you like me to drive you? It’s gotten late.”

“I’ll be okay,” YN says, “But thank you, though.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind.”

YN thinks for a moment, looking at him before glancing at her watch.

“I’d really appreciate  it -”

YN doesn’t even get to finish before Jin grapes her hand in his and strides towards the nearby parking lot, unlocking his fancy car and opening the door for YN. Jin doesn’t notice the slightly uncomfortable look on YN’s face, much too excited.

Today has been so much better than he could have ever hoped.

“Which way to your place?”

YN quietly gives him instructions to her dorm.

Honestly, she just wants this night to be over. When she asked Jungkook about Jin, she did it as a conversation starter, hoping to find more info about Jungkook. He’s so cute and she wanted to try and shoot her shot with him but their conversation went haywire and before she knew it, Jungkook was setting her up with his “lonely and desperate but I swear he’s attractive” friend. Trying to make the best out of the situation, she decided to talk to Jin. He’s fun to text and to chat with but she just doesn’t feel any chemistry with him.

“We’re here,” Jin says a few minutes later.

YN gets out of the car before Jin can rush to open it for her.

“Thanks a lot,” YN says, turning away from him.

She walks into the building swiftly, unaware of the gaze on her back.

Back at his apartment, Jin texts Jungkook.

Me: She’s a dream

Me: an absolute angel

Me: I think she’s the one

Kookie: the date went that well, huh? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Me: Not like that. She’s just really sweet

Kookie: I’m happy for you! I hope things work out well for the two of you!

Me: I think they will

Jin flops on his bed, sighing like a schoolgirl. It’s only been one date but he knows she’s going to be the one for him.

Opening up a different conversation, Jin clicks on the second newest one, taking a moment to change the name.

Me: I think I’m going to marry you one day

Across the city, YN’s stomach drops when she reads the text. She doesn’t know what to say to him. How do you tell someone that you’re just not into them?

Deciding to deal with it later, YN turns off her phone and heads to the bathroom. That sushi is not agreeing with her.

For the next couple of days, YN and Jin text back and forth, but it doesn’t have the same energy as it used to. Instead of replying instantly and really moving the conversation forward, YN gives short responses and takes forever to respond.

Two weeks later, she stops responding at all.

Worried that something may have happened to his love, Jin amps up his texting and calling, hoping to get through to her. He sends her a new text every hour, and then every half hour, and then every fifteen minutes until he’s texting her over a thousand times a day. At this point Jin is worried that she’s hurt.

But according to Jungkook, she’s just fine.

Me: Are you sure, Kookie?

Kookie: I just think she’s not into you Jin

Kookie: I’m sorry. I would have never set you two up if I thought it would go like this.

Jin sits on his bed, his mind swimming. Not into him? She couldn’t be! Not YN! Not after the magical time they’d had together?

Kookie: Don’t give up, I’m sure that you’ll find someone

Jin, sick to his stomach, dials YN’s phone again.

She answers.

“YN -”

“STOP CALLING ME! I DON’T LIKE YOU! I DON’T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOU!”

The last straw. His back is finally broken, he’s caving into himself.

“Darling,” he says after a moment.

YN quiets down. She had half expected for him to have hung up.

“Let’s go out to eat again, shall we? I’d hate to make sushi out of you.”

[lilchibi-chan]

Hawks Mafia! AU x Reader

Part 2. Here is part 1 and thanks so much for the support on the first post.

It’s the next morning and you wake up around 10:30. You decided to call your boss and inform her about what happened last night and that you would most likely be taking some time off. She was very understanding and told you to take as much time as you needed. She was still willing to pay you the same amount for the time you would eventually miss. You thank her for her kindness and she informs you that it’s no problem at all and she thinks of you as one of her own.

You had started working at the diner to help pick up what financial aid didn’t pay for and you were set on quitting after you graduated, but you couldn’t find the heart to leave. You grew to love the people that came in and your boss. You’ve even spent holidays with her the times you couldn’t get home. You start thinking about all the memories you have working at the diner and suddenly your phone rings. It’s Hawks.

“Hello,” you say, a small hint of tiredness still in your voice

“Mornin’ baby bird,” he says so happily that you can basically see his smile on your side of the phone

“Morning,” you say, a yawn escaping your mouth

“So what’re you doing right now,” he asks, genuinely curious

“Well I was about to get a cup of coffee and make myself something to eat,”

“Well how about instead of doing that, I kidnap you and take you out to eat,” he says, pleased with himself

You smile and let a small laugh escape your mouth.

“I would love that, but I’m not even close to being dressed.”

You take a look at the clock and its 11:15

You take a moment to think about it and think that this could be a good thing.

“How soon will you be here” you ask 

“Look out your window, humming bird”

You go to your window and open the curtain. You see him, standing outside his car, which is below your window.

“How-when-”

“Don’t worry about it, baby bird. Just go get ready and I’ll see you when you get down here”

“How should I dress”

“For brunch”

He hangs up right after and you go through your closet trying to figure out what to wear.

You finally decide on a white mock neck bodysuit, light wash skinny jeans and a pair of nude patent leather pumps.

You quickly shower and get dressed, then put on light makeup. You grab a jacket just in case and your purse and head down to meet Hawks.

He smiles as soon as you walk out and rushes over to help you down the stairs. Once you make it down, he walks with you to the car, still hand in hand and opens the door for you.

“Such a gentleman,” you say, somewhat mockingly

“Only when I need to be,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders and a cocky smile, that you can’t help but smile back in response to

“So where are you taking me,” you ask curious

“It’s a surprise” he says with a side smile

“Don’t worry baby bird. You’ll see soon enough”

With that, he drives off. After 15 minutes, he pulls up in front of a hotel. He opens the door for you to exit the car and puts a hand out for you. You take his hand and you enter the gorgeous hotel. He walks straight in past reception and walks to the restaurant that is on the same floor as the lobby.

The host automatically escorts you both to a private room and your mind starts to wander. You figured he was rich and in some type of position of power, but you were still unsure of how much he actually possessed.

After the host leaves you two, Hawks pulls out a chair for you to sit down. You thank him and take a seat. After pushing you in, he takes his and hands you a menu.

As your analyzing the menu, you can’t stop thinking about Hawks and what he does. You wanna know more about him, but you also don’t wanna pry if he’s not open to talking about it.

“What’s going on, baby bird? I see those wheels turning in your head,” he says with a smirk

“Ya know for a guy, you’re quite observant”

“I have to be. Ya never know with people. You always gotta watch your back. Especially in a position of power”

“W-what do you do exactly,” you ask, piggybacking off of what he just said,“I noticed when we walked in that you were treated like literal royalty and when you would come to the diner I noticed your clothes were a lot nicer and clean cut than most of the business men that would come in. I figured you had a lot of money, but judging from the way you were treated,it’s more than I initially thought.”

“Well, I “do” a few things. As a matter of fact, I own this hotel. I also own a couple more around the country, we’re looking to expand to others. I have a few businesses I run. Fashion, modeling, and marketing. You could say I’m a man of many talents,” he says with a cocky smirk

You let out a small laugh and the waiter comes in with champagne and some food. He places a plate in front of you with pancakes, eggs, bacon and some syrup on the side. As well as some apple juice, just in case you didn’t want the champagne.

“I ordered ahead for us. I hope you’re okay with your order,” he says hopefully

“It’s fine,” you say smiling

It was a huge plate of food, but you were starving so you were gonna be able to at least finish half and have some for later at home.

Once you both finished at brunch, Hawks took your hand and you both walked out together to his car. He has a very gentle touch when holding your hand. Almost as if, you’re the most precious,fragile thing he could ever hold. Like one small move and you’ll break instantly.

You didn’t even notice, but you were staring at your hands together.

His touch was warm and his hands were soft, despite their rough and manly looking appearance.

You start to admire the details of his hand and the rings he had on.

He let go of your hand, which snapped you out of your trance.

He opens the door for you, then proceeds to the other side of the car as he usually does.

He’s about to pull off, but receives a phone call.

“Hello,” he says stern

The warmth that once filled his was now gone and there was a cold look in his face. Judiging from that, you were convinced what he was just told wasn’t good in the slightest bit.

“Baby bird, I have to drop you home. Something came up at the office and that I need to take care of like right now. I’m so sorry,”

“I could go with you. It’s not I really had anything planned for today,” you say, trying to brighten his mood

He softly smiles at you

“Today’s not really the best day and I’d much rather show you around when I’m in a better mood. How about...I bring you some dinner tonight? Let’s say 8?,” he asks hopefully

“That’s fine,” you say smiling

He kisses your hand

“Thanks, hummingbird. I won’t be late. I promise,” he says, gripping your hand a bit tighter

He drives off and takes you home. He watches as you enter your building, just as he did last night.

He pulls off and makes his way to his office....

Or so you thought

Meanwhile with Hawks

He makes it to a warehouse that’s an hour outside of the city. He made sure to turn his phone off, so that he wouldn’t be found by anyone.

He enters

“Where’s the fucker at,” he asks fuming

“Right inside,sir” Tokoyami says, following Hawks as he makes his way further inside the warehouse

Hawks walks further in and there he is, hand cuffed to a chair.

“Nice to see you, Twice”

He says nothing

“Aww, cat gotcha tongue...don’t worry, we’ll change that,” Hawks says with a menacing smile

He takes off his rings and puts them onto a silver platter that Tokoyami held out for him.

He picks up a steel rod and starts swinging it around,feeling its weight in his hand.

“So Twice, I heard from a little bird, that you’ve been trying to steal my inventory and trying to embezzle money from my company. The funniest part about this is you thought I wouldn’t find out.”

“Ya know if I wasn’t hand cuffed to this fucking chair right now, I could kick your ass,” he says with a smile

Hawks laughs

“Ya know Twice, you would be a better boss if you weren’t so FUCKING sloppy. I mean c’mon. You’ve been in the game longer than I have and you pull something as stupid as trying to steal from me. It’s honestly embarrassing”

He runs a hand through his hair.

“Twice, I’m a nice guy. I really am, so here’s what I’ll do. I’m gonna let you off with a warning.”

He lifts up the steel rod and cracks Twice in the knee.

“Try that shit again and I will break both of your legs or kill you, depends on how generous I’m feeling...Shadow, get him out of here”

Tokoyami does what he’s told and uncuffs Twice’s hands and feet from the chair. He drags him to the back door of the warehouse and throws him out.

“So what now sir,” Tokoyami asks curious

“Now, we prepare for war. Twice isn’t gonna back down that easy just because I threatened him. He’s gonna use whatever he can to get me and what I’ve built. He wants to be number one and he’ll stop at nothing. Little does he know, I’m one tough bastard and I’m gonna fight for what’s mine. Call everyone and have them meet at the house in an hour.”

“But sir, it takes an hour to get back in the city and it’s rush hour by now so-“

“So it should be no problem for everyone to get there on time. Now go call them”

“Yes sir”

With that, Tokoyami exits the warehouse to call the rest of the members.

Hawks makes his way to his car and drives back to the city to make it to his penthouse.

He ends up beating everyone there, but he did drive a little above the speed limit and took some shortcuts he knew, that way he wouldn’t be stopped by police on his way there.

He takes the elevator that only he has access to and goes straight to his penthouse.

He pours himself some scotch as soon as he gets in. He doesn’t usually drink much, but today warranted one. A stiff drink at that.

Soon there were knocks at his door.

“C’mon in boys,” he says, drink in hand

“I’m sure Shadow already briefed on the situation at hand. We’ve dealt with some pretty rough bastards before, but none of them compare to Twice. As I said to Shadow, he’ll use whatever he can to get to me, my business and people I care about. Make sure to never have your guard down and protect yourselves. Brief everyone on your location before and after you leave. I may be hard on you guys, but I’m not gonna lose any of you to him just cause we were ill prepared.”

“You got it boss. Ain’t nothin gonna get past the great King,” Bakugou says

“Yeah boss, we’re the manliest that you’ve got,” Kirishima says

“I knew I could count on you, King and Red”

“M-me too boss. I know I look weak, but I won’t let anyone or anything get to you, us or the people you care about,” Deku says

“Thanks, Deku. I never thought of you as weak by the way. I don’t judge a book because anyone is capable of anything.”

“R-right,” Deku says

Everyone else agrees to follow Hawks’ orders and to be extra vigilant in the coming days. They couldn’t make stupid mistakes. Although Twice is injured, he still has skilled assassins under his thumb and one slip up could cause anyone’s demise.

After everyone leaves, he decides to shower and wash the day off of him. He lets the hot water flow down his body, almost as if it was melting ice off of him. His mind drifted to you and he smiled, but that smile quickly faded when he realized the life he was bring you into and what would happen if Twice ever found out about you and where you live.

He couldn’t tell you about this side of him. He knew you would view him as a monster. This lifestyle was basically an unforgivable one that ended a lot of his relationships in the past. He knew there would come a day when he would have to fess up eventually, but that day wasn’t going to be today. He wants to be able to live in the happy moments he has with you and make them last as long as he can.

Picture 1: Human Tokoyami by ChigoPlush on DeviantArt

Picture 2 by Kiro_Tktr

Hope y’all enjoyed!! I know it’s super long, but I figured I owe you guys that, being that it took so long to come out. Thank y’all for the support on this new fanfic and I’m also wondering if we should give it an actual name. Leave me a comment or reblog with what you think the name should be, if there should be a name.

Tag list: @rozebudx @cpaperheart

[colorseeingchick]

Extremities

Summary: A fire alarm kicks you and your classmates outside in the middle of a chilly winter- and all your luck has just about run out. But in the midst of the icy situation, your best friend Kuroo manages to warm your heart. 

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, “unrequited” pining

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: based off something that my good friend used to do in high school, but upon further reflection, was probably MAD sus to everyone else. Anyways hope y’all like it hehe. <3

Why is it that people only manage to start chemical fires in the winter? The blaring of the fire alarm rings in your ears as you carefully hop in the deep footsteps pressed into the snow beneath you- trying very hard to ensure that the snow doesn’t accidentally hit your socks or sink into the soles of your sneakers. The cold was already seeping into your exposed skin, slowly pricking and biting at your arms and cheeks. 

Of all the times for a fire alarm, it just had to be during gym. While everyone else had their winter uniforms on, you were stuck in your gym shirt and shorts.  Just your luck. You bury your hands into your underarms, attempting to cling onto any remaining warmth your body could generate.

If you were going to be stuck out here, might as well be with any friend you could find. Looking for Yaku amidst the herd of tall 3rd years felt like a lost cause, so instead, you look for the beheaded giant that you call your best friend. Finding him never really seemed to be a problem for you. He stuck out for a variety of reasons, but at the moment, his wack hair was the most prominent. 

You hop in footsteps as you make your way towards the spikes of raven black hair, weaving through the other students. Once you’re finally by him, you tug on his sleeve as a form of acknowledgement. He responds by looking at you and smirking (it was supposed to be a smile, but with Kuroo it always ended up looking like a smirk.) 

Before you can say anything you hear a teacher say, “We could be out here for anywhere between 10 to 20 minutes class, so try and hold out until then,” while slipping mittens onto her stiff fingers. 

“Yaku says most of the team is on the other side of the building with him. So I think it’s just gonna be us over here,” Kuroo types away at his phone while informing you. 

You shiver and nod, the skin on the back of your neck begins to tingle as another gush of wind blows in your direction. You let out a deep breath, focusing on the crystallizing vapor that appears like smoke in front of your mouth- trying to distract yourself from the aggravating cold. 

I really struck out in terms of luck, huh. You feel the cold start to climb your exposed legs, making your skin feel hypersensitive. You tried to move around in circles, doing an awkward lil shuffle, to try and keep the cold away.

“Are you waddling in a circle because you wanna be a penguin, or because you enjoy looking dumb?” Kuroo’s snarky voice pulls you out of your own head. 

“Bold of you to assume penguins don’t enjoy looking dumb,” you retort, rolling your eyes. 

“Well yeah, when they do it it’s cute,” he shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. 

Are you saying I’m not cute? You don’t ask it. Not out loud. 

“Listen, it’s not my fault there was a fire right when I was in the gym.”

“Aren’t we required to bring our track jackets to gym though?”

“I left it in my locker because I thought I would get too hot…” you know how it sounded as it left your mouth. 

“So you didn’t listen to instructions?”

“...”

“This is your fault then.” 

You scoff, visibly annoyed, which only causes Kuroo’s smirk to widen. That, of course, pisses you off more. He’s right, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying. 

“What class were you in? Chemistry?” you change the subject, still slowly waddling while hugging yourself. 

“Yeah. The fire was from our room.” 

“What even happened?” 

“Someone didn’t clean their beaker correctly so there were remnants of previous chemicals. When we were doing our experiments today, it just so happened to be the wrong combination- so it started the fire.”  

“Don’t be shy, Kuroo. You can tell me you’re the one who started the fire, I won’t judge too hard,” you tease. 

“Tsk, please. I may be an idiot but I’m not that irresponsible…” the faintest of pouts pulls at his lips. 

You hum softly, and quietly say, “I know.” Considering everything that Kuroo was- clumsy and irresponsible wasn’t him. He was one of the most chaotic people you knew- only outdone by Bokuto- but he always took good care of the people around him. You usually witnessed this firsthand as the manager for your school’s volleyball team, watching him in all his captaining glory. He kept it together when they couldn’t. And he definitely kept it together when you couldn’t. Kuroo may not have been clumsy, but you definitely were. 

While you’re lost in your own head, Kuroo hears his name being called out. “Oi, Y/N, I’ll be right back. One of my lab members is calling me over. Don’t freeze to death in that time” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” You dismiss him. 

But now in this moment alone with no annoying cat to distract you, the cold starts to overtake you at a faster pace. 

Dizzy from walking in circles, you attempt to shuffle side to side. You did little to pay attention to where you were going, though. Without realizing, you misstep, tripping over your own shoe, left foot digging into a fresh pile of snow when trying to catch yourself- the soft white fluff encasing everything below your ankle. 

Shit. 

The cold that had been nipping at your exterior had suddenly soaked your entire shoe and sock through- permeating through your skin and now racking your entire body with an aggressive wave of iciness. 

********************************4ish minutes later***************************************

Kuroo doesn’t know about this catastrophe on his walk back over. Instead, he’s internally planning on how to continue your teasing banter, his demeanor annoying (it was supposed to be a playful one, but with Kuroo it always just ended up being annoying). 

“Oya, did the cold freeze you stiff or what.” 

Any patience and energy you had left has frozen over.

“I’m fine,” you deadpan. 

Kuroo pauses. ...Oh no, he thinks.

If Bokuto has his emo mode, you have your moody mode. It’s a lot less predictable in comparison to Bokuto, but just as easy to remedy. A little bit of attention or a nice distraction usually does the trick.

“You’re cold,” Kuroo blatantly states.

 “I'm not.” Lie of the century and a dumb answer. But on instinct, you just felt like arguing. 

“I can see you shaking.” You’re indeed shaking like a leaf. 

“Then there’s something wrong with your eyes then...go see an eye doctor or something.” l a m e comeback- but your brain is now freezing up, too. You don’t want to agree with him. If you do, he’d probably just lecture you for not following directions and tell you to own up to it rather than sulk. He would be absolutely correct in saying so, but you really don’t care for logic right now. 

Kuroo huffs, taking a broad step into your little waddle circle and grabbing your shoulders to turn you around so you’re facing him. You shuffle back a bit at the sudden closeness, not that it did much to create distance between you two. It’s at that moment that you also realize the wind is no longer hitting your face- Kuroo’s blocking off the breeze with his back.

“Give me your hands.” Kuroo gently grabs your wrists, which were tucked under your arms. He pulls your hands up to his chest level and then proceeds to wrap his hands around your fingers. 

“Kuroo wh-what are you--” 

“Warming your extremities.”

“Hah?” 

“Your extremities, your fingers.”

“My… what?” 

“When you get cold, most of the heat in your body centralizes to your core to keep your internal organs warm. So that means the extremities of your body, such as your fingers and toes, get the coldest the fastest. They become prone to frostbite as a result and…”

Everything Kuroo says made perfect sense. Probably. You couldn’t really tell because everything also happened to be going in one ear and out the other. Even the sudden bout of irritation you had felt had suddenly disappeared. You can’t focus on anything but his hands. 

They’re markedly bigger than yours. Your fingers feel so tiny in his grasp. They’re calloused from all the volleyball. His grip is strong, unmoving, but it isn’t crushing or tight. Above all, they radiate warmth. Your stiff and numb fingers regain feeling, soothed by the heat of your best friend’s hands. 

You want nothing more than to look at them. You want to just see his hands wrapped around your fingers. But there was no way you were going to let Kuroo in on the fact that the physical contact stole every bit of attention you had. So instead, you just opt to blankly stare at him, pretending to listen to him nerd out. 

“... it’s the most effective way to mitigate the most harmful effects of the cold. We learned all this in biology, don’t you remember?” 

Still completely clueless about what Kuroo's saying, you just hum in agreement. 

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “You didn’t listen to a word I said did you.” He squeezes your fingers slightly to refocus your mind on him speaking, rather than… whatever you were daydreaming about. 

“Oh- uh… yeah. Sorry for spacing out…” you turn your face away from him. Spacing out was a usual occurrence for you, but for some reason when Kuroo brought attention to it this time, it had you feeling a lot more embarrassed. 

He scoffs a little bit, but his voice softens as he says, “You can space out, that’s fine, no need to feel weird about it, y/n.” He squeezes your fingers again while gently stroking the pad of your pointer finger with his thumb. Flustered as it makes you, it's also very calming. Calming enough that you’re able to make stable eye contact again. 

“I’m sorry for getting moody with you, Kuroo…” you murmur, sheepishly gazing up at him. 

His eyes are unreadable. “You don’t have to apologize for everything, y/n. It makes me feel a little weird... Just, like- say thank you instead.” 

You cock your head to the side, confused by his comment. 

He takes a deep breath, the condensation thick in front of his mouth. “You saying sorry all the time, it makes it seem like you think you’re a bother or something. You’re not.” This is getting too serious for his liking. A heart to heart in the middle of a fire drill? Not happening. He has to lighten it up. “ So...instead of putting yourself down, just praise me instead. Trust me, I love every ego boost I can get.” His signature Cheshire grin slowly emerges, prompting you to roll your eyes. “So don’t say, ‘sorry I wasn’t paying attention in biology 2 years ago-’ say, ‘thank you for re-educating me like the great tutor you are, Kuroo-kun~~’” 

He was a great tutor. He’s been helping you with science for 3 years. 

“Or! Or- ‘sorry for letting a volleyball smash into your face,’ you can say, ‘I’m thankful I didn’t damage your gorgeous face-’”

That incident was completely accidental but hilarious anyways. 

 Kuroo’s nonsensical yet insightful rambling continues, and it helps the embarrassment dissipate from within your chest, amusement taking its place.

“Oi! You narcissistic cat.” Kuroo stops his rambling and just stares at you. “Thanks for being there for me… and putting up with me no matter how emotional I can be..” 

Kuroo’s face twists into a smile (yes- a smile! Not a smirk this time) filled with genuine happiness. “No problem. Anything for you.”

Anything, huh. 

“Do you not feel cold anymore?” Kuroo quickly realizes his hands are still enclosed around your fingers, now gently resting against his chest. 

To be honest, your upper body feels like its on fire. Your face is hot and your heart is pounding like you had run 5 miles. By contrast, your lower body is frozen solid. Your skin is probably extremely cracked, and its stinging. Your feet are also blocks of ice, the revolting feeling of soaked sock ever-present. The two extreme sensations leave you feeling really uncomfortable. But your hands don’t feel hot, though. There was just the perfect amount of warmth- a tingly sensation buzzing through them and faintly running up to your heart.

“Uh, not as much. My feet are messed up but my upper body isn’t as bad.”

“Your feet? You mean your legs?” “No, my feet.”

“Heh? I get your legs- ‘cause of your shorts. But what happened to your feet? I thought you were stepping in other footsteps to avoid getting snow in them.”

“I was but uh I- kinda tripped and stepped right into the snow.” 

“...” 

A snort. “Dumbass. How do you even trip over your own feet?”

“...oh shut up, nerd.”

The beeps of a loudspeaker cut off your banter, indicating you could all go back inside. 

“Finally!” You sigh in relief. Although you would never admit it, a part of you didn’t wanna go back in yet. Which is stupid because HELLO you’re gonna get frostbite at this point. But you really didn’t wanna pull your hands away from Kuroo. Not yet.

Physical contact had always been pretty limited to slaps on the backs during the good games and pats on the shoulders during the bad. This type of closeness was a first, but was it also going to be the last?

Regardless, you knew it would be sus if you, the person who was now essentially a walking ice cube, lingered outside longer than literally anyone else. 

So you pull your hands out of his strong, warm, welcoming hold. 

“I’m gonna go pour some hot water on my legs and change my shoes… I’ll see you during practice, yeah?” 

Before he could respond, you turn around and hop away in the deepest footprints you can find.

You don’t seem as off as you were earlier, but now you were acting weird in a different way. Kuroo stands there for a second, but once he realizes that he can’t figure you out, he just sighs. Clueless as ever, he shrugs, stuffs his hands into his pockets, and then heads in. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you situate yourself in the bathroom and wipe down your legs with a towel soaked in hot water, you let the series of events finally sink into your slowly dethawing head. You aren’t sure if your face is warm to fight the cold or because of embarrassment. 

Pleasant as it was, you knew you couldn’t dwell on the things that just happened with Kuroo. Not for too long, at least. He was one of your closest friends- but just that. So you would have to freeze away whatever wack feelings that were dancing in your chest. It would be better that way for now. 

That’s what you’re gonna tell yourself, at least.

[writing-fool]

mlqc | special kind of sadness

I’ve been having strange dreams lately. Maybe it’s because of the quarantine, or maybe because of my messed up sleep schedule. I don’t actually have severe nightmares, but somehow an idea for Victor + nightmares came up. It was going to be very short, so I included other types of comforting scenarios. Ahh...besides that, you might have noticed my url is writing-fool, right? It’s actually based off of a Korean song called Swimming Fool. But I think it fits with MLQC too, what with Lucien calling us ‘his little fool’ sometimes~ What a happy coincidence...

Love,

R.

Warning(s): TW! Lucien’s scenario includes a panic attack. 

Victor

You’re all about showing the world that you’re a grown woman with big girl pants on. You’re especially keen on proving to Victor that you can handle yourself, thank you very much. Even though he’s supposed to be your soft, loving boyfriend, he seems to grow stricter the longer you’re together.

“Really? You’re not capable of being a producer if you can’t even get these reports done.” Ouch. Your life doesn’t seem to be getting easier anytime soon.

So...you chalk it up as a grave, grave moment of weakness when you instinctively call his number at three in the morning, after waking up in a cold sweat. By the second ring, you regret your rash decision. What if he’s asleep? What if he thinks I’m some kind of weak child?

By the third, he answers.

“What. Why are you still awake?” His voice sounds as strict as ever. ‘Why are you still awake?’ is a question you would’ve asked if you were in a clearer mindset. Alas, this situation allows little clarity.

You decide against hanging up. I’m bothering him already, might as well apologise. “I-I must’ve misdialled. Sorry to bother you,” you mumble. You hate how your hoarse voice and ragged breaths betray the sobs that have barely subsided.

“...I’m coming over,” is all Victor says before abruptly hanging up.

It’s a twenty minute drive from his luxurious penthouse to your apartment, but you know he’ll make it in fifteen. Running to the bathroom, you try to fix your appearance to make you look more like a successful producer, and less like a woman gone mad. But while your hair can be combed down and your tears can be wiped away, nothing works against your bloodshot eyes, shaking hands and pale complexion.

The doorbell rings, and you’re in full panic mode. You really don’t want him to see you like this. But without him, you’re probably not sleeping tonight. Also, he’s here already. Wiping your sweaty palms on your pyjama pants one last time, you open the front door.

Even when he has his sleeves rolled up, shirt partly unbuttoned and hair mussed from running his hands through it, Victor is handsome. But today, you can’t bare to look at him. Your apartment floor suddenly seems incredibly interesting.

A small gesture encourages his entrance. The door is barely closed again, and he’s already got his arms wrapped around you, your face pressed against his chest. The warmth of his hug and his rapidly beating heart open the floodgates again, and while your boyfriend strokes your hair, you sob your fears out on his black dress shirt.

Later, when you’re both huddled in your queen-sized bed, he asks you why you didn’t tell him about the nightmare right away. “I thought you’d think I’m pathetic or something. You’re always so strict.” You look up at him, mouth formed into a small pout.

For a moment, he’s dumbfounded. Maybe he never considered the idea? Victor hesitates, before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry,” he sighs, “I’ll be more considerate from now on.”

And as Victor rubs your shoulder, legs intertwined with yours, you doze off under the cloudy night sky. But not before hearing his sweet whispers. “Lean on me more, next time. I’ll always be by your side.”

Lucien (TW: panic attack, minor mentions of death)

Disclaimer: I know this could be taken wrongly. I have no intention to romanticise mental illness. It isn’t something that makes you broken, nor is it a ‘fun’ or ‘special’ thing. The story is partially taken from my experience, so I know how this feels. I wrote this as a way to bring awareness in a light manner, and to show that sometimes, panic attacks can be alleviated with someone around. I hope it brings comfort to those who wish they had someone in moments like these.

Listening to Lucien’s lectures tends to transport you back to the time when you were still a university student. Ah, it is a nostalgic feeling. A part of you misses being in school; going out with friends, listening to the teachers drone on about various subjects, eating in the school’s cafeteria.

But if there’s one thing you don’t miss, it’s the immeasurable amounts of stress. So why is that the thing I’m reliving right now?

As a young adult, you struggled with anxiety and spontaneous panic attacks, rendering you vulnerable to a work overload. You’d think it’d gotten better, especially since you have to deal with a lot of projects as a head producer nowadays. However, it seems as though old habits do die hard...This week has been particularly taxing—emotionally, what with your father’s death anniversary, and mentally; an important and popular show just got compromised by one of the actors’ companies. All that, and the prospect of an even tighter schedule during Christmas season has sent you into a full-blown panic attack. 

Your initial plan was to just...ride this one out. That’s what you always did as a child. In an hour or two, your hands will stop cramping, your tears will stop falling, your breathing will return to normal, right? But it seems fate, and Lucien, disagree. I forgot I gave him the key to my apartment.

Lucien senses something is wrong when you don’t come out to greet him by the door. 

“My love? Are you alright?” he yells out. Hearing little besides your irregular breathing, he kicks his shoes off, speeding towards the living area. You’re sat on the white sofa, knees to your chest, shoulders heaving and thick tears streaming down your face. 

Lucien’s brows furrow in deep concern as he kneels down by your form. Even though he’s right in front of you, your eyes do not meet his. You’ve gone too deep in your own shell to even be able to acknowledge his presence. A tentative hand removes one of yours from its tight grasp on your other arm, and Lucien lets out a sigh of relief as he feels your hand clutch his. He takes it as a sign to lift you fully into his arms, and takes a seat on the sofa.

“Breathe. In,” he mimicks a deep inhale, “and out.” Lucien blows out, repeating the motion a couple more times. He rubs your back and your hands, constantly alternating between helping you breathe and gently uttering soothing phrases. 

“Easy, I’m here with you. Do you feel my heartbeat?” When your hands have finally relaxed out of their cramped up form, he presses one of them against his chest. The slow, rhythmic thumping grounds you. Lucien. A stiff nod from you makes a soft, wry smile appear on his face. “Good girl. You’re getting there, my dear. Just stay with me, here. You’re doing great.”

You don’t know how much longer you stay like that. All you know is that he stays with you through the entire attack. Hours later, you two are having a steaming cup of tea at the dinner table. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t want you to worry,” you mutter sheepishly.

“Don’t be ashamed of yourself,” Lucien’s violet eyes bore deep into yours, “Besides, how could I not worry when someone so dear is having a hard time?”

You shrug, a defeated look on your face. Your fingers fidget with the wood of the dinner table, until Lucien swiftly takes your hand in his again. 

He sighs. “Take tomorrow off. I’ll take care of you.” Even though his tone is soft, Lucien leaves no space for argument. You know you should agree. There’s no way you could function properly if you were to go to work tomorrow.

“...Thank you.”

Lucien brings your hand to his lips, leaving feather-light kisses on your knuckles. “No thanks needed. You can be greedier with me.”

Gavin

There’s perhaps no person in the world who enjoys rejection. Sure, there may be those who bounce back quickly, those who see rejection as a new opportunity. But rejection, failure in itself, doesn’t evoke positive feelings. 

As the producer of Miracle Finder, you’ve gotten used to rejection; it was hard to get the show back on track during the first year or so. Maybe you were arrogant, thinking it’d get better, or less painful, the more often you got rejected. 

Things did get better, and last week you were even offered a deal with Loveland TV for a second weekly show. The company had seen the success Miracle Finder had, and had offered you the chance to come up with something wholly original. Something...you. That night, a mere week ago, you took the girls out for dinner and drinks. You were on cloud nine that day. In hindsight, maybe it was karma. Maybe I jinxed it. Cheered too soon, and all that. 

This morning, you got a devastating e-mail that stated, in polite (but somehow still rude) terms, that your new show would not be broadcasted. The relaxed mood at the office rapidly turned somber once you mentioned the unfortunate decision. Your employees decided to give you some space afterwards. Not being able to stand the sadness, and feeling somewhat bad for them, you sent everyone, yes, including Anna, home early.

By three p.m., you’re the only one left at the office. You sit at your desk, head in your hands. I know it isn’t the end of the world...but right now, it almost feels like it is. With a deep sigh, you push yourself up, heading to the small kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. Maybe you’ll have a biscuit too. Anything to cheer yourself up. 

Your mind automatically goes to Gavin, and without thinking it over too much, you dial his number. After a couple of rings, your call goes to voicemail. Stupid. He’s probably working. I’ll just leave a message.

“Hey babe, it’s me. I-uh, the thing I mentioned last week? The new show deal with Loveland TV? Yeah, that’s not happening,” your voice cracks halfway through the last sentence as you try to push down the disappointment that bleeds through, “I’m staying late today. Need some time to-to process things. I’ll be fine. Love you, hope you’re safe.” 

Time passes agonisingly slowly, so slowly you might as well think Victor’s behind it, while you dive into a mountain of work. It distracts you from today’s events. but the lingering sadness is still present in the back of your mind. 

Around eight, you start cleaning up your desk, shutting down your computer and gathering the papers. A knock on the window catches your attention as you’re about to head out. You turn around, noticing a tall figure on the balcony outside. Gavin! You hastily run back, opening the sliding door for Gavin to enter.

“Hi,” That’s the most awkward thing you could say. “I didn’t know you would come. Did you hear my message? You really didn’t have to...” you trail off when Gavin wordlessly opens his arms to you. His golden eyes look anywhere but you, and a slight blush is visible in the dark room, only illuminated by the bright lights outside. 

You gingerly step into his arms at first, clutching the back of his signature denim jacket tighter as time goes on. A couple of stray tears that you’re not able to hold back create wet splotches on his shirt. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, your voice muffled by the soft fabric.

“No biggie. Are you feeling alright?” he asks you. A non-committal shrug is all you respond with. “I know it was a big project for you.”

“Yeah, I don’t really know what to do now.” 

Gavin bends down a little, kissing the crown of your head. “You move on, and you don’t give up.”

You fall into comfortable silence. Gavin’s thumb rubs up and down your waist, soothing you. “...Have you ever been rejected?” you suddenly ask him.

Gavin chuckles. “Sure I have. I got rejected by my very first love.”

You raise your head to look up at him. Gavin sees his own reflection in your large, teary eyes, and smiles. “And what happened then?” you ask, your voice lightly tinged with jealousy. Who was his first love?

“Well, she’s in my arms now, isn’t she?” Even though he’s embarrassed to say the words, Gavin forces himself to look at you. At those eyes that shine with love for the world, for him. 

Bonus:

“Come on, I’ll take you home.” you pull out of the embrace to get your coat by the coat hanger, opening the door to head out again, like a normal person.

“How? You didn’t come here by bike, did you?”

Gavin’s already facing the window again, but he turns back with a smirk, holding his hand out to you. “I never said we were going by bike.”

“Gavin, no, babe, no, no, nonononononono—Aah!!” Your protests are cut short as Gavin swoops you into his arms bridal style and flies off. The wind rushes past your ears, almost making you miss Gavin’s gleeful laugh. “Gavin! I didn’t lock the doors!”

Kiro

On many occasions, you’re envious of Kiro’s Evol. But even without his Evol, Kiro is so bubbly and kind, you can’t help but like him. You sincerely wish you had that ability. And I know I’m supposed to make my own wishes come true, but I can only do so much to make people like me. I’m not going to bend over backwards and become a pushover just to be liked.

Still, it hurts when people are purposely mean to you. Especially during high school reunions. You were by no means a popular kid growing up...but you didn’t think that some people would still be stuck in a high school mentality. You held your own during the reunion, ignoring the backhanded compliments and blatantly condescending insults in favour of catching up with your old friends. Yet, all you can think of on the drive home are the negative comments.

“Oh, you still can’t drink alcohol? Seems like ‘someone’ hasn’t grown up yet!”

“You’re the producer of Miracle Finder? I hate that show, it’s so unrealistic.”

“Isn’t that a kids’ show?”

“My, you look adorable! My daughter also likes to wear those types of clothes, you know, to go play at the park.”

I can’t believe I missed game night with Kiro for this. With a terrible mood, you shuffle into the house. Kiro’s on the sofa playing A Chinese Ghost Story, a bag of chips on the coffee table in front of him. He turns to greet you with a smile, but it quickly falls after seeing your somber expression. 

“Welcome home Miss Ch—eh? What’s wrong?” Kiro takes his headphones off to stand up in front of you. His hands instinctively move to your waist to pull you close.

“How was the gathering?” he asks carefully. His eyes are big, just like a puppy’s. Had you felt better, you would’ve commented on his cute appearance. 

It’s as if that question flips a switch. “It was horrible!” you sniffle.

“Wha—Miss Chips!” Kiro grows panicked at your sniffles and sobs, and roughly pulls you to his chest. You retaliate by hugging him tightly, crying all your frustrations out on his shoulder.

Somehow, you move into a cuddling position on the living room sofa. You straddle his slender legs and his arms are wrapped around your torso, rubbing comforting circles on your back. Pulling away from his embrace, you start ranting about the terrible evening.

“...and I don’t even know why I’m this upset! It’s so frustrating. I’ve worked so hard to become who I am today, and the moment someone says something to me, I just break down. Maybe I am a child,” you look up at Kiro, eyes wide and brimming with tears, “Kiro, am I a child to you?”

Kiro chuckles. “Well, Miss Chips...sometimes you can be childish,” you jut your lip out in a pout, “b-but I’m childish too! And there’s nothing wrong with that. Some people want to grow up too fast, so they drink alcohol and dress up in dark colours and stiff fabrics to feel properly imprisoned in the ‘harsh adult world’. But most of us could be happier if we just...let our inner child out.”

He cups your cheek. “Never be ashamed of being childish, Miss Chips. It doesn’t make you a child,” a mischievous grin appears on Kiro’s youthful face, “Besides, I wouldn’t do this if I thought of you as a child!” 

With the hand on your cheek, Kiro draws your face closer to his. Your lips meet in a swift kiss that takes you by surprise. He swallows the startled gasp that escapes your mouth, retaliating by slowly swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. You can feel him smile into the kiss as you lean into it, closing your eyes. Your tears are long forgotten as you tangle your hands in Kiro’s blond locks. Slowly, you part your lips, allowing Kiro’s tongue to slip into your mouth. The teasing flicks of his tongue make you go weak, and he chuckles when your grip on his hair loosens. 

Kiro notices you’re growing light-headed, so he gives you time to regain your breath while he peppers little kisses on the corners of your mouth and on your swollen lips. You kissing demon. 

His satisfied hum is disrupted by a vicious punch to the chest. “Ah! Miss Chips, why would you hit me?” It’s Kiro’s time to pout now.

“Who told you to do that?! You’re so sly, it’s unfair!” you scold him, cheeks flushed a bright red.

“Yes, yes,” he pets your head, “but it helped, right? You’re not upset anymore, right?”

Your face scrunches up. “I guess not...I’m still mad at you for surprising me like that,” Kiro giggles, “But thanks.” His smile is contagious, and soon you’re both in a giggling fit.

When the giggles have subsided, Kiro pushes you back into his chest. As he snuggles into your shoulder, he whispers in your ear. “Don’t worry. Every time you feel sad, I’ll be there to cheer you up.”

I’m not saying dark clothes are bad! I have a black wardrobe myself...but we all need to remember that we don’t need to be so hard on ourselves sometimes. 

For some reason I’ve never properly depicted kissing like that in my writing. Ehhh, forgive me if it’s bad. Little note...do you guys know what Chinese drama ‘A Chinese Ghost Story’ is featured in?

[considergoldenkamuy]

Fluffy scenario for Yamato Takeru and Kongo Agon with femreader in Valentine's Day !!

IM LATE AS SHIT BUT HI!! i made a separate one for each, i’m assuming that’s what you meant :,) this ended up a bit longer than planned so i’m gonna post agon’s separately ksdjfsd. the link to agon’s is here!! they both have a bit more D: in them than i wanted but oh well

Takeru isn’t exactly the most subtle of people. Well, maybe “not at all discreet” is a better way to put it. No one is entirely certain how you haven’t noticed his crush after so long. The confident, larger-than-life ace of their American football team always gets stiff and shifts his weight from side to side when he sees you nearby.

He laughs at almost anything you say. He’s picked up your habit of rubbing his thumb and index finger together when he’s deciding something, he even started asking you for help in subjects even you know he’s perfectly proficient in.

Takeru is much too afraid of ruining the friendship he’s built with you over the school year to say anything. What if you started avoiding him? What if you started hating him? In the back of his mind, he knows you’d never do something like that to him, but that inkling of doubt always remains.

Takeru knows how far he runs every day, and how much farther he runs from his conflicted and needlessly complicated feelings. He’s too scared to stop.

So how did the entirety of the first string rope him into this?

“C’mon, she’s waiting for you!” Kureji encourages, patting his back. “You gotta do it before someone else does!”

“Why do I - ?”

“Just talk to her, you idiot! We already told her you wanted to hang out, just do something!” Reisuke kicks his back and Takeru yelps. You blink when you see your friend being shoved around the hallway corner. He is about to scold someone before he spots you looking at him and straightens up so fast his spine stings.

“Yamato, are you okay?” You walk up to him with a frown, wholly expecting his silent and quick nod. “Who was that?”

He breaks into a cold sweat, trying to think of something to say as you peer around the corner, but somehow the group has disappeared without a trace. Takeru isn’t sure if he wants to play them until they die from exhaustion or thank the powers above they aren’t there to embarrass him.

“It’s fine,” he promises, forcing a smile through his nerves. You notice, frowning, but don’t say anything on it. You don’t want to make him more nervous, without knowing that you merely being in the same plane of existence as Takeru already fills him with anxiety.

Whenever you talk to anyone else, his chest tightens and his jaw clenches. He lives in fear someone else will look at you and suddenly understand just how wonderful you are, and he’ll have missed his chance.

“So? How many letters and chocolates did you get?” You ask, your playful eyes sparkling in that way he loves so much. Takeru can’t help the sigh he lets out, and you laugh.

“I have no idea what to do with Valentine’s Day chocolates. On one hand I don’t want to look like I’m accepting anyone’s feelings but on the other I don’t want to be a jerk and throw them away.”

“Just share them or something,” you say with a shrug, but he doesn’t miss how you rub the nape of your neck slowly, only one corner of your lips curling into a smile. “I’m sure Aki’s having a crisis over not getting any chocolates.”

“...” Takeru feels his nervousness fade, readily replaced by care and concern. “Are you okay? No one harassed you, did they?”

“Huh? Oh! No, it’s nothing. I just feel bad for Aki. Now I wish I brought more.”

“More? You brought chocolate for someone? A crush, perhaps?” He hides the distinct, sharp stab in his lungs with a raised brow and teasing smile.

Maybe Takeru was being too optimistic, thinking that you could like him back. You have so many friends he doesn’t know, what were the chances you would choose him? He knows you’ve noticed by now how he can barely keep his composure around you. He knows you can see his insecurity behind the smiles and confident grins he wears, especially around you.

Why would you ever want someone like that? Like him?

“Yeah,” you readily admit, knowing lying to Takeru about something like this is pointless. “But...I don’t know if I’ll give it to them now.”

This makes him pause, a bit surprised. You’ve always been the type to commit to something like this. He’s never seen you give up on something this important.

“Why?”

“Well...they said they aren’t accepting this kind of thing. I’m sure giving it would be a bit pointless now.”

“I’m sure they’d like it either way. You went through the effort to get something, the least they can do is appreciate the gesture.” He does his best to offer a reassuring smile, even with how much his chest feels like it’s bleeding. But he can’t look so weak, especially not in front of you. “You should still give it to them.”

You hesitate. Takeru wants to slam his fist into the wall. Why was he just increasing the chances of her leaving him behind?

“Where are they? I’ll walk you there.”

You stare at your feet for a long moment. He doesn’t know what you’re thinking or feeling, but he knows from your pursed lips and rubbing fingers that this is a difficult choice. He can understand that, he supposes.

“...the library,” you answer finally. Takeru doesn’t know why he hoped you might say “No, let’s just go” when he’s been your friend for almost a year.

“Alright. Come on! Before they leave!” His laugh is a little forced and if you notice, you don’t show any signs of it. You open your mouth to say something, before closing it again and compliantly following after him.

“What about you? Did you bring something for anyone?”

"No,” Takeru answers without missing a beat, shaking his head. And it’s true, he didn’t. He wasn’t planning on telling you today. He misses you taking a shaky, deep breath. Those golden eyes of his are still focused on ahead. It’s awkwardly quiet all the way there, but he does his best not to look like he feels as hurt as he is. Stepping through the doorway, he looks down at you, and you already know what he wants to ask.

“They should be toward the back.”

“The history section?”

Takeru doesn’t go to the library very often so he doesn’t really know where things are, and it looks like you were fully anticipating that.

“Yeah.”

He feels his gut twist painfully as he walks you, seeing you pull a small present out of your schoolbag. Who is it? It can’t be anyone he knows - if it is, then you would have told Takeru and asked him to help you get closer to them.

When you arrive, there is no one in the history section.

He lets out a faint, involuntary breath of relief. Just a few more moments with her before he has to witness something that will either make him feel like trash, or like he still had a chance.

“Ah, looks like they’re not here. Did they go home?”

“No.”

Takeru feels confused as he begins to look over his shoulder at you. Did he miss them? How? The aisles are so wide! When he sees you standing there, face pink, avoiding his gaze, he almost asks what’s wrong. But when he sees your hand held out, the pale pink present in your palm, his blood stops flowing.

You’re giving it to him.

His body is frozen, eyes wide. Takeru wants to say something, anything. He wants to smile, to take that little wrapped box into his hands like it’s a priceless block of pure gold.

But he does nothing.

“I...hope this doesn’t ruin anything between us.” You say quietly, but he keeps staring. You shrink away, heart beginning to suffocate. This silence is precisely why you never told him.

Someone like Takeru, warm, friendly, kind and driven – there is no good reason for him to accept something like this from someone like you. You were already surprised when he, the popular jock and absolute ace of your school’s all-stars team, started talking to you. You were and are just one of Karin’s friends. Maybe you were too hopeful when you let her convince you to get him something.

“I guess I’ll just...go home, then. If you need help with physics again, let me know.” You try to force a smile and you somewhat succeed, but your voice is weak. It hurts.

It hurts him.

“W-Wait,” he tries to call after you, but his voice is just as quiet as yours. You don’t turn around, and with each step away from him, he dies a little more.

“Wait!” His voice is louder this time, a bit too loud, but not enough people are in the library to care.

You hunker slightly, but you don’t stop. You knew this would happen, and yet here you are. He catches up to you, of course he does. He’s the fastest kid in the school. His hand grabs your shoulder and you flinch, but don’t bother trying to stop him when he turns you around.

You are half expecting him to tell you that your friendship will be the same, and half expecting him to be annoyed you hadn’t sorted this out with him sooner.

You are not expecting him to wrap his arms around you and hold you like you’d fade away if he loosened his grasp. His face is pressed into the crook of your neck, terrifying strength threatening to rip your uniform jacket in half if he isn’t careful.

“Yamato?” You murmur, worried. Hurt feelings aside, he never does things like this.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You try to reassure both him and yourself. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

But he shakes his head, wild hair brushing against you. You feel his eyelashes brush against your skin as he shuts his eyes, and he takes a deep breath.

“I really like you,” he says it so quietly you’re not sure if he actually wanted you to hear it at all. “I was just really surprised.”

Takeru’s laugh is quiet, almost bitter.

“So, I’m sorry. I like you.”

Your own eyes are wide for a long moment, breath catching in your throat. A few moments pass before a smile settles on your face. You lean your head against his and return the warm embrace.

“I like you too, jerk.”

[songtoyou]

Epiphany - Part Two

Paring: Luke Crain x Female Reader

Chapter Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2,001

Warnings: Talks of drug use and recovery, mention death of family members.

Description: Life has never been easy for Luke Crain. After the death of Nell, Luke realizes that he needs to make some changes. He decided to stay in Massachusetts and attend rehab. He was determined to remain on his path of sobriety. When you get assigned to be Luke’s sponsor, it opens a new door of possibilities that neither you nor Luke expected.  

A/N: I finally watched the Haunting of Hill House a while back. I found Luke to be very interesting. This is my take on how Luke would go on with life after Nell’s death and how his continued path to remain sober would look like.

Feedback is wonderful. It is nice knowing if people are actually liking this fic.

I do not permit my work to be posted on any other site without my permission.

“Hey,” he said to get your attention. “I promised that I’ll come to talk to you if I ever feel like I might…. Or if I just feel like I need someone to talk to.”

Sure enough, Luck kept his promise that if he ever needed to talk, he would call you. The two of you have talked almost every day since your first meeting two-weeks ago. For Luke, it was nice being able to talk with someone he could connect with. While Steve, Shirley, and Theo were more supportive of him than ever before, his siblings still could not fully relate to his ordeals.

Theo mentioned to Luke that he could be open and honest with her about his past experiences, his current feelings, and how he was coping with Nell’s death. “I appreciate it, Theo, I really do,” Luke told her over the phone. He just got back from class and was getting ready to head out to see you.

“I feel a ‘but’ coming along,” Theo lightly said.

“But…it is just hard talking about this stuff with someone who…”

“With someone who doesn’t necessarily share the same experience or feelings,” replied Theo and added, “Talking about Nell…and dad…is hard for all of us. However, I do understand that we all have our own ways of coping. I’m only glad that you aren’t…you know…”

“Me too. I told you guys, that I’m serious about remaining clean. It’s my last promise to Nell and I intend to keep it. Plus, my sponsor is…she’s awesome. Definitely been a nice help with having someone to talk to who understands.”

“Well, that is great, Luke. I’m glad you have someone who you are comfortable talking to about these things. So, your sponsor…what is she like? What’s her name?”

After telling Theo your first and last name, he went on talking about how you have been clean for the past three years, that your family lives in Wilmington, you work at a bakery part-time, and that you are a current art student at Middlesex Community College.

“Lowell campus or Bedford campus?” Theo continued to pry.

“Bedford.”

“What does she plan on doing with an art degree?” asked Theo.

“I don’t know! Probably because she likes art,” Luke replied. He was starting to get a tad annoyed at his older sister.

“Can I meet her?”

“You know what…wow…look at the time. In fact, I gotta start heading out,” Luke mentioned as he saw the time on the clock. “Talk to you later, Theo.”

Before Theo could try to pry more information about you, Luke hung up. Theo was intrigued about you but would not pry. At least for now.

You asked Luke if he had ever been to the Lexington Venue, an old theater seventeen minutes outside of Wilmington. He had not. You mentioned to him that you were planning to see the new Marvel movie, ‘Avengers’ Endgame, and if he wanted to join. Luke happily accepted your offer.

Since you had been to the Lexington Venue numerous times, Luke suggested that you drive. He heard a car pull up Shirley’s driveway and looked out the window to see that it was you. Luke grabbed his coat, checked to make sure he had his wallet, and headed out the door. Awkwardly, it was at the same time Shirley stepped out her front door.

“Oh…Luke…hey, where are you heading out to?” Shirley inquired as she strolled with her younger brother to your car.

“Uh, we’re just heading to the movies,” Luke replied. He waved and said ‘hi’ once he got closer to your car.

“We? Who’s we?” Shirley asked. When she saw you, she gave a wave herself and looked over at Luke, waiting to get introduced.

“Oh right. Sorry, my bad,” said Luke with an awkward chuckle and introduced you to Shirley and vice versa.

“It’s nice to meet you. Luke hasn’t told us much about you. From what he has mentioned is that you’re his sponsor…”

“Shirley,” Luke said in a warning tone. The last thing he wanted was his sister to embarrass you in any way.

“Yes, I graduated, you could say, from the same program Luke is currently in. and have been clean for three years,” you mentioned. You figured it would be best to help ease Shirley’s tension by being honest with how long you have been clean. “Luke, we better get going if we want to make the matinee show.”

Luke bid his sister goodbye and got in your car. “I’m sorry about Shirley. She’s…well…she’s Shirley. Very much a Type A personality.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I totally get it. My mom is the same way. She kept asking me questions about you. I told her she just needed to relax and that all we are doing is going to the movies. She sort of does that with everyone I hang out with. It’s like she is just waiting for something to happen, you know.”

“But you’ve been in recovering for a long time,” Luke pointed out. “Your mom should see that you have made a real effort in maintaining your sobriety.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Here’s the thing Luke, we are always going to be addicts. It isn’t going to go away. It is an incurable disease. It is no different than cancer. The only difference that the world doesn’t view addiction as a disease.”

Luke contemplated what you were saying. He never thought of his addiction as a disease but rather a symptom of Hill House. That house was never a home. It left a stain on his childhood that penetrated adulthood. While Luke no longer felt the presence of the “Tall Man” haunting him at every turn, he could never shake the feeling of the coldness in his limbs or the stiffness of his neck he felt that particular day at the rehab center in Los Angeles. He often wondered what his life would have turned out if his father never insisted on buying Hill House. His mother would still be alive, along with Nell and his dad. The Crain family would be whole rather than broken.

“What do you know about this so-called ‘sponsor’?” Theo asked Shirley over the phone.

“No more than you know. I actually got to meet her in person when she stopped by early to pick Luke up. Apparently, they were off to go to the movies over in Lexington. They were in a hurry, so I didn’t get to talk very much with her. She seems nice, though. Luke seems to have really bonded with her. That’s good, right? We should be happy that he has a friend he can confide in…you know…now that Nell is…. gone,” replied Shirley. It was still hard for her to say her baby sister was dead.

“Luke is coping better than any of us thought he would. It isn’t like the previous times. I see the commitment he has to stay clean. I don’t think he and his friend are doing anything they shouldn’t be doing. I don’t think Luke would lie to us,” Shirley added.

“No, I don’t think he is lying to us at all, “Theo immediately interjected. “Like you said Shirl, I think Luke is committed to his program. It is just…my protective instincts are on high alert…with all of you. I just want to know who this person Luke is hanging out with. Maybe we could get Luke to invite her over for dinner? Aren’t Kevin and the kids going to visit his mom over the weekend? We could do it this Saturday.”

“Okay. That could work with not having Kevin or the kids around. Please let me be the one to ask Luke about dinner. Theo? Theo, you’re not texting Luke, now are you?”

~Luke, bring your friend to dinner this Saturday at 7:00 p.m. – Theo~

“That movie was so long,” you said to Luke while walking out of the theater.

“Way too long and kind of boring, especially in the beginning,” Luke replied throwing out his trash.

“Definitely could have cut at least 35 minutes from the film. What time is it?” you asked exiting the building with Luke following behind.

Luke dug into his coat pocket to retrieve his phone. When he logged in, he saw a text from Theo.

“Fucking eh. You are not going to believe this?”

“What? Everything okay?”

“Everything is fine,” reassured Luke and let out a chuckle. “My sister, Theo, is asking me…well more like telling me to bring you over for dinner this Saturday. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

You stopped mid-walk to turn towards Luke. “Do you not want me to meet them?” you asked and continued when he gave you a skeptical look, “I can kind of sense that me meeting your family…well I can sense a rush of anxiety coming from you.”

Shuffling from one foot to the other, Luke contemplated how best to explain his family to you. “Let’s get in your car. I will tell you everything. You deserve to know the full truth.”

Boy, Luke laid on the truth. From the “Tall Man” to Abigail and how everyone thought she was imaginary because her parents never allowed her to leave their home, and how Theo struggles with heightened sensitivity. “It is one of those things that kind of runs in the family,” said Luke and continued, “Our mother and grandma were…they had similar abilities. Anything Theo touches, objects, or places, she can feel the emotions from people. The House killed our mother. It tricked her into believing that killing her children would wake us from this nightmare…that it would save us. Our dad got us away in time, but it was too late to save mom. She was dead by the time dad got back to the house. Then it got Nell. The way it Tricked her the same way it tricked mom. I tried burning it down, but nothing happened. The House would have gotten me, Steve, Shirley, and Theo if our dad hadn’t…he sacrificed himself to save us.”

After telling you everything, Luke let out a deep breath. He looked over at you and let out a laugh. “I don’t blame you for wanting to drop me as your mentee. I totally understand. My bag of crazy is hard to handle sometimes.”

In the past, it would have been a lot for you to handle someone like Luke. His issues far exceeded your capabilities when it came to helping someone maintain their sobriety. However, you were older and no longer ran or made yourself numb in fear of feeling peoples’ emotions. Instead of viewing your empath abilities as a curse, you saw them as a gift. As a way to help those in need. The thing about Luke was that he did not need saving. He did not want some to swoop in and save him from his problems. No. You were able to sense that the man before just wanted someone to believe in him. To know that he is telling the truth and that he was not making any of it up.

While Luke was telling you about his past, you saw everything. You saw the “Tall Man” as he haunted that little boy with glasses up until he reached adulthood, you saw him play with Abigail and drew pictures in his treehouse. You could see his mother as she poured the tea for him, Nell, and Abigail that last night at Hill House, and how as an adult he tried to set it ablaze. You saw it all. You felt it all.

“I believe you, Luke. I’m not going anywhere if you don’t want me to,” you told him earnestly.

He turned to look into your eyes to make sure you were telling the truth. “Are you sure?”  

“Yes,” you easily said and started your car. “You better text your sister back that I would love to come over for dinner this Saturday.”

[onyourzeus]

• stress-free | kwp

ykcyj ➝ arskyh

title: stress-free pairing: kim wonpil (of day6) & you (she/her pronouns) genre: FLUFF, college!au words: 3.4k

author’s note: @pirimiritiddy​ requested a fic about wonpil, and here it is. it went on for longer than i previously planned, buuuuut. i hope it’s still okay aaaa 

(this is the 1st time i’ve written something for wonpil so if i get his personality wrong, i do apologize. i am also a baby myday huhu)

this dot fic (bullet style) is part of the falling asleep on the bus scenario that i intend to write for each day6 member. check out the others: dowoon (currently only 2/5 completed)

any requests? check my pinned post if i’m accepting any at the moment, thanks!

wonpil hates his schedule for this winter term 

who assigns a class that is only available at seven in the evening??

3 times a week

during THE WINTER

did he mention it’s a major lecture he’s required to take?? 

psychology of stress, more like

this class is giving him the kind of stress it is specifically warning its students about 

anyway, what can he say. he chose this major, there’s only 1 more term after this one and then finally: graduation

it’ll be fine, he’ll live

thank the heavens they didn’t need to attend the first two meetings, but some reading material was provided 

and was expected by the professor to have been read and reflected upon 

the class is really living up to its name because when wonpil opened the pdf 

it was 30 pages of tiny font sized sentences (for ants!) about the definition of stress and how it affects every part of the body yada yada yada

wonpil tried. he really tried 

that is to say he fell asleep on his desk while going over the same 20th page of the document 

if it weren’t for jae shaking him awake, he’d miss his first night class 

it would’ve been nice… if only the professor didn’t take attendance (something about being generous enough to make the first 2 classes “free,” so everyone has an obligation to come in for the remainder of the semester)

great, he’s stuck freezing his ass off just walking to the bus stop alone 

hopefully they turn the heater all the way up in the auditorium or else

the thousands spent in tuition would have literally been for nothing

overdramatic wonpil, can you blame him 

he thinks about reading the remaining 10 pages on the bus, even if he knows nothing of value will be absorbed

he wants to tries anyway, he does feel a little bit refreshed from that impromptu nap 

the bus has arrived, and it’s packed as usual; a lot of the students riding the shuttle are just yet to take off in the following stops

wonpil squeezes his way inside, 30 pages of stress psychology research gripped in both hands 

“excuse me, sorry,” wonpil mumbles, eyeing for a spot to sit to make him comfortable 

because once all the people standing up leave, it’s usually a race for the exit 

he’ll never understand college students

finally, he sees an empty seat way in the back. there was a girl on one end and two other students who seem to be ready to get off on the right side

wonpil doesn’t mind sitting next to someone, but once those 2 are gone he’ll just scoot over to give the girl on the left some privacy 

she seems very much in deep sleep anyway, wonpil wonders if her stop is coming or she’s riding to go to campus? 

wonpil doesn’t have time to think about other people, it causes him unnecessary stress

once sat down, his eyes focus on the last page he left off of 

the words register as gibberish in his brain, and with the bus moving so much it makes it even more difficult to follow along the paragraphs

wonpil takes in a deep breath, holds it in, and sighs very heavily 

his patience is usually the best out of his friends, but this class is turning more and more into the psychology of how to get you stressed tf out instead 

the bus nears its next stop, and the two people on his side stand up to leave, yes he can breathe normal air

however

hold on

his shoulder feels heavy 

turning his head slightly, for some reason once the bus had stopped its engine the girl’s head had flipped over to lean against wonpil’s shoulder instead 

oh no oh no oh no 

his shoulders suddenly freeze, as if blasted with a ray gun filled with ice 

it’s heavy and he can’t move, it’s numb and this girl’s hair is splayed all over his his sweater 

and she

she smells of coffee, and wonpil inhales it in

it’s not foul or anything, but it’s definitely exuding notes of espresso bean and freshly roasted coffee 

it makes wonpil feel a little more awake 

but he still can’t move his shoulders, and suddenly he’s panicking because the bus started moving again and even though capacity has lessened by 80%

someone decided to sit on the other end of the row he’s at

so if he even attempts to move, he’ll still be seated next to someone 

wonpil grumbles, lower lip jutting forward

something shifts

and he realizes he shook his shoulders a little bit with his frustration

“ah…” he exclaims inaudibly, panicking at the possibility that he had woken her up from her nap

wonpil tenses up, shoulders stiff and eyes peering at his side to see what she’s up to

she lifts her head just a few inches off of wonpil’s shoulder, and for a moment he’s relieved that maybe she realizes what’s going on

but wonpil only hears a soft yawn coming from her, and she returns to using his very rigid shoulder as her pillow during this bus ride

let’s just say that the next thirteen minutes was more stress-inducing than wonpil wanted it to be

right when the bus reaches the final stop (main campus), wonpil exerts any and all efforts he has to shake his shoulder, up and down, enough to elicit an awake response from this stranger 

the moment he feels her let up, wonpil dashes through that bus door like there’s no tomorrow

he is greeted with the coldest wind hitting his face, and his shoulder feeling numb from all the.. pillow roleplaying it did, if you will 

wonpil feels bad, borderline guilty for leaving her like that— what if she’s asleep until now?? he can almost hear soft snores from her end for a minute there, too, and it took so much of wonpil to resist chuckling at it while in panic mode simultaneously

suffice to say, he was not able to read the rest of the document

in wonpil’s defense, he had encountered it first hand — how stress overcomes one’s body and mind 

he forces himself to focus on what’s ahead, as boring as it sounds

he enters the lecture hall with a few minutes so spare, deciding to sit in the back

the projector screens are big and wonpil is not about to take his chances of getting called on today

luckily enough, he finds a row with visibly no other student sitting around the area 

shoulder feeling more alive, he comes back to his senses as well 

he takes off his outer sweater as it had become toastier inside. he still had a couple layers beneath his clothes

as the professor starts talking, wonpil finds himself yawning a few times

he doesn’t know if the video playing on screen is boring him or the girl in the bus affected his sleepiness

suddenly he remembers the smell of coffee, and how that’d sound real good right about now 

he slaps both of his cheeks lightly, trying to take him back in the zone of at least writing down important notes 

he’s on the fifth bullet point of his note-taking when the door behind him opens abruptly

it wasn’t loud or disrupting to the whole class, virtually no one even batted an eye

but thats because they’re far from the door

and wonpil is literally ten feet away, so when he feels the cold suddenly hit his back he had to know the source of the sudden hit in temperature

the class hadn’t been going on for less than an hour, and there have been students coming in on the other end of the auditorium

so wonpil isn’t that surprised that another student has just arrived 

he caught a glimpse of her hair, but that’s about it as wonpil goes back to his tedious notes 

until the very same person scoots herself in wonpil’s row

he huffs under his breath, the illusion of some privacy now shattered 

with a polite (semi-forced) smile, wonpil turns to the side to greet his classmate

again, wonpil becomes frozen in spot 

kind of like when you feel a magnetic pull somewhere, you follow it

and then suddenly you see it from afar, not believing your eyes if it’s actually real; if it’s actually there

in wonpil’s case, he’s one seat away from her

recognizing the flow of her hair, but more importantly

that distinct scent of coffee beans from her clothes 

this time, wonpil has a clear look on her face and he’s… speechless 

his polite smile has turned into a look of awe, eyes glued towards her 

she senses his gaze, turns to him and quickly bows down as a polite greeting 

“sorry, but has the class been going on for a while?” 

she speaks 

“oh, um, what— what?” 

“oh,” she looks confused, but rephrases her question, “what time did the class start? i had a hard time finding this lecture hall.” 

she’s talking to him, not just leaning her head on his shoulder

“seven” 

was all wonpil could say 

“it started at 7? cool, i’m not that late then!” she cheers, grinning shyly. wonpil watches the way she puts a strand of hair tucked beneath her ear. she’s pulling out her laptop from her bag when she notices a pair of wide eyes still on her person

“is… is this seat taken?” she asks, and wonpil hasn’t even taken in the fact that this is the same person from the bus 

“yes” 

tongue-tied wonpil strikes again, blinking back his own obliviousness to her question

“i mean— no, now it is, by you. you’re sitting there, um, i— feel free to sit wherever you want”

he’s scrambling for his words, flustered cheeks heating up amidst the warmth of the room

she just nods her head in understanding, and wonpil finally realizes he’s been staring at her direction for longer than he should have

“STRESS” 

the professor verbalized into her mic which causes wonpil to look to the front all of a sudden 

right, right. he’s at a lecture. what’s gotten him so fidgety and embarrassed and now all that he’s pretending to type on his google doc is

sdfjfjdfhshllsghgjghsh

just so he looks busy next to the girl who fell asleep on him on the bus

was there any point in preoccupying his mind with thoughts of her, and her head resting on him? no it’s stupid, wonpil knows this. 

people do it all the time, by accident, due to exhaustion, they don’t mean a thing by it

but wonpil is curious, and this is going to kill him. for sure

so he peeks at her again, and like a normal, decent student that she is (compared to wonpil at this point let’s be real) her hands are busy hand writing whatever the professor was saying

meanwhile, wonpil continues to sdfjskgnglddfjs his way to a passing B in this class

even in this large, spacious lecture hall he can still take in her scent

maybe it’s a new perfume that’s up and coming, that’s why it smells so strongly on her

oh! he can ask that? hey, do you mind sharing what line of perfume you’re using? it smells really good

it sounds like a common question, right? i mean if you wear strong fragrances you’re bound to be asked a question about it

he’s about to ask, he really was so ready to ask, what was he gonna lose? his dignity? 

over a simple, inquisitive question? 

“and now before we go on a twenty minute break, it’s time to introduce yourself to the person sitting close to you”

...

why do college professors have to do this? 

wonpil bites his lip, at this point in time he’s a senior who’s fed up with ice breakers like this. if it were any other person sitting next to him, in front of him, behind him— he would just go with his usual introduction

“hi i’m kim wonpil, studying psychology and i graduate in the spring. i’m taking this class for a major requirement” 

then go about his merry way.

but with her? she and him have history

sort of, and it’s the kind of history that is recent and wonpil is unsure if she is even aware of the weird string of fate-like connection they have 

or, wonpil, hear your consciousness out

it’s not a big deal, and in the scenario she doesn’t remember she fell asleep on the bus on another person

then you can just say hi like usual, and cut the string of fate there and then

(but does wonpil really want that?)

“hi”

oh crap she’s started it 

wonpil braces himself for whatever outcome this interaction comes out to. he’ll let her speak, and tailor his response from there

“i’m sorry, this might be really weird but that’s your sweater, right?” 

so she didn’t give her name, her major, anything substantial about herself but instead shoots wonpil a question

pointing at the sweater that’s draped on the seat in front of wonpil

wonpil doesn’t even check to look. he gulps, nods his head and squeaks, “yeah… why?” 

something in her eyes flash by, almost like a glint of recognition

she puts a hand on her mouth, and wonpil can make out the faintest shade of pink blushing its way to her ears

it’s kinda cute

“did someone happen to… fall asleep on you on the bus coming to campus today?” 

“... yes?” 

“that was me” she buries her face even further into her hands, almost lowering down to the chair 

wonpil thought she was gonna fall for some reason so he had to remedy the situation somewhat

“i.. i, um, did you have a good nap?” 

great comeback 

wonpil was so ready to leave the auditorium and never come back after the break

but he hears her giggle, and slowly come out of her shyness

and it’s a sweet sight, to finally see the way her cheeks look full of embarrassed laughter

as she twirls around a length of hair nervously

and taps the pen on the surface of her desk repeatedly 

it was endearing, and wonpil forgets about why he was panicking in the first place 

she then explains that she had work the whole day, and only had an hour to rest up before going to this 7pm class

wonpil listens intently, watching her mannerisms and the lilt in her voice when she continues to apologize for falling asleep on him without realizing it

“i’m not usually a deep sleeper, but work was exceptionally tiring today and i just needed at least a bit of shut eye” wonpil nods understandingly, almost worried about her health

“where do you work if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“at the coffee shop a few blocks away from campus,” she answers, head tilting to the side “i’m still wearing my uniform for it… is it too obvious?”

wonpil didn’t even realize her black long sleeves was a cafe uniform

but it did explain her strong coffee smell 

“something like that,” wonpil decided to say, curling his lips upward, feeling content and relieved at the turnout of events 

for the 20 minute break, wonpil thought they’d reconcile over what transpired between them and mind their own business soon enough— even if he thinks it’s hard to do that now knowing something about her

which intrigues wonpil 

and, quite frankly, he’d like to talk to her more

just so he has an excuse to watch her emotions paint her face beautifully

but there was a pause right after their short conversation 

and in real Awkward Wonpil Fashion, he shows her the 30 page reading material, in all of its flimsy glory and starts asking questions about it

“so uh did you read the whole thing? i thought it was interesting up until the part that i dozed off” 

and wonpil got his wish; he sees her eyes shine in surprise at his sudden attempt of an intellectual discussion

but she doesn’t deter him away

and actually, she’s read the whole damn thing. and wonpil was beyond amazed at the level of detail she explains to him about the parts he didn’t understand

he actually starts typing real notes while she was talking

this made her laugh in between her explanations, and wonpil didn’t understand what was so funny about

the fight or flight response

“it’s just. the way you’re typing this down so seriously, i’m sure the prof can explain it better”

wonpil shakes his head no, shakes it so much it hurt his temples

she laughs again, and he likes hearing that sound

“do you want to see what i’ve typed the past hour and a half of this class?’

“bet :p”

“actually nevermind” flashbacks of dsfkjsdjffdslkg ring true in wonpil’s mind as he quickly backspaces the nonsense in his notes

and the conversation continues from more psychology talks, to figuring out they’re in the same major but she’s a recent transfer student from last year 

and had been juggling work and school since the start of her senior year

wonpil wonders why he hasn’t seen her in the coffee shop yet

he would have done a double take the first time meeting her there for sure

“oh you’re too kind,” she suddenly replies??? 

wonpil had said his thoughts out loud 

without further embarrassing him, she says that she had only started working there since it’s more convenient for her; wonpil feels grateful she doesn’t dwell on the compliment any longer

alas, the break finishes and the droll of the professor’s voice reverberates throughout the room

this time, though, wonpil definitely feels more alert (awake enthusiastic) as the two of them exchange little comments about the class material

and before you know it, class is over and wonpil is an excited bunny. since they’re by the door they got to leave before everyone else

wonpil thinks it’s time to part ways… but this time they’re not fully strangers at all. they’re taking the same class, same major, they even know each other’s name. 

surely this isn’t the last time, right?

“hey, wonpil…” he didn’t even realize that they have started walking towards the bus stop together

“hm?”

“i think i owe you one,” she starts, stopping her tracks to face him. eyebrows up in hesitation, wonpil waits for her to finish

“you know, for taking over your personal space for my own comfort”

“oh that? haha that’s nothing :)” honestly if wonpil can do it again he’d volunteer in a heartbeat

“no, really. let me make it up to you. coffee? on me? i make a mean cappuccino” she winks 

it strikes through wonpil’s heart 

no need for resuscitation.. yet

“or a matcha latte? whatever you’d like it’ll be on me”

“anything!” wonpil exclaims, suddenly realizing the offer being given to him, the excitement bubbling up inside him again. “i mean, anything you’d like to have me try. surprise me,” he corrects himself

that manages to have her grin widely, eyes twinkling in excitement similar to wonpil’s and he thinks

they can get along

they can get to know each other better this way 

“would you be up to go for one now?” 

“oh— oh! now?” 

“yeah, that way none of us takes the risk of falling asleep back on the bus hehe” 

well, he really wouldn’t mind that happening a second time

“really now, wonpil?”

andddd he exposed himself again

it’s fine, she tugs his hand slightly to lead him to the bus that has arrived and wonpil follows in a daze

it’s a little full, so they have no other choice but to stand and hold onto the railings above

“guess no falling asleep here…” she teases, and now wonpil can’t use his hands to hide his blushing face

but the feeling of her just close by 

and the scent of coffee lingering in the air

in between them

just inches away from each other

it’ll do for now

[bottleofspilledink]

God's Watching, Put on a Show || Chapter VII

It was just another regular Monday morning for Eve.

Except for the fact that it wasn't.

In the span of a day, the mere notion of normalcy had been stripped from her, the routine she valued flipped on it's head.

P.E. was now on Monday rather than Friday. Her last subject was history rather than English. She didn't even share a single lunch block with her friends, the only time she'd ever see them in school was in class or quick waves as they passed each other in the halls.

Eve dragged her feet to what would be her new homeroom, lamenting the sudden switch all the while.

Unfortunately, this was the least of her worries.

The biggest of her problems -- besides her sexuality, which she refuses to acknowledge or admit to -- sat in the third row, next to a window, eyes roaming over the worn, hardcover book in her hands.

Eve took a seat next to her, as casually as she could given what had happened just a few days ago and greeted her.

"Good morning." She managed to say, voice as stiff and tense as she was feeling.

"Hey..." The girl mutters back, blue eyes never leaving the paper.

Eve waited for her to continue, expecting her to say something, anything, only to be hit with an awkwardly silence, the only other noise coming from Lilith was the occasional turn of the page and an even rarer shift in her seat.

Why was she so disappointed by this?

Didn't she want Lilith to leave her alone?

Shouldn't she be happy Lilith was no longer paying her any mind.

She had no right to feel so dejected, especially considering Friday's events...

Her hands clutched the rosary around her neck as she thought back to that day.

The things she'd said made her want to shovel soap into her mouth.

Lilith trusted her, that day in the library, she trusted her with a daunting secret, one that could ruin her if word ever got out of it, all to make Eve feel better about herself.

And she destroyed that trust.

She blackmailed someone.

Not just someone; she blackmailed Lilith.

While Eve wept in the dim light of the garage, she could still picture Lilith's face so vividly, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

To her, she had no right to cry as hard as she had, but she did anyway.

Friday til Sunday, Eve would find her eyes tearing up the moment her mind was unoccupied.

She could only hope Lilith hadn't done the same.

...

She forced her eyes to her book, completely aware of how close Eve was to her, yet refusing to acknowledge it.

"I should just be happy she didn't report me," Lilith thought to herself, mindlessly turning the page of her book where she felt that enough time had passed.

In all truthfulness, her mind hadn't retained any of what she was reading the moment Eve had settled down next to her, eyes merely skimming what was on the paper.

Just being next to Eve affected her.

Without the distracting company of Joan and the comforting words of Paula, she could already feel her eyes welling up.

"How dare she."

The thought echoed in her mind as her vision blurred, eyes stinging, throat tightening, breathing barely controlled.

How dare what started as a mere infatuation worm it's way into her heart and turn into a crush, even making itself room to blossom into something more before being cruelly crushed by the weight of Eve's words.

How dare Eve turn her into this emotional wreck, stealing away the little stability she had left and replacing it with a wretched ache and a deep yearn, just as Sarah had all those months ago.

How dare Lilith herself allow this to happen, her guard lowering and her heart longing, still weary from what had happened before yet not the slightest bit used to it.

She had wasted an entire weekend lamenting what could have been and crying over what she thought was there while Eve had probably moved on from what happened after an hour had passed.

"But," she thought, slowly blinking away the rising tears before they could escape her, "I still don't want to see her cry."

Even though she had spent her nights sobbing into her pillow, chest heaving and hicupping, she couldn't bring herself to wish that same heartache onto Eve.

And that scared her.

Maybe it was because she knew herself as a petty and spiteful person.

Maybe it was because she knew only one other person who she could never wish harm unto.

Maybe it was the implication of it all. She knew what it meant, not to want pain to befall Eve despite her wishing it on so many others.

And that scared her, too.

However, wallowing in her misery would have to wait, the nun arriving to start the class off with a morning prayer and daily reminders before they went their own separate ways.

...

With all the guilt that gnawed at her, Eve would admit that she had only been half listening to the announcements, though her mind came crashing back down to earth soon enough when a form was passed back to them.

"You and your partner will also have to be in the same club." Sister Deborah said, pacing by her desk to the front row back and forth.

"This is to ensure that as long as you are inside school property, you will never be separated for too long."

The woman finally took a seat after she saw that the papers had reached even the very back, satisfied.

"So I suggest that you all talk it over now and try to find a compromise so that sign-ups won't take too long later." She swiftly put on her reading glasses and pulled out some papers, a clear sign that they were allowed to speak as long as they weren't too noisy.

"This is my chance," She thought, eager to try and break the ice, and hopefully making up for what had happened before by choosing a club that Lilith would like.

Eve turned to face her, expectant, though immediately disappointed to learn that Lilith was still reading.

She had to say something, Eve reasoned, so she might as well use this as an excuse.

"So, do you have any idea what club you wanna join?" Her voice came out squeaky and strained, the sound of it making her wince.

No response.

"I'm open to anything, really, so you can sign us up wherever you like." She sounded desperate, even to herself, the embarrassment that was being ignored slowly rising in her stomach, spreading to her chest, and at last reaching her cheeks, painting her a splotchy, shameful red.

Finally, after an agonizing second of deafening silence, Lilith turned to her and spoke.

"Sorry, what?"

Eve sighed, not even knowing she had been holding her breath, relief flooding her.

"I was asking about what club you wanted to join," She said, the smile she had plastered on earlier for appearances sake becoming more and more real by the second.

"They said that we have to stick together during club time, too."

"Oh, okay."

"So, do you know which club you want to be in yet? They gave us a list along with the sign-up sheet." She nudged the back of Lilith's hand with the paper.

"This is it! We're talking again!"

Her mental hoorah didn't last for long, however, Lilith's response cutting the conversation short.

"I'm fine with whatever."

The dismissive reply rendered her silent and scrambling for any loose thread of conversation she could continue.

Her amber eyes landed on the book Lilith held with such reverence, and Eve grasped that remaining thread with a vigor.

She wanted back her bold, talkative, and boisterous Lilith.

She wanted back the girl who'd tease her in the library, the girl who'd insisted she ride on the back of her bike when she got it injured, the girl who lent her a pair of oven mitts on that cold autumn morning.

She wanted back the girl that she...

No.

Eve cared for Lilith, yes, but not like that. She didn't care for her like a That.

"Okay, maybe you just need more time to think. There at least has to be a club you don't want to be in." Eve tried to bring a natural end to the first topic before moving onto the next.

"Anyway, what are you reading?" She was no thespian, but at the very least she could try to sound casual. "It must be pretty interesting if you didn't hear someone who was right next to you."

Lilith grinned, like that day by the dumpsters, as if she knew something Eve did not, as if she was part of some elaborate inside joke.

"I don't think you'll like it." Her hand pressed against her mouth, trying to stifle what seemed to be giggles.

"Is that so?"

"Yup. I don't think the genre is for your type." She said the last part as if it was some salacious piece of gossip or a king of innuendo.

"Try me." Eve replied.

If there was one thing she didn't shy away from, it was books. And besides, she needed to keep this conversation going somehow!

"Can't." Lilith turned the page, making a big show of it all the while.

"Why not?"

"Can't tell you that, either."

Eve pouted, bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated manner, taking great care to ensure that Lilith saw this as playful rather than a tantrum, unwilling to return to the awkward silence that was a mere five minutes ago.

"Why not?"

"'Cause you might snitch on me."

The blonde winced at that, trying her best to think of a way to keep things going between the two of them.

"And, if I were to tell on you for this, just what exactly would I be reporting you for?" Eve quirked a brow, rubbing her hands together in a cartoonishly evil manner, hoping the humor would be enough to crack the girl or at the very least give her an opportunity to change the subject before the air grew too tense.

...

"Persistence isn't gonna get you very far in this case," Lilith chuckled.

If only she knew what this old, 246 page book contained...

"It ain't just my head on the chopping block if word of this gets out."

Lilith knew that, by continuing this conversation, she was endangering herself and what little she had left to hide from the people that mattered, but she couldn't, or rather, didn't want to stop.

"It can't be that bad." Eve whips out her copy of the student handbook, skipping to page thirty eight. "The punishment for possession of pornographic material is just a week long suspension and a conference with the sisters about God's plan on human sexuality."

Lilith chuckles again, eyes looking at Eve with a strange mix of mirth and jealousy, taking both amusement and envy out of her innocence.

"Wrong rule." She slipped the worn, nondescript book back in her bag, in case Eve got the idea of just snatching it away.

"Try page twelve, paragraph four."

Lilith watched as Eve turned the pages in rapid succession. After years of reading those lines over and over, she could tell exactly where the girl was reading just by the subtle shift of her big, brown eyes.

The words on that page scared and sickened her to no end. She knew it by heart.

Her mind followed Eve's eyes, recalling what had been printed there word for word, comma for comma, the small, Arial font disgustingly vivid.

"Any student found to have been a part of or currently engaging in any sort homosexual relationship or activities, after informing their parents or legal guardian, will either be handed over to the closest psychiatric ward to receive treatment, or brought to the local church in order to make arrangements for their enrollment in "Godly living", a sister school of St. Agnes School For Girls, where said student can be guided back to the righteous path God intended them to take through the help of His word."

Those eighty-seven words had burned through her skull and into her mind, making her fear her every movement, lying awake in the dark of her room, stomach in knots, scared and worried and wondering if she would live to see another day.

She saw Eve's expressive eyes and the fear that filled them. It was so similar to what she had felt when she had first laid her eyes on that accursed paragraph. Though she was certain that Eve had read it before, mind most likely pushing it away as the girl tried to convince herself that she needn't concern herself with that particular rule, seeing as it didn't apply to her.

She remembered the first time she read it, a mere thirteen years of age, eager and lively, only somewhat aware of how she liked women, yet completely unaware that others did not feel the same as her, knowing what a homosexual was only from sermons and sneers from other children in the apartment as they looked and whispered about the two men who lived on the third floor, or as the adults liked to call them, fags.

That morning, she didn't wake til half past noon, and now she lay in her bed, restless, bored, the only thing in her grasp to pass the time being the rulebook of the school she would soon be attending.

She remembered walking on the tips of her toes for just a few paces, wary of how she distributed her weight over her bedroom's creaky floorboards, quickly grabbing her old night light to aid her in her reading.

What a darling child she had been...

So nice.

So unquestioningly obedient.

So normal.

But alas, that obedient little girl grew, seeing and learning and feeling, no longer reliant on her family to tell her what to think, no longer trusting them to, knowing their love for her was fleeting and conditional.

She read the book on the floor of her room, lying on her stomach, inches away from where her night light was plugged in, elbows sore by the time she reached that damned paragraph.

All the wind got knocked out of her, chest aching like it had when it came in contact with a stray soccer ball, yet somehow deeper, the pain lingering far longer than the marks of the physical hit, travelling down into her stomach the longer she thought about it, making her nauseous and killing her appetite the next morning.

"I'm sorry," Eve suddenly spoke, pulling Lilith from her thoughts.

"It wasn't my intention to pry, I just-"

The shrill shriek of the bell interrupted her, however, and they left class.

Lilith never did know what Eve was going to say, and she mourned the loss like she did all the almosts in her life.

...

"Any student found to have been a part of or currently engaging in any sort homosexual relationship or activities, after informing their parents or legal guardian, will either be handed over to the closest psychiatric ward to receive treatment, or brought to the local church in order to make arrangements for their enrollment in "Godly living", a sister school of St. Agnes School For Girls, where said student can be guided back to the righteous path God intended them to take through the help of His word."

Never in her life did Eve think that the school, the people who ran it, and thus, the church could be so... cruel. Inhumane. Just plain wrong.

"Receive treatment," Her mind echoed.

"What does that even mean? They're sinful, not ill. They need prayer and support and guidance-"

"All rise for the opening prayer." Sister Lydia said, voice stern and strict as ever.

Eve's lithe fingers were shaky as she made the sign of the cross, palms encasing her rosary as she prayed as if to make up for the lack of strength behind her words.

"Glory be to the Father."

Her mind desperately tried to make what she had been told all her life and what she had learned mere moments ago mesh and mold together to form one coherent truth.

It couldn't.

For if God is all loving and all forgiving, should he not make all who follow his word cease the so-called "treatment" they inflicted on the sinful, allowing the sinners to dig their own graves while the faithful remained holy, hands never casting stones upon others, as they too, had sinned? And should he not wait for the sinner to come to him in their own time by their own will, uncoaxed and true in their faith, like the merciful father waiting for his prodigal son to return to him?

"And to the Son."

Did he really deserve that glory? Should she really be singing her praises to an entity that had never once answered her, never once lifted a finger to reassure her? If he was willing to lay down his life for the forgiveness of her sins, could he not as easily give her a sign, tell her what was true, what wasn't, and help in restoring her faith?

"And to the Holy Spirit."

How long has it been since she felt it's presence? Since she felt holy? Where was the Holy Spirit to guide her when she had begged for it, sobbing at the weight of her sins?

"As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end."

Just how could that be?

She was born with the burden of original sin, baptized and made pure, only to sin once more, in a different, despicable way, every act she commits counted on the ever running tally that was the slate of her soul, little lines appearing on it like chalk with her every movement.

Was her soul, and all others, truly like they were in the beginning? Or were the sins marked on it now heavier, graver?

Would her soul stay like this? Or would it be cleansed in the second coming, erasing every scratch save for the very first, save for the one she was given for merely being born?

"Amen."

She did the sign of the cross once more. Her hands seemed to move all by themselves, accustomed to routine, as she hadn't even realized the prayer had ended, body running on a sort of autopilot as she tried all she could to make to opposing thoughts co-exist and cooperate.

Unfortunately for Eve, no amount of mental gymnastics seemed to work, infinitesimal details throwing all possibilities and interpretation into useless, incomprehensible garbage.

It was all she could think about the entire period and everything after, though something less serious would soon come to occupy her thoughts by the end of her class just before lunch, gym.

Or more specifically, gym with Lilith.

________________________________

Taglist: @anon-nom-nom95 @littlemisscalamity @phillyinthebathroom @melpomenismask

[annhellsing]

Best of Dark and Bright

notes: i disappeared for over a week and come back with...... yet more a3! oh my god. anyway shrugs, it’s more azuma angst!! rating: explicit tbh. it’s not super detailed but i mean?? yeee pairing: azuma yukishiro / reader word count: 2,317

He has curled up before, like a cat in the arms of a lover. This is a poor imitation.

Azuma holds his knees to his chest, the blanket thrown over most of him and his hair spread out against the disorganized pillows. He feels small like this, but not safe. No, he’s helpless, choking back hard sobs in an attempt to quiet himself.

He’s never liked sleeping alone, some things never change. Even when he was a child, he would wake missing his brother’s snoring in the bed next to him. Of course, it’s more than discomfort that keeps him from finding rest now. 

There are screams every night when there is no sound of another’s beating heart to drown it out. There is a crash, three sickening thuds of skulls against glass and rubber and metal. Sirens. Then, silence.

He has not tried to go to sleep, not after slumping heavily in bed with his clothes still dotting the bare floor. He tried not to cry in front of his almost-bedfellow as the man departed, that would have been a sorry sight indeed.

Azuma can’t say this is the first time it's happened. It serves him right for assuming, he supposes, that everyone looks forward to a cuddle after a roll in the hay. Not this man. He rose like he cared very little for who he just made love to and tugged his suit back on.

Work in the morning, he said. Thanks for understanding.

There is nothing to be understood. Azuma lets hot tears come now, the feeling of hollow emptiness settling in with the fullest force. He likes sex, of course, and has never once regretted it. But to watch the back of a lover as they decide he is not worth staying for--- nothing on earth stings quite like it.

He drops his head, leaning forward until he can’t distinguish the dark of the room for the warm black of his folded arms. He closes his eyes, trying to slow his breathing to a human pace. It is a difficult task.

---

The salaryman tips his head towards you as you walk by. The hallway is otherwise quiet, still lit up so soon after dark on a weekend night. You watch him go, trying to guess which room he came from.

Sakyo seems unlikely, more the type to arrange motel visits if he wanted to bring someone home. Homare-- maybe, but the man looks a little plain for his tastes. As you brush by the otherwise dull-seeming man, you catch a whiff of a familiar shampoo and the faintest trace of lilac.

The salaryman says nothing, he offers only the cocksure smirk of a man who’s gotten some. It doesn’t set your mind at ease, most of Azuma’s lovers leave just a bit before sunrise. You’ve almost never seen them up close.

A feeling rises in you, not necessarily one of fear but instead that things might not all be right. You turn back to the hallway, walking faster now and heading towards the stairs. You’ll check on him first and work your way down the floors in more detail when you know he’s all right.

Azuma’s a good judge of character, you're sure he could take care of himself. It’s likely nothing’s happened, you’ll hear the sound of his soft breathing when you open his door. You’ll find him sleeping, nearly purring.

But his door doesn’t need to be opened very much. It’s partially ajar, showing the dark beyond and the faint outline of a figure slumped on the bed. You grip the handle and push it open fully.

“Az?” you ask, “Honey, are you okay?”

The shape on the bed moves, his breathing is far from peaceful. It sounds ragged, too similar to sobbing for you to hover for very long. You close the door and realize that the bathroom light to the left is still on, too.

“Azuma, it’s just me. What happened?”

A silver head lifts from the mattress, though his hair is half in his face you can see that he’s been crying. Before you even make it to the bed, he’s reaching for you. You sit behind him, careful to give him space. Azuma wholly discards that, shifting and twisting as much as he can until his head is safe in your lap.

“Sweetheart,” you try again, even though he’s done little else but cry since you came in. Your voice turns cold, something you don’t recognize, “Did he force you?”

“No,” Azuma sighs, sounding congested and exhausted in the same breath. He turns, brushing his hair out of his eyes. You find his golden stare unnerving, you’ve never seen him look so upset. “But he left me, he wouldn’t stay. I begged him to, but--”

“Oh, Az,” you sigh, relieved and yet still pained to see him so sad. “I should’ve kicked him in the shin, I knew he was no good.”

Azuma doesn’t say anything. He drops his head, closes his eyes. He looks tired, it’s getting late. Your lap is comfortable, he thinks.

“How about some water, okay?” you start, “I can make the bed while you put your pyjamas on and I’ll stay the night.”

“You will?” he sniffles. You nod.

“I know you--- you’re working on sleeping alone. But it’s not your fault he was a jerk,” you say.

“I thought I was a better judge of character,” he admits. You shake your head.

“No, come on,” you say, your fingers find his hair. You brush it back from his face, revealing high cheekbones and soft skin. “None of that, we all make mistakes.”

He huffs, half in an agreement and half in relaxation. Your hand feels good in his hair, cool and gentle. Azuma sighs, but rears up when your hand leaves and you start to shift.

“Don’t move,” he exclaims, reaching out again when you turn your knees and try to stand up. “Don’t leave.”

“But--” you start, “Az, I’m just going to turn the bathroom light off so you can sleep. I’m not leaving.”

He huffs again, but this one edges towards a whine. You bite your lip and go still. You can hold him a little while longer.

“Poor thing,” you mumble. His cheeks are wet, you notice. Despite your promise, he’s still crying. “So he just-- he just left.”

“As soon as I was done, yes,” Azuma admits, “I wonder if he even liked me.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut, concerned at how easily doubt creeps into his mind. “If an ass like that did like you, it would be an insult. You deserve better.”

“I deserve you,” he sighs. You, to his unending surprise, nod.

“You have me, honey,” you say, “I’ll stay all night, don’t worry. But you should get cleaned up.”

“I barely want to move,” Azuma counters. You smile, just a bit.

“You don’t have to,” you say, “let me up, I’ll get a cloth. Let me take care of you.”

And the sigh that leaves him is like the last of his stress has gone up in smoke. Azuma goes almost limp in your lap for a moment, before stiffening up and rising enough for you to stand.

“Good boy,” you whisper, giving his head a pat before slouching off to the bathroom.

The bathroom looks orderly, even with bottles of product lined up on the shelves around the mirror. You find a face cloth and run the tap until warm water pours out. Then, you turn it cold and fill a glass. On your way out, you turn out the light with your shoulder.

The curtains flutter in the breeze, there’s enough moonlight to guide you back to the bed. Setting the glass on the side table, you turn to look at your new bedfellow. He’s still curled up, but less stiff than before.

“Can I turn on the light, sweetheart?” you ask. He rolls his shoulders and you see him nod.

You flick the lamp on and sit down on the bed again. This time you’re somewhere else, reaching for the edge of the blanket and guiding it gently down.

“Can I see?” you ask this time. Azuma pauses and then, after a moment, he unfurls.

He’s unmarked, it seems. Not even a love bite adorns his pale neck. His chest looks soft and his breathing seems to have slowed a bit. He stares at you, all the while, while you look. It feels strange to be the cast-off, but it isn’t the first time he’s been that.

But it is the first time, he can admit, that someone was there to want him in spite of that.

“That’s it,” you whisper, your tone turning breathy and sweet. Before you reach anywhere intimate, your hand finds his cheek. You wipe the tears from his red face with your thumb. “You can cry if you need to, but you’re not alone any more. Okay?”

“Okay,” he replies after a short breath.

“Come on,” you say, your tone is still languid and careful-- even as you pull the blanket down farther.

It’s as you expected, his cock is soft against his stomach and Azuma’s a terrible mess. He’s not shy, at least, about the way you look at him. Nor does he resist when you carefully part his legs.

You take a moment, admiring how long and pretty they are. He has legs some people would die for. Others, like you, might even kill for them. But you shake that thought from your head.

“Tell me if I’m too rough,” you say, deciding to start between his spread thighs.

He lets out a soft whimper when the warm cloth touches his skin. You start to wipe away evidence of his departed lover from the backs of his legs, moving inward and going slow.

“Too much?” you ask. He shakes his head. “Okay.”

You continue, Azuma stares at the ceiling. This is nice, nicer still that he knows it's your hand doing the work. He slumps back on the bed, wiping at his own cheeks and hoping he isn’t too puffy. He’s so tired, but he supposes an eye mask is in order.

Any thoughts of skincare falter, however, when he thinks for even a second about how good you are to him. He looks down, between his legs to you cleaning his most intimate parts like you were the one to put him in such a state. The thought makes him oddly warm.

Azuma stiffens up again when that warm, unassuming cloth and your hand moves over his dick. 

The result is instantaneous. Even exhausted and spent, his body reacts to your gentle attention. He supposes he shouldn’t be ashamed of that, out of everything you’ve seen tonight. But it bothers him, oddly enough, that you might be disgusted by such a shift in his mood.

You might stop if you notice, but his cock gives another twitch. It’s useless to try and dismiss something he’s never bothered to control. It feels good, the way you’re taking care of him. Azuma closes his eyes, waiting for inevitable embarrassment on your part.

But you move on, cleaning traces of his own orgasm from his stomach. The cloth has mostly grown tepid by then and you toss it towards the bathroom without a second glance.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “you’re all tense again. It’s fine. It’s normal to react like that. Did the cloth feel good?”

He imagines someone bashful might close their legs. Your pointed, downward look tells him any hope he had of you not noticing was foolish from the start. He nods, almost absently.

“Actually, your hand did,” he says. Honesty is the only thing that sits right with him. He can see your face, lit up by the lamp on the bedside table. You’re smiling.

“How flattering,” you say, “do you want me to--”

“What?” he exclaims, his eyes go wide. As lazy as he is at the moment, Azuma sits up and props his elbow underneath him.

“Look at you, now you're blushing,” you smile a little wider. “Don’t tell me you’re so used to rejection. That’ll make me sad.”

“I’m not,” he replies, “but I thought--”

“I said I’d take care of you, honey, do you want me to?” you ask.

His cock twitches again. Azuma nods.

“Good, then let me get comfortable,” you say.

He’s not sure why that makes his stomach twist. His cock, pretty and thin as he is gives a pleasant throb. But when he moves to reach down and relieve himself, you guide his hand away.

“Give me a second, my goodness,” you sigh, rising quickly to turn off the light. You kick off your shoes and crawl over him into the bed.

You tug the covers over you, pulling your bedmate against your chest like this is a time-honoured tradition. Azuma’s slack-jawed, stunned speechless while you move him to where he’ll be most comfortable.

Across your chest is warmer and safer than in your lap, he finds. Your hand moves down his stomach, taking his now half-hard cock against your palm.

“Be good,” you kiss the end of his nose, “it’s late, so you have to be quiet.”

He nods dully, his eyes flutter shut when you begin to stroke.

Azuma is proud of himself for keeping his senses. You have one hand in his hair and the other idly works over his shaft. It’s surreal, how differently you behave under the cover of dark. But it isn’t unnatural or odd. It feels as if you might’ve always offered this to him, quietly, in your own way. He only needed to ask.

“More,” he sighs, now. Because you’ve proven that it’s never too late to do so. The end of his request is turned up like a question, in spite of himself.

You kiss his nose again. Your hand moves faster.

[mystorytellerstuff]

Searching Truth

Batman Fanfiction

Searching Truth

Chapter One: Fired!

The room was buzzing that chilling morning. Men and women speaking softly about what they were writing about, but as not in too much details so nothing could ever get stolen. Clicking of keyboards echoed in the rather large room, taping of feet walking around to get where they are going, ringing of phones everywhere. It was a busy day, their due almost coming causing them to work a little bit harder. Oh, how she wish she was among them all. She rather be out there stressing unnecessarily than being seated in her bosses’, Mr. Derby, office with him jumping down her throat for yet another article that she did recently.

Her eyes stay glued out through the window, watching all her coworkers running around franticly. Listening to all the muffled sounds that came from the closed door. Besides that, the room was filled with a man’s grievance of needing to keep this business a float. Mr. Derby ranted for fifteen minutes about her negligence of popular media streams and that she needed to get a better story than the ones she’s been doing since she got here. But what was the point if she couldn’t print out all that happens in the night? The people that lurk out only causing chaos to other people. 

“We need more viewers to our brand, Laynie. No one doesn’t need you playing detective.” He told her harshly, his voice deep and gruf. He sat in his chair, leaned against the old desk. The light from both the window and the light in the ceiling caused a glare in his glass. A glow bouncing off his dark skin. Laynie rolled her eyes at his words, feeling her blood boil with anger. She knew red was creeping across her face, she didn’t have to look in a mirror to know this. 

“People deserve to know the truth, boss.” She responded just as harshly to him, turning her head to him with cold eyes. “And I’ll keep giving them what they need to know to keep them safe.” He heaved a tired sigh. This response was not new, but weighing its annoyance heavily on his shoulders. The old man had took his glasses off, rubbing his eyes a bit hard. Uncomfortable, Laynie thought to herself while watching him start to lose more patients with her. She could tell that he was at his wits end of her putting out the crime reporting and digging up activity that happened in certain areas of Gotham.

Mr. Derby stood up from behind the wooden desk adjusting the worn suit a bit before proceeding move around it. Placing himself a bit closer to her as he sat on top of the large desk that was littered with papers and folders.

“What they need is a peace of mind. Uncovering the things that this Batman does in the night doesn’t give them that.” He spoke to her a bit more softly. Hope in his voice that she understood him. Hoping that she would listen to him to keep herself alive. Especially since there’s not a lot to know about the mask vigilante, other than he fights the criminals during the night. He didn’t need her involve in something that he couldn’t very well trust or understand.

Laynie had heard her father’s words echoing in her mind. ‘You can’t find peace until you know there are problems to begin with.’ Of course she had thought it was silly when she was a child. Now though, now that she dug up more of every gang and criminal in this city, there no such thing like peace here. There never will be if people keep ignoring it, or being naïve that there isn’t a problem at all.

Laynie held his stare for a bit longer, not wanting to back down from this. She couldn’t agree with him at all. There was no peace in this city that she loves, and barely anyone who wasn’t living in the dumps had no idea what was going on in the dark. And barely any news cast covered it. She felt that the people had to know what else that was going on. Everything she could find and put out there.

The noise outside grew louder some, a bit of an argument circling among a few people. It didn’t take long for it to settle down. More typing, banging on metal desk now occurring amongst the crowd outside. The

“I disagree, boss.” Her voice went colder then before. Another minute of silence from both of them. His eyes drawing in disappointment at the reply she gave. He knew she would say that, knew her all too well. God have mercy on him moving forward with this. The solemn gaze to her way brought confusion to her.

“Then Laynie. You given no chose now.” With that said, he stood on his feet. Back straight, arms crossed. The suit now showing just how much he worn it. The bit of threads popping out, the material looked it was ready to collapse on itself any given moment. She brought her head up, narrowing her eyes with suspicions. What was Mr. Derby planning now? “If you don’t do this interview, I will have to let you go.” He warned her.

Laynie froze at this, honestly she didn’t see this coming at all. “You’ll fire me?” She spoke breathlessly. It hurt. Having a man she knew since she was a kid tell her this. “What the hell?” In a fit of hot blood temper, she also stood. Shoulders stiff with that anticipation he set out. Heart racing with worry, eyes spiking suddenly. Mr. Derby had placed a hand on her shoulder to her reaction. Wanting her to calm down.

“I’ve told you time and time again. You know your place here. And I am expecting no less than that. If you refuse, than I’m sorry. I have to fire you.” His voice assertive, but in a soothing tone. One she use to hear at a young age. Use to it was because she would run up and down the hallways, almost running into people in the process. Her father of course got on to her, but it was Mr. Derby’s stern eyes and assertive voice that caused her to listen. She felt like a child again, and she hated every moment of it. 

Laynie took in a deep breath then. Soon, she was looking away from him. A bit of bitterness towards this old man now that he was punishing for what she was passionate about. A few people started to leave for their lunch through the window. She really longed to go with them right now. Having to pull on her hair when writers block came, drinking ten cans of red bull to stay up through the night to finish her article or investigating a new lead for her life’s work. Having him threaten her only income just stung so bad. 

Finally, after moments of trying to keep from crying a bit and losing her temper, she faced him. Heaving a sigh, “Alright fine. I’ll do this damn interview.” Her boss smiled at her. It made her stomach twist unpleasantly. “Who am I interviewing?” She questioned him.

“Ah!” He went back around his desk, taking a seat in the big rolling chair. Doing a small dance of success that she was finally listening to him. Opposite of what she felt in that moment. Laynie stayed where she stood, folding her arms rather tightly. This was not what she wanted at all. It felt wrong. Laynie felt a little betrayed in that small moment. What happened to the man that wanted her to live out what she was passionate about doing? Now, all she saw was a stranger before her.

Mr., Derby heaved a sigh, leaning back like any old men out there. “You’ll be interviewing Bruce Wayne.” The answer was not what she wanted. It was bad enough that she was doing a stupid worthless interview. But with that guy? Laynie knew there was enough information and gossip about that guy. Whether they were true or not.

She groaned lightly, rolling her eyes to show her displeasure at the situation he put her in. “Don’t you think there’s enough 'peace of mind’ about that guy?” She questioned again, annoyed. The reaction causing him to grin gleefully.

“No.” He put it simply. Of course he wouldn’t, she thought. “You’ll be at his office tomorrow at 12.” Laynie nodded her head to him before leaving the small area. Mr. Derby had started typing away on his computer. She stopped in her tracks once the door closed behind her, glazing over people’s heads with a heavy heart. They were busy, like every day. Lucky them for not having to deal what she had to deal with. Her thoughts ran a bit wild while at what she needed to interview him. Her boss never told her what she needed to question him about.

That was when a grin appeared on her face. The mischievous glint in her eyes. Maybe she could take some creative liberties for her old boss. She almost felt like laughing evilly to herself at her plan. Laynie walked off to her little cuticle, cracking her knuckles as she went off in the internet to research Bruce Wayne. 

End of Chapter One