#turned into warning of the dangers of language deprivation and telling you all to learn sign language if possible

[ae-azile]

Going to try and get chapter 18 of Progression out by tomorrow. Writing was slow this week and I only have 6k of what will probably be at least a 10k chapter.

I work with Deaf + other diagnoses clients, most of whom have some level of language deprivation as a main setback/trigger/trauma, and several who have behaviors stemming from abuse, neglect, unstable home lives/family units, adoption and the complexities that come with it, etc. It's been a ROUGH week. I have been working with the Deaf community for six years now. While I am almost fluent in ASL, it can be even more draining to debrief in a second language about extremely aggressive behaviors and big feelings with clients who did not have access to an understandable language during their early years.

That's probably why I give Namphueng previous knowledge of sign language in the stories I feature her in. People don't understand how hurtful language deprivation is psychologically and developmentally. There are parents who clearly love their Deaf children, but make very little effort to learn sign. They get upset and frustrated when aggressive behaviors develop, but aggression is a form of communication. Not a healthy form, but sometimes that is all there is when you feel unheard.

And I guess that's why I always make sure Namphueng (who is not deaf, but has had her oral speech impacted by trauma and who knows what else) is surrounded by people willing to learn sign, along with one or more proficient signers. The trauma that develops from people excluding you from conversations by not making them accessible, refusing to learn a language you both can understand, etc is more immense than people realize. Unfortunately, the way I approach it in this fic reflects only a small minority of families.

Anyway, that was my strange hybrid fanfic/real life update. Maybe it will provide some insight on why I approach Namphueng's situation the way I do, or at least why my update might be a little late. Or maybe it will encourage people to learn sign language!

Fun fact = an American signer and a Thai signer having a voice off conversation would understand each other a lot better than an American signer and a British signer. Sign Languages across the world vary greatly, but some countries on opposite parts of the world can match more closely than countries that primarily use the same spoken language. This often boils down to which signed languages develop first, and who influences who (French sign and grammar, Martha's Vineyard signs, and various signs from different villages primarily influenced ASL, modern Thai Sign has been influenced by their older indigenous sign and ASL, and other countries may borrow from British Sign or from other areas of the world). So while learning sign language is beneficial, learning about Deaf culture on a local and international level is neat too. I suggest people check out classes, local groups/meet-ups, and research online resources if you have any interest at all. It can be more useful than you realize. 🙂

[strawwritesfic]

Bucky Barnes x Female!Former Addict!Reader: Tastes a Little Like Freedom, a Little Like Fear [Ch. 15]

Summary: [Name] has finally got her life on track. She’s been clean a year, has a full time job, and recently moved into an apartment that is actually fit to live in. To prove something to herself, she visits the Smithsonian exhibit on Captain America…only to run into someone a little familiar. Adopting a fellow addict is one thing. Accidentally adopting a recovering brainwashed Nazi super soldier is another. [Name]’s life is about to run off track worse than ever before, but there could be a reward at the end if she can just hang on for the bumpy ride.

Challenge:  “100 Drabbles Adventure” challenge by SubtleQuirk on Lunaescence Archives.

Ratings/Warnings: M (foul language; sexual references; references to previous drug addiction and continued struggles with drug addiction; torture; mind control; dehumanization; threatening behavior of a man towards a woman; not canon compliant past Winter Soldier; set post-Winter Soldier and pre-Civil War)

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Tag List: @imaginesfire​; @ginger-swag-rapunzel​

Master List

Chapter 15: Backfire

It ought not to have taken a genius to understand what he was getting at. He knew that she wasn’t the most intelligent human out there–but then, that was why this place had started out as such safe house to begin with. Still, it gave him some sense of satisfaction to see the gears turning in her head, to see the color drain from her face, and to watch the idea swiftly plant itself in her mind. She didn’t want to give in, though. She didn’t want to accept it. He could tell even before she spoke.

“If you’re about to tell me that you’re dead, I’ll know where you really got all that money,“ she said.

“You really are crazy about the drugs, aren’t you?” he asked conversationally. Scoffing, he shook his head. “No. You asked me before. You know exactly what kind of ghost I am.”

“The kind of ghost that doesn’t care who he kills or who he hurts.”

“Wrong.”

That brought her up short, the vehemence in that single word. “Wrong?”

“I don’t–I don’t like killing,” he said, the words bursting clunkily from his chest. “Why the hell else would I be here?” Maybe for anyone else, there could be other reasons. But for him? He didn’t know any. He hadn’t spent the last sixty years being deprived of reasons only to come out the other end capable of thinking any himself.

“You don’t want arrested,” she supplied for him.

That was the simplest answer. Perhaps it would be for the best to let her continue down that thought road. What did it matter if she thought him a villain? He was a villain, was he not? He had killed and tortured and destroyed and nothing but for as long as he could remember. But there was something there, something long-buried inside his head that told him that he had been more than that, that before his memories began, he hadn’t been a killer. What he had been instead was a mystery to him, but she could help. She would help. She had promised.

“I want my freedom,” he answered.

The same answer, but with wider implications. He didn’t want arrested, no. Beyond that, he didn’t want taken by anyone. He wanted himself, even if that self was a murderer. He was willing to kill for that–even this small woman that had taken him in without a second thought. She was having second thoughts now, though. That was for sure.

“I can’t give that to you,” she said.

Always, always, just when he thought he finally had the better of her and that she had learned to see sense and the danger evident in every fiber of his being, she pulled out some little brave act. No, it wasn’t even that. She wasn’t being brave; she was being matter of fact. But who had ever had the courage to do even that when faced with the Hydra’s toy assassin?

He could play brave right back now. She had fed him and let him sleep for at least a few days of his stay there. With his abilities, a couple nights’ sleep and a few good meals were really all he needed to keep going for a while. He had kept going on far, far less before. “You can,” he told her. “You will.”

“How do you know?”

Her voice was soft as a feather, but it cracked his confidence nonetheless. Couldn’t let her see that, though. Couldn’t let her see the truth. Couldn’t let her see that it was afraid. It didn’t feel fear–‘No. But I do.’ He took such a deep breath that his chest ached, and went on:

“I know,” he answered.

Goddamn, why was he always so easily distracted and put off? Must have been something in his programming. Wouldn’t want your secret weapon to think too long or too hard about anything. It was supposed to follow orders, not question–and never think. Thinking was dangerous. He knew that. But he wanted to think, and to continue thinking, he needed to either get this woman on his side or make her too scared to breathe without his permission. Given his background, the latter seemed the easier.

“I know who you are in the dark. When those friends,” he sneered the word, “aren’t looking. You think you’ve seen hell, but that’s nothing–nothing–compared to what I’ve seen. What’s waiting for us both if you give us away. What’s waiting for them if you give us away. You’ll wish you’d stayed in the crack house when they’re finished with you. Because it’s safe in there. You wouldn’t have met me. But you did, and you’re going to suffer for it. One way or another.”

The dramatics were almost worth it just to see the look on her face. Almost. Somehow, enjoying her terrified expression made his stomach churn. Clearly there was enough of the Asset inside him still to voice its sadism. Before they’d changed him, he remembered learning to enjoy his job. Damn. It wasn’t like he even wanted to hurt her. Well, he did, because that would easier. Weapons were so much easier when they wanted to do their job, then when they weren’t kicking or screaming or crying or begging for everything to stop, please stop…

He shuddered back to reality quickly enough. Thank God. Much longer remembering the cold joy of a successful mission after the long months of cold pain and fear, and he was likely to go back to that. Go back to the cold…Numbness was better than feeling…What was there to feel but pain? Come back.

Lucky for her that he had released her phone earlier, because to keep himself rooted he had to squeeze his hands so tight that it hurt his palms even through the gloves. Gloves. Gloves and clothes mussed and stinking from his time outside in the elements, and that stupid shower of his. When he looked back down at her, she was gazing up at him with the strangest expression on her face. Her skin was ashen and her fingers practically digging into the floor. But there was fire in her eyes. Fire that almost reminded him of something. Of someone.

“What do I have to do?” she asked.

It was her goddamn eyes that did him in. He would die here. So be it. Maybe there was something in just knowing he wouldn’t die alone.

“What I need,” he answered as he bent to open the money pocket of his bag, “is for you to take this.” He stuffed a wad of cash into her hand. “Take it, and get me something to wear. Something that won’t attract any attention if I ever have to leave.”

“I can’t–”

His narrowed eyes silenced her. Good. They didn’t have to like each other. It would easier that way. However, the smoldering he had seen inside her gave him some hope. HYDRA wasn’t knocking at the door yet. If she could hang on, he might just have a few more days left to make a plan.

[pascalpanic]

Burning The Midnight Oil (Javier Peña x gn!Reader)

Summary: Javier has been burning the candle at both ends. He just needs some rest. Luckily, you’ve got your husband covered.

W/C: 3.4K

Warnings: oh boy um. language, non sexual nudity, brief sexual jokes/innuendo, lots of talk of sleep deprivation bc that’s a plot point here, brief mentions of alcohol and guns (maybe once each), mostly talk of food/eating, eating meat/pork (Javier does, not reader) otherwise I’d say it’s fluffy for the most part

A/N: ☄️ anon, god bless your soul for this idea!! I really love it so I banged it out in one night and here we are!!

You haven’t seen your husband in days. You know he’s exhausted, only ever showing up at home when you’re off at work. It’s a terrible situation, the only contact you’ve had with him being at odd hours over the phone.

The DEA has been all hands on deck this week, requiring their men to be there at all times unless they’re at home and sleeping; even then, they only get about six hours off at a time, many of them too wired to sleep. Javier only gets to come home every other day, usually during the middle of the day. He’s been staying up for a dangerous amount of time, in your opinion, leaving you just about ready to find the heads of the cartel and beat their asses yourself.

During the work week, you can’t complain. You have no right to. You knew when you and Javier had eloped and married that the man’s job was a baggage you’d be forced to carry as a couple. You normally didn’t mind, but when it goes into the weekend, that’s when you get mad. Not just that you don’t get your husband at home with you, but that he doesn’t get to be home. He deserves it. Javier hardly relaxes during the weekends, and essentially does not relax on weeknights until he’s fallen asleep with his head on your chest.

Saturday found you running errands, expecting Javier home by midday at the very latest. Returning home with a pep in your step and finding no Javier there, your mood and smile fell instantly. It’s Saturday; your husband should be home. They should be letting them go home, you thought angrily as you took your anger out by chopping the vegetables to go into your dinner. Surely Javier will be home by dinnertime.

Nothing. 6 P.M., 7 P.M., no Javier, just a dinner growing cold and your heart sinking. You knew Javier had got his break yesterday, and had been in the apartment while you worked, but a slightly rumpled bed was the only evidence he was even there.

At 8, you walk to the phone and dial the DEA office, specifically Javier’s extension.

Your husband picks up and his voice wrecks your heart. “Peña,” he mumbles, his voice crackly. It sounds like his morning grumble after a long night of sleep next to you.

“Javi,” you coo, heart breaking. “Baby, when are you coming home?”

Javier perches on the edge of his desk, phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder. “Fuck, cariño, I don’t know,” he admits, rubbing his face. “I just woke up, I got an hour nap in the break room office. We have to keep going. We’re so close, I can tell.”

You understand his desperation, but you know exactly what he looks like now, a stubble growing thanks to his time away from home, his eyes bloodshot and drooping. His hair is probably messy and his shirt is probably all wrinkly; you’re absolutely certain he’s holding a mug of the sludgy black coffee the office brews. He’s most definitely the picture of exhaustion, and even though you can’t see him, you know your husband. He is a wreck. “I can let Saturday slide, but you’re coming home tomorrow, I don’t care how long. I need to see you and you need to be taken care of.” “I’m doing just fine,” Javier shakes his head and you can hear a flick of a lighter as he’s most likely lighting a cigarette.

“You’re not, and don’t try to pull that card with me. I know you. You’re a disaster; I can tell from your voice. You haven’t eaten and you haven’t slept and you can’t deny it. I want you home as soon as you can tomorrow, you got it? Don’t you even fucking dare try it, Javier Fernando Peña.”

The full name: ouch. He sighs and exhales the cigarette smoke, then takes a sip of his coffee before answering you. “God, I fucking love you,” he chuckles softly. “Okay.”

Another sign of Javier’s exhaustion: how easily he gives in. Javier is a stubborn man, but over your years together he’s learned that you’re just as hard to budge. When both of you are set, neither of you can be moved. Your sarcasm and wit and willpower was what drew him to you in the first place; Javier could never have a compliant, submitting partner. He’d be a mess. He needs you to ground him, he knew and still knows it. It’s why you’re married now.

“I love you too, handsome. Call me before you come home, okay baby? I want to be awake for you,” you say, a soft smile on your face. Your voice is much warmer, less jagged and rough.

It’s the way you always get Javi, the thing that makes him melt the most: when you’re snapping one second and gentle the next. God, he fucking loves you. You understand him, you don’t question him when he comes home and doesn’t speak. You read him and then you hold him, and all of his fears dissipate with his calming breath. “Okay. I love you,” he repeats again, more earnest and purposeful. He wants you to know it; he worries you haven’t felt it in the past week. It’s also another sign of his exhaustion.

“I love you too, Javi,” you remind him as you chuckle and stand. “Don’t fall asleep on the job. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Javier groans and cracks his neck after hanging up, sliding the typewriter back to the beginning. Just a little longer, he tells himself, then he gets to come home to you.

-

The phone rings around 5 in the morning, waking you from a restless slumber. The sun is just starting to rise, making the sky lighter and colorful from its previous midnight blue. Knowing Javier would be calling, it was impossible for you to sleep fully, leaving you in a dozing state more similar to a daydream than to any form of REM.

“Hello?” You answer with a groggy voice, hoping it’s Javier. Who else could it be, at this hour on a Sunday morning?

“Hey, dulzura,” Javier sighs into the phone. “I’m packing up my shit now. We didn’t get Escobar, but we got one of his big guys late last night. They’re bringing in some Search Bloc guys and giving us tomorrow off.”

You nearly cry in relief at his words, making a noise between a sigh and a squeal,  heavy and happy. Javier laughs softly at your noise of relief, allowing himself to smile. His vision is hazy from the lack of sleep, but he’ll be cognizant enough after this last cup of coffee kicks in. “Get your ass home, Javi,” you tell him with a voice just as sleepy as his own. “You got an ETA for me?”

There’s a moment of silence as he looks at his watch. “5:45.”

Your eyes haven’t even opened yet, and you finally let them as you look at the clock. That’s soon, really soon, and it makes your heart speed up a little as your body forces you awake. “Great. I’ll see you then. Drive safe. If you’re too tired-”

“Steve will not be driving,” he cuts you off with a grumble. It makes you giggle a little, his adamance that Steve could never possibly do something better than him, more competently.

“Just reminding you. I’ll see you,” you tell him and hang up before he can make another sarcastic comment.

He’s glad you hang up so fast. He doesn’t have the brain power for a classic witty retort.

-

Javier goes to unlock the apartment door about half an hour later, but finds that his keys aren’t necessary: you’ve left the door unlocked for him.

He’d be ashamed to admit it to anyone but you, but it really does happen: Javier’s eyes water as he walks inside to the smell of cooking, the stream of soft light through the kitchen window, the sound of soft Sunday morning music drifting from the radio.

You’re at the oven, cooking, and turn when you hear a noise, grinning to see Javier. “Hey, handsome,” you squeal and rush over, wrapping your arms around him.

Javier buries his face in your hair, throwing his arms back around you. You smell fresh and clean, so soft in the fluffy robe he bought you for your birthday a few months ago now. You’re surprised to feel warm water drip from his eyes to your neck, and you pull away with a frown, cupping his face. “Are you okay, love?” You ask, wiping the tears from his eyes.

He nods. “So tired,” he admits and swallows hard. “So glad I’m home. So lucky I have you.”

You have a feeling he doesn’t have the energy to kiss you. Instead, you press your forehead to his and squeeze him tight in your arms. “Okay. I cooked breakfast. You need it. Why don’t you go take a shower?” You ask, breaking away and rubbing his arms.

He shakes his head. “My arms feel like lead. I don’t know if I can even wash my hair,” he admits, his voice a low rumble from his chest. “Just let me sleep, baby.”

“I’ll come with you, then,” you offer, already unbuttoning his shirt and working it off of him purely for comfort. You know your way around your husband’s body by now. You could unbutton his shirts blind; in fact, you have. “Come on, cariño,” you murmur and pull him along to the bathroom by the side of an unbuttoned shirt.

Once in the bathroom, Javier blinks and squints at the bright vanity lights, overwhelmed. You turn on the shower, the bathroom filling with warmth as the water heats and steam fills the air. Even in his tired state, Javier loves to undress you. He tugs the belt from your fuzzy robe, sliding it off your shoulders and tossing it on the counter. You then strip off your respective clothes, and you’re the first to step into the stream of the warm water.

Javi doesn’t have to say anything; you can tell his thoughts from your gaze. His eyes rake your body, taking in the sight of his most beloved person on the planet in all of your naked glory. He climbs in after you, and you grab a bar of soap and get to scrubbing, covering all of Javier’s body with the cucumber-scented suds. He leans his head back against the shower wall, loving your warm hands and the hot water. If he wasn’t standing, if his back wasn’t aching so hard, he’d fall asleep here and now. He’s never been more blissful.

You rinse his body then work his shampoo into his thick hair, your fingers scratching his scalp and massaging his head. “You’re the fucking best,” Javi mumbles sleepily. You just chuckle and work the soap into his hair, stripping it of the grime and cigarette smoke of the office, until he’s wiped clean, ready to start anew.

Later, you wash yourself and let Javier enjoy the hot stream of the water. He’s so zoned out you can’t even tell if he’s awake. You have to actually check. “Javi, baby?”

“Hm?” He mumbles

“Did you fall asleep on me?” You chuckle as you turn off the shower, which makes Javier frown at the loss of warmth.

“‘Course not,” he grumbles, taking the fluffy towel from you and wiping his face.

After the two of you have dressed in fresh clothes, you sit on the edge of your bed and wait for Javier to finish. He pulls a worn t-shirt over his head, then comes and sits next to you, kissing the side of your head. “You’re so good to me,” he mumbles into your temple.

He goes to flop back but you put an arm around him, catching him. “Excuse me, Agent. I made breakfast,” you chuckle and sneak a kiss from his lips, chuckling at the way his mustache is still a little damp. “When was the last time you ate?”

Javier stares off as he considers it. It takes a while for him to respond. You nod at that. “Exactly. Come on, I made breakfast just the way you like it.”

The food is still somewhat warm when you find your way to the kitchen. Javier loves the local cuisine, always has, but something about an American breakfast makes him weak at the knees. He sits at the kitchen counter and sighs as you hand him a plate of buttered toast. “There’s your appetizer,” you chuckle and head back to the stove. Half-cooked bacon, which you turned off when he came in, sits in a pan, and you turn it back on to finish. You crack a couple of eggs into another pan, making sure they sit just right so they’re the way Javi likes them: fried. You sprinkle them with salt and pepper, humming to the radio as you cook.

The sizzling bacon makes Javier’s stomach grumble. The toast isn’t even that warm anymore, but the carby goodness fills Javi’s mouth and suddenly he’s never felt so ravenous. The two pieces of buttered toast are devoured in a heartbeat.

Bringing him a mug, you pour some coffee and his favorite creamer in. “You’d better tip me later,” you tease him with a wink as you return to the stove, flipping the bacon and putting some onto a plate.

“I will tip you anything you want, I swear,” he murmurs before sipping at the ceramic mug, the warm coffee going down like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, warming him from the inside out. The A/C blasts in the apartment, making his dripping hair feel even colder.

In yet another pan, you start pouring the premade pancake mix you’d prepared before he got home. “All of this and the sun is barely up,” He muses, wandering to the other side of the counter and stealing a strip of bacon.

“Quit,” you whine and smack his hand, making the bacon fall back onto the plate. “Your order isn’t ready yet, sir. Stop harassing the cook.” When his arms wrap around you, your defenses fall. “Go sit down,” you say weakly as he kisses your neck.

At least he obeys. Javier sits in his chair and watches you intently, downing his coffee in a short amount of time.

Finally, the feast all comes together, and you present it to Javier on a large plate: bacon, fried eggs, fruit (which you know he won’t eat, but it’s worth a shot), and heart-shaped pancakes. “I wanted to make a pistol, but I’m not super artistic,” you chuckle as you refer to the fluffy cakes on the plate.

Javier shakes his head but smiles. “Thank you, dulzura,” he manages out before he digs in, devouring the plate at a breakneck speed. You’re content to watch, standing across from him. You go to refill his coffee and come back to find the pancakes completely gone.

It doesn’t take much time at all before the plate is wiped clean, the entire thing in Javier’s stomach. Food has never been the biggest concern for him; he skips meals often for work, and you suspect he hasn’t done much more than snack here or there over the past week. His eyes droop even further now that he has a full stomach, and it warms your heart. You’ve got your husband cleaned and fed; now all you need is one last step before you have your beloved Javi back.

“Alright, handsome,” you smile as you drape your arms across his shoulders. “Nap time.”

He can’t deny that. He stands, letting your arms fall off his shoulders. He pulls you around to his front and wraps his arms around you; you know what comes next in this routine. Your feet slide on top of his and Javier walks the two of you to the bedroom, you backwards and being led by him. Javier is not an overly affectionate man: kisses and sex, primarily, hugs if one of you really needs it. This is his one little act he insists on, since you don’t let him carry you.

As you waddle along, you kiss along Javier’s jaw, giving him all of the affection he missed out on in the past week. When you finally enter your bedroom, you stop as you feel the backs of your calves against the bed. You know this routine all too well. It’s usually reserved for when Javier can’t get his hands off of you, when you desperately need him on top of you, surrounding you, kissing your neck. “Wait,” you murmur and step off of his feet, going to pull back the covers.

You return to the end of the bed, standing on top of his feet again. “There,” you say with a grin, and Javi has no choice but to grin back then kiss you. “Okay, continue.”

Then your routine resumes: you fall backwards onto the bed and Javier falls on top of you. You both grunt with the impact but you smile, wrapping one arm around Javi while the other grabs the sheets and blankets and pulls them over the both of you.

Javi’s cheek is nestled against your chest, listening to your heartbeat, his eyes already shut. “Real cute. Get off of me now,” you tease and nudge his side.

His body beneath yours is all he’s needed, all he’s dreamt about while half-consciously dreaming on the apartment couch. He can feel your chest rise and fall, his head going with it. “No,” he simply mutters, his face squished against the skin encasing your beating heart. “M’comftrble.”

You can’t deny him that, you chuckle, your hands reaching down to entangle your fingers in his dark brown hair, nearly black from the dampness it holds. “Fine,” you sigh, whispering the word to him. “I love you so much, Javi. Missed you. Missed my man.”

“Missed you too, dulzura,” Javi mumbles back, but it’s clear he’s almost already out.

“How long were you up, minus that nap, Javi?” You ask.

He thinks on it for a minute, and you think he might’ve fallen asleep until he responds. “36.”

“Hours?” you exclaim quietly, massaging his scalp. “Baby.”

“I know. Had’ta.”

“Well, you can sleep as long as you need to now, love,” you murmur and kiss his forehead. He makes a soft noise of disapproval. “Just a nap. Wake me in like an hour.”

“Okay,” you lie, knowing you’ll let him sleep as long as his body needs it. “Rest now, baby.”

Javier nods and you exhale deeply, holding his head to your chest. He’s back now, your husband, and you know he’s safe, know he’s healthy and well taken-care of: you did it yourself. His breathing slows. You can feel it against your chest, the way the steady rise and fall becomes slower and slower and you know you’ve won when you hear a soft snore, his parted lips smashed against your chest.

You stay like that for a while, Javier lying on top of you and resting. It’s a comfort to have him pressed against you, to feel your husband’s body and know that he’s here. It’s even better to know he’s resting well, deeply, from the way he slumbers against your body. You intermittently kiss his head, continuing to rub his head in hopes it’ll loosen the tension he’ll surely have when he wakes.

About an hour passes, and you find yourself drowsier and drowsier as the sun rises higher and higher in the sky. Scooting out from beneath Javier, you replace your chest with a pillow to support his face. Rolling him slightly to the side, you cuddle in behind him and spoon him, your arms around him.

The quiet Sunday morning is all too perfect. You drift off too, then wake up an hour or two later and proceed about your household chores. You burn some pretty candles, clean, listen to the radio.

Javier doesn’t wake until 10 P.M. that night, 15 hours after he fell asleep.

Some nap.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles

[xenia-cenia]

Razor x Fem!Reader - Trust

A/N - I... have been avoiding writing this one, but he and Albedo are the last two before I can finish off the Mondstadt part of this series. Here’s hoping it doesn’t take me as long as the other ones lol

Post writing authors note: only took 2 hours so a lot better than my other ones

Trigger/Content Warnings: Injury, blood mention, slight manga spoilers, kidnapping, human experimentation mention, abusive sibling, food mention

Word Count: 1,552

Request: No

Summary: Ooooh dottore bad... razor good.... its 1am i have school tomorrow pretend this makes sense

---------------------------------------------------------------

You came to him on accident. 

You didn’t mean to stumble into the Wolvendom with blood coating your arm and chased by people who thought of you as nothing more than a Harbingers sister. You hadn’t planned on slipping in the mud and watching with fear in your eyes as your pursuers celebrated their victory. How could you of known that the scream that’d fall from your lips would alert a nearby boy?

Electricity remained in the air as he set his weapon down. He turned to you with a blank expression, “...hurt?”

“Who are you? Do you know what you’ve just done?”

“Hurt.” He pointed at your arm. “I fix.” Razor walked over to you and kneeled, carefully grabbing your arm.

“The Fatui! You’ve just... oh Archons, please help me. I’m so sorry, I got you into this mess and now you’ll be in danger, why did I scream?”

“Fa... tui?” He slightly cocked his head to the side.

“T-They’re people who want me back. I... I’m the sister of-”

“Family?”

You shook your head violently, “No! Not family!” You sighed, “I’m the sister of one of the harbingers. P-Please, tell me you haven’t heard of Dottore...”

“Dottore. Dottore bad?”

“Very!” 

“You scared Dottore?”

“Yes.”

“Razor protect you from Dottore. Join lupical.”

“Lu...” you echoed, “Are you Razor?”

“Razor is me.”

You looked at the mysterious boy and considered your options; either be found by the fatui and forced to face your brother or... follow the boy who saved your life without knowing you.

“Okay, fine.” You sighed, “I’ll come with you.”

He nodded, “Follow.”

You walked in silence and you noticed kindness in his subtle actions. He would hold branches above your head until you were safely past them or pointed out puddles so you wouldn’t step in them.

Finally, you arrived at an opening. Wolves stalked the exterior, looked at Razor and you, and continued their business.

“Ra... Razor?” You whispered, gripping onto his arm and stepping behind him. “Why did you take me to wolves?”

“Lupical. Family.”

“These are your family?” 

“Yes.”

“Okay.” You nodded, drew out your words as you started to regret your decision to trust him. “Wolf... family. Alrighty. Annnd... I’m here now. This is what I’m doing with my life.”

“Lupical protect Razor. Razor protect Lupical. Razor trust you. You smell nice.”

“I’ve been on the run for multiple weeks. There’s no way I smell nice.”

Razor scrunched his eyebrows as he searched for the right word, “You smell... kind. Razor trust you.” He turned to you and tried to manage a smile though it looked more like a ferocious snarl, “You trust Razor?”

And maybe you were just tired but for some reason, you did. 

It didn’t take long for you to merge with the rest of the wolf pack, though you couldn’t understand their words you learned their body language. 

The pups would run over to you and wouldn’t leave you alone until you pet them behind the ears. You would pick grass and would weave it into a shoddy crown, and each time you gave it to Razor he’d wear it the rest of the day. 

Happy. You were happy. 

Hunting, flower picking, star gazing. It was simple, but it was the best life you could’ve asked for. A life outside of political intrigue, violence, anger, and human test subjects.

A life where you could smile. A life where your shoulders relaxed. A life where you were trusted and you could trust.

Lupical. Family. You would give anything to keep these peaceful days ongoing. 

But, as with every spot of happiness you found, it needed to be crushed. 

Crushed by your older brother and the troops he controlled as he tracked down your location. As he demanded they wait until nightfall to grab you by your arm and drag you back into his clutches.

“Scream and they die.” He had said with a smile. You knew better than to doubt him. 

“Can I...” you tried to blink the tears out of your eyes, “Can I give them a final goodbye gift?”

Dottore rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively. You picked grass, quickly weaved it into a shotty flower crown, and lied it on Razor's chest. And just like that, you were gone.

You were halfway to Liyue by the time Razor realized that you were missing. He gripped the flower crown as if his life depended on it, and tried his best to stay calm. To breathe.

His Lupical were quicker to pick up on your disappearance, they whined and hounded him until he finally picked up on it. 

What was he going to do? You trusted him and you’re gone. Razor hadn’t felt this awful since part of his Lupical died in front of him. He didn’t spend much time grieving, however, he dropped right onto your scent.

You walked next to your brother, your eyes locked onto the ground, you were surrounded by trees and there was a cliff behind you. 

“Why, (Y/N), you gave us quite a scare!” He chuckled after hours of pure silence, “3 months and no message. I almost began to think the worst.”

“I bet you wished for it.” You grumbled under your breath.

“What?” He looked at you, “How could you say that? I love you.”

“You never loved me.” You snapped, your fingernails digging into your palms, “You used me. You only want me back so I can’t tell everybody the awful things you do. Dead or alive, it doesn’t matter to you. I’m just here for your appearances.”

“I wanted you back because you’re my fami-”

“Don’t you dare say we’re family. They were my family. They loved me.”

“The-the wolves?” He laughed, “Don’t be absurd! Wolves can’t love you.”

“And why not?” You finally made eye contact with him, “They surely love me more than you.”

He looked at you with a slightly agape mouth, “Surely you hear how ridiculous you sound. You... you need some food. When's the last time you had a whole meal? Is that it? Are you starving? Are you sleep-deprived? What’s making you act like this?”

“I finally found someone who truly cares about me, and you take me away from them! You never want me to be happy. I hate you.” You took a deep breath, “No... hate isn’t strong enough. I despise you.” 

Dottore looked at you with almost seemed like genuine pain. But you knew better. This was the man who’d set scientists to dissect your body if he got bored. This was the man who turned countless children into experiments. 

You hated him. You hated the way he made you doubt yourself. You hated his confident smirk. 

He sighed heavily, “They always did say these teen years were hard... (Y/N), I don’t understand why you’re angry.”

“And that’s the issue! You never understand me. You don’t even try to.”

“Can’t you just listen to me?”

“I have! I’ve listened for years and nothing's ever changed! You take me away from where I’m happy and try to convince me I’m in the wrong for getting upset. You are a terrible brother and even worse person.”

“Ter... oh. Oh, (Y/N), I tried to be reasonable with you.” He shook his head dismissively, “It really is your fault. You forced my hand. You’re going back to Snezhnaya and you’re staying there until you learn your lesson.”

“No, I’m not.” You took a step away from him. “I’ll run. I’ll run each time and I’ll tell everybody what you do.”

He stepped towards you and grabbed your wrist, “If you disappear again, I’ll just be forced to kill all of your... ahem... friends.” 

You bit your lip and tried to keep the tears pooling in your eyes to spill over, “Fine.” You pulled out of his grasp. 

“Are you finally going to listen to me?”

You turned around and looked over the edge of the cliff. A flash of white caught your attention. You smiled to yourself, turned around, and let the tears fall. 

With outstretched arms, a huge smile, and a torrent of tears, you spoke, “I’ll always run from you.” You stood on the edge and let your body fall.

Dottore ran to the edge and grabbed at your clothes, missing by mere inches. He looked over the cliff in fear as he watched you fall through the branches of trees. 

He sighed to himself and tried to contain his frustration. “Damn brat.” He turned to his troops who took the time of your argument to rest, “We continue on. (Y/N) is dead.”

In the tree, Razor looked at you in relief as you sat in his arms. “Safe?”

“Safe.” You replied with a laugh as you hugged him as best as you could considering he was holding you. “He won’t... he won’t bother us anymore.”

“Dottore? Dottore hurt you? Razor not protect.”

You pulled back from the hug, “You saved me.”

He blinked, “Razor... save? You are safe... Razor save...”

You pulled him down by his collar and kissed his cheek, “I love you.”

His cheeks turned bright red. “Love... Razor love... Razor love you.”

You giggled as you pulled him into another kiss, happy to be free from your brother and in Razor's arms. 

“I love you,” you whispered again, “I love you so much.”

[yehet-me-up]

White Rabbit

Pairing: Jungkook x reader (gender not specified)

Word Count: 5,091

Genre: hacker!AU 🧑🏻‍💻, Matrix vibes inspo, angsty but with a happy/hopeful ending

Rating/Warnings: (M) - mentions of violence/blood, swearing, death of a family member (brother), gunshot wounds

Summary: After his brother’s murder took everything from him, Jungkook is dead set on revenge, even if it costs him his own life. But at the last moment he finds a ray of light, of hope. At the last moment, he meets you.

The blood on the wall is not his, but it haunts him just the same.

He rests in bed though he hardly feels the full meaning of the word. The blackout curtains are pulled tight, blocking any errant strands of sunlight that would seek to come in. Jungkook knows he’s isolated himself, but he can’t find it within himself to care. With a groan he turns; the mattress and bedframe whine metallically, protesting the movement. The blankets would be warm and comforting - if he had pulled them fully, properly over him. But he can’t get comfortable; he forbids it.

Revenge and retribution are the twin flames that sustain him these days. They pull him through the pit of his loss like a rope around his waist, tied behind a moving truck. Through the mire of pain all he can see is one purpose. A single goal he clings to. Perhaps on the other side of his task he’ll find peace, or at least satisfaction that justice has been done. It’s a silly hope but it’s what he has, and he’ll sink his nails and his teeth into it with all the energy he has left.

Sweat coats his back in the midst of his half-awake state. Somewhere between dusk and dawn he found an uneasy sleep. His left leg hangs over the bed, exposed to the chill in the air, on purpose. He knows if he stops searching that he’ll sink, as if through quicksand. And the thought of what he must do is far less terrifying than the thought of what awaits him if he sank to the bottom.

In sleep he grasps the fabric of his sheets with tight fingers. His head shakes from side to side, neck straining and veins standing in attention. As always his dreams are fraught with slivers - of images and memories and premonitions, or what feels like them. Sometimes he remembers them when he wakes. Other times they fade in the light of the morning.

But always he remembers the white rabbit.

At times it’s a real animal made of fur and softness that dances around his feet in his slumber. Or he becomes one himself, when he stares in the bathroom mirror after long nights of sleep deprivation; when his teeth grow and his nose wrinkles and he imagines his ears lengthening to become animalistic. 

It’s important, and he knows it in his bones. But finding the murderer has dominated his mind and always he rolls his shoulders and casts off thoughts of the rabbit. It lives in the world of his mind and he doesn’t have time to wander into dreams.

A discordant beeping pulls him from the fitful sleep and he sighs. Tossing off the blankets he rolls to the side. The damp white shirt clings to his frame and his bare feet hit the hardwood floor. Jungkook runs both hands through his hair, pushing the dark strands away from his vision, tucking them behind his metal-filled ears. Rising, he gets to work.

Once upon a time he and his brother had work stations opposite each other. Computers pressed almost back-to-back to form one technological beast. Since he was seventeen he’s gone by K00KIE and after a few bumbling attempts he managed to find his stride as a hacker. Like learning a foreign language he stuttered and reached blindly for what he didn’t know for weeks before the words came naturally to his tongue. Now the internet has opened itself before him like a book held in his hands and reading is his chiefest joy.

His brother was everything Jungkook is not, and he exists now like the sun does to the moon on long nights, haunting Jungkook like a phantom limb. Less than a year separated them and they were far more like twins than just brothers. Jihoon was indeed almost brighter than the sun itself. Loud and free and unrestrained. He led them both into this world and now, left behind to pick up the pieces, Jungkook vows he’ll get them both out of it.

He stands, pressing his hands on his knees for leverage. The walk to his desk chair is only a few steps but it feels like he walked a mile. In the weeks since Jihoon’s murder he hasn’t had the energy to exercise. Or shower very often. Or even eat. Grief hangs around him like a shroud and with glassy eyes he takes in his workspace.

Jungkook lets his lids close again, dragged down by exhaustion, and he sees Jihoon sitting at his desk with a lollipop skicking from his mouth, speaking with animated hands about the program they made. How it would change the world. The cowlick of hair on his right side that always stuck up at an odd angle, and his eyes that crinkled whenever he was excited about something.

That world is full of bright color and when Jungkook opens his eyes, slowly, reluctantly, his apartment is awash in grey. Jihoon’s desk is empty. Every space is filled with piles of paper full of Jungkook’s messy writing, scrawled on every available notebook and receipt, surrounded by empty take out containers and chopsticks and energy drink cans and the stupid fucking plastic bags his grocery delivery services uses instead of paper ones.

Again his phone beeps, signalling more and more messages from his friends. A few he knows in real life, but most he only knows online. People who started out as words on a screen or lines of code traded back and forth but became the ones who know him best. They know he hurts and are trying to reach across through the digital world to catch him as he falls.

Kook, where are you? Talk to us.

Is there anything we can do? We’re here for you

If you want help, you only have to ask. To heal or… to make them pay.

Maybe he’ll let them, once it’s done. It’s a dangerous rabbit hole to walk down alone, but he won’t risk anyone else. He can’t.

None of his friends knew what he and Jihoon were working on. It was too secret for either of them to discuss online, where anyone could be listening. But in this community death means one of two things - either the government found you, or the competition. Jihoon didn’t fuck with the government, everyone knew that, which left only one option.

After he finds his brother’s killer or - fuck, killers? - perhaps he’ll be who he almost was again. Someone young and alive with the world at his feet. He could get a new apartment with a view of the park his brother loved, full of old brick columns surrounded by ivy and a sprawling network of paved pathways to walk. He could marathon anime and order from that Chinese restaurant he loves and play Tekken and create games and programs with his friends. It’s so close and yet so far from possible. 

He turns his hands so his palms face skyward and gasps in a breath with how badly he wants to be freed from this. The pain and the hollow feeling in his gut and the insatiable urge to undo bloodshed with more blood spilled.

Could he do it? He wonders to his empty apartment, the darkness only lit by the glow from his computer screen. He doesn’t know what he’ll have to do, but whatever price is asked of him, he’s willing to pay.

His brother built a program that was too dangerous to be allowed and Jungkook helped him. Jihoon must have said something, anything, to the wrong people. The reckless joy that carried him through the world must have been exposed and then they came and sank their teeth into him devoured his brother whole. Jungkook helped him build the damn thing. It should have been me. It should have been anyone, anywhere else, but Jihoon. 

Jungkook was down at the Seven-Eleven, getting slurpees. And when he came back, his brother was dead.

It can’t have been more than fifteen minutes but already his brother’s body was starting to cool, despite the warm blood that ran over Jungkook’s hands as he tried to stop the bleeding. He found his phone with a slick, wet hand, the one not pressing against the wound in Jihoon’s chest, and called for help. 

It was too late - his brother died in his arms and the people who did it left no trace, not a scrap of a clue about their identity. The security cameras were disabled remotely. The hard drives were taken by with gloved hands, no fingerprints. In the aching days after it happened he went looking - in the back ups, and the back ups of the back ups he forced his brother to make. Always the careful one. But everything was gone. Like sand between his outstretched hands there was nothing left for him to hold.

Jungkook has a rage in him that would terrify him if he wasn’t too numb to feel. He pops the top of the Monster energy drink and downs half of it in three swallows. It’s warm and the flavor is atrocious, but it gets the job done. Ages ago he would have listened to music while he coded and while his brother dreamed of things that hadn’t yet been created. Now he sits in silence and his world is reduced to the muffled clacking of his fingers as they race across the keyboard, echoing around the now bare beige walls.

He should let people in and he should let his friends help. They’re good, many of them might even be better than Jungkook himself at tracking the bastards that did this. But letting them in is like breathing underwater. If he gasps in air he’ll also inhale water and drown. After it’s done, he vows to try. But not until then.

“Follow the white rabbit, little brother.”

The words are an echo in his mind, pinging around the lonely apartment and so clear it’s as though Jihoon whispered it in his ear. Jungkook turns, shaken and startled. He needs to get himself together. The days and weeks are blurring together and only the readout on his unused but still charged cell phone tells him where he is in the passage of time. 

Sixteen days, four hours, and twenty three minutes since his world changed.

He shrugs off the strange suggestion, as always. Now more than ever he doesn’t think he should listen to what the dead ask.

Instead he picks up where he left off yesterday - or, no. It’s just after eleven at night according to his phone. He picks up where he left off this afternoon, when he finally gave into his brain’s pleas to sleep. The trail dead-ended in all the obvious places he looked. The message boards and chat rooms his brother frequented. Anyone who even whispered about ideas related to the program his brother envisioned. Rivalries and competitive streaks are a dime a dozen in his community, but every time he feels like he might have some goddamned clue it goes up in smoke.

Hours of digging tonight and he somehow strikes gold. At first he assumes it’s a hallucination or a wish so strong he’s made his imagination tangible. But it’s right there in black and white on his screen. In a buried chat room so far off the beaten path he can’t see daylight anymore - he finds a conversation. Someone describing a program and another anonymous name offering to buy at any price. It was shut down almost immediately after it was posted, eighteen days ago.

If he wasn’t already known as Kookie he might have listened to Jihoon and gone by the nickname ghost. If there’s any memory of something happening on the dark web, Jungkook can find it, and tonight he’s scented blood. Tonight he’s not a rabbit but a predator himself.

It’s only a breadcrumb, a fishing lure dangling in the water, but he grasps it between his teeth. Jungkook was always good, almost the best. Now full of desperation and reckless energy, he’s unstoppable. He pulls on the line and it unravels before him, drawing the unsuspecting fisherman into the depths where Jungkook waits. First an IP address and then he finds a text message log and then a name and before he knows it, he’s found them. Or at least where they were three days ago.

Triumph is delicious in his mouth, but it also has the same rank taste as the lingering energy drink. Jungkook blinks and rubs at his eyes. He stands and tests the cans around his keyboard for any that are full. All empty. He curses and moves to the kitchen. Opening the fridge he’s greeted by emptiness. His stomach tightens and growls, reminding him it’s been far too long since he had real food.

A plan forms in his mind, but first - he stops to smell the shirt he wears and winces - he needs a shower. And food. So much food. Enough to see him through to the end of this.

The bathroom, much like the whole apartment, is full of reminders. Razors and toothbrushes and hair gel that has no owner anymore. Jungkook avoids the mirror. He doesn’t need to see the dark stains of purple beneath his eyes or the way his skin has pulled taut over his jaw, turning it sharper than ever before. It’s bright as he pulls back the shower curtain, morning light streaming in through the window while he turns on the water.

He strips and stands naked on the plush blue bath mat. Steam fills the narrow space and hugs him. His brother used to sing in the shower, loudly, to wake up Jungkook when he’d sleep in. He breathes in the moist air and emotion clogs his throat. The urge to give in pulls at him and he reaches a hand to the porcelain sink to steady himself.

Soon.

It’s all he can promise himself and his brother’s memory. Soon he’ll get his revenge and then - well, he doesn’t know. The future used to be a wildly exciting prospect before him. It was never money or fame that thrilled him, but simply the feeling of being a part of something. Together with his brother they built a community and the world was at their feet. Now he feels unmoored, a boat that got pulled by the tide and can’t find its port again.

He’s always been soft, even in his darkness. Violence and aggression were saved for the gym or for Fortnite, not for the outside world. But now a monster has awoken in him and he can only sate it with the blood of the people who took his blood, his family, from the world. Should he get a gun? Finish this the way they started it? Or should he attack them online, eviscerate their lives with code and strokes of his mouse?

When he blinks his eyes are sluggish, and finally he moves, stepping forward into the spray of water. With a groan he leans against the black and white tile and savors the feeling of hot water caressing his shoulders and back. Jungkook runs strong fingers along his neck and massages the kinks out. He rubs sleep and exhaustion from his eyes and reluctantly washes his hair and body. Much that he wants to, he does not sink to the floor of the shower and condense into a ball.

He hates to wait, but he needs food and fresh air and a chance to think. And more importantly, he needs coffee.

The world outside his apartment assaults him with noise and movement and he curls his hands into fists in the pockets of his leather jacket while he walks. Drinking a deep breath the air cools his lungs. He knows the way to the diner in his sleep. It’s yellow and teal neon sign draws him in like a North Star. The familiar tinkling of the welcome bell alerts the waitress to his presence.

“Oh, it’s you Jungkook! I haven’t seen you in ages. I’ll be with you in just a minute, sweetheart.” She tells him with a wave and a wink. “Have a seat.”

He gives Pearl his usual tight-lipped awkward smile, even as he breathes a sigh of relief at her warm presence. Her dyed red hair and bold red lips are still going strong in her sixties, even at the early hour. She takes a couple’s order at a far table, her boisterous voice holding him the way a mother might.

Jungkook takes his favorite booth - the two-seater in the corner with the view of the river. He wraps his arms tight around his chest and sits straight in the seat, feeling rigid and off putting in the warm, cozy space. But slowly the smell of bacon and coffee and the cushion at the back of the chair pull him in. Sagging, he releases his hands to grip the empty mug between his palms.

He starts to compose a plan. Something he can do today, quickly before they escape. But then Pearl comes over and fills his cup with coffee. She slips a piece of paper onto the edge of the table, face down, like normal. Jungkook stutters and reaches for it as she bustles away towards the kitchen.

“Pearl, wait-” he chokes on the word, throat scratchy. How long has it been since he last spoke out loud? She turns and cocks a hip onto the side of the waitress stand, waiting for him to continue. “I haven’t ordered yet.” His voice is small and unsure. He notices the items listed and total at the bottom and his brow furrows. “And there’s a zero dollar total.”

She smirks and looks at him through her lashes with trademark sass. “Sweetie, you’ve ordered the same thing for years. I know you. And I also know about your brother. I saw it in the papers.” Her expression turns sad, eyes widening. “A robbery in our neighborhood? I can’t imagine. It’s so awful.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “I refuse to let you pay today.”

A smile tugs at him. “And the next time?”

The waitress snorts and waves a hand, giving him a lopsided smile that manages to be both comforting and cheeky. “Next time you owe me, darlin’.” She disappears around the corner and Jungkook laughs.

He tucks the slip into his pocket; a reminder that someone sees him. Cares about him. Remembers him. His phone weighs heavily in his jacket pocket. The notification tone is off now - not just because Pearl hates cell phones but because he’s not quite ready yet - though he knows there’s dozens of messages still waiting for him. Lifelines he could grab onto if he wanted.

The coffee warms his hands and he allows himself to look up. Through the windows he watches the river, winding its way through the center of the town and reflecting the sunlight. Movement to his right catches his eye, finding something else the sun loves two tables away - you.

Abruptly he thinks back to watching The Wizard of Oz with his family as a child. How Dorothy emerged from a grey world into full color and how it took his breath away. You rest your chin on your hand and yawn. Books are spread around you on the table. Piles of notes and stacks of plates that let him know you also haven’t slept in a while. He feels something stir inside him, long dormant. Curiosity, blooming in his veins like spring buds after a long winter of snow and frost.

He watches the fall of your hair across your forehead as you shake your head slightly, trying to stay awake. He imagines running his hand through it, feeling the soft strands. The world is hazy after so many days of insufficient sleep and you look like a dream to him. A slight flush has come to your cheeks and he wonders if it’s from the old heating unit mounted to the ceiling that’s been stuck at full blast ever since he’s come here. Or from the fleece-lined denim jacket and blue fingerless gloves you wear. Still, after what looks like hours in the warm diner.

He wonders if your studies consume your mind the way hacking has come to dominate his. From this angle he can’t see the subject or content of any of the books, but he can see your handwriting. Both precise and delicate, it fills the pages in neat lines. The world tilts as he leans up, calves and thighs flexing to get a better view, and he imagines tipping over the edge of a pool and falling into you. Like a parched man looks for water he feels drawn to you with an intensity he doesn’t understand.

He’s already been inside the diner for a few minutes, but he knows there’s still time. You haven’t looked up. You haven’t noticed him yet. He could stand now, and go. Taking his broken, jagged spirit and shattered heart and leave you in peace. Maybe today seeing Pearl is enough and maybe her voice will carry him through what he must do. He fumbles for his wallet to leave her a few dollars in tip before she can come back with his food.

But then you look up, drawn by the noise of his wallet chain scraping the wood chair. Your eyes lit by the morning sun hold nothing but innocence and kindness and he knows he can’t leave now. For a moment he imagines he could wipe his slate clean and be someone pure and good once more. Or maybe if he can’t be un-tainted by the stain of violence and death on his life, perhaps holding someone like you and kissing hope is more than enough.

He’s staring and he knows it, and so do you. With a subtle tilt of your head against your hand you smile sleepily at him. He knows you’re similar to him without ever talking to you. He knows you stay up too late and that your nights are consumed by the hunger within you. In a normal conversation he’d ask your name or perhaps buy you some coffee. But his world has been sharpened to a knife’s edge and he doesn’t have flirtation or standard social customs at his disposal. Instead, he skips the formality.

“What are you studying?”

With a smirk you reach for the book closest to you, holding it up so he can see the cover. Elementary Calculus. “I’m battling it out with some derivatives.” You sigh and rest the book back on the tabletop, holding his gaze.

“Are you a math major?”

“No, computer science.” You watch him, eyes trailing over his tattooed knuckles that hold the cup. It might be the heat of the coffee or the rays of light but he imagines it’s your touch across his skin instead. “But I have to take the last of my damn math credits to graduate. Just calculus between me and my dreams.”

He could offer to help, but in truth he was terrible at math in school. Jungkook found his way into hacking through a back door, not any formal study. “Computer science, huh? What are you hoping to do for work?”

You narrow your eyes at him, lips fighting a smile, as though you’re debating whether to trust him. To let him in. He’s nervous for the first time in ages. Pulse racing and stomach jittery with some bright feeling he can’t properly name.

After a long moment you slide out of the booth and stand. Not to leave but to close the distance and pull out the chair opposite him. You lean in towards him and he smells a hint of the scent you wear or maybe it’s your shampoo. “I have no idea what I want to do yet. Something good, hopefully.”

In a wave of lovable sass Pearl brings over his breakfast, forcing the two of you to move back. He hadn’t noticed how much he’d leaned in towards you as well. “My two favorite night owls finally meet,” Pearl says with a click of her tongue. “It’s gonna be a good day, honeys.” She walks off with a hum and the trademark bounce in her step.

You blush and look down at your hands, rubbing your thumb over the palm of your free hand. His mind is always full of questions, insatiable in his hunt for knowledge and creation. Today he wants to know everything about you. Where you go to school and how you got interested in computers. What your favorite movies are and if you’re from this city or if you moved here and what you might taste like if he’s lucky enough to kiss you, some day.

It’s easier to ask than to share, he’s found. A socially acceptable smoke screen to hide behind that conceals his nervousness when talking about himself. Without his boisterous brother beside him he feels both more mature, standing on his own, and younger. More vulnerable. To do this, to do life, alone now.

“What about you?” Your words break through his distracted mind with the soft lilt of your question.

“Oh, I’m not in school any more.” 

You nod and reach back for your abandoned coffee on your table. The movement makes your jacket and your shirt ride up slightly and he sees a sliver of exposed skin along your side. Forget how long it’s been since he spoke, how long has it been since he touched someone, he wonders. Or was touched? He would normally keep desire locked inside but here in the daylight after what feels like an endless night he can’t remember how to behave properly anymore. All he wants to do is touch you, and to hear your sweet voice leading him to a kinder, more gentler world he’d forgotten existed.

“Figured it was a fifty-fifty shot since we look about the same age,” you answer, now returned to starting at him while you blow on your coffee. “So what do you do, then? I can’t imagine not having my head full of school and homework right now. Please tell me about the outside world.” You sigh dramatically.

It feels almost forbidden to speak the words aloud. To tell you about the world he and his friends live in that’s made of wires and binary in two dimensions. But it’s the truth, and he’s tired of keeping it to himself. “I work with computers too, I suppose. I do mostly programming and some… other things online.”

You raise a brow at him. “Like porn?” Jungkook’s mouth drops open, his fork paused midair and a laugh caught in his throat. Quickly you wave a hand in the air, unable to contain your own laugh. “Sorry, that’s a terrible joke. I just -” you groan and run the hand over your face. “My mother always says I choose the worst possible times to be inappropriate. But you’re cute and I’m sleepy and couldn’t help it.”

After a beat you drop your hand back to the table and look up at him. His chest is warm and other parts of him are coming to life that he hasn’t thought about in ages. Like Rip Van Winkle he feels as though he’s been asleep for years and didn’t know it. He does his best to contain his expression but if your playful smile is any indication then he knows the way he’s feeling is broadcast all over his face.

He sees you as a lifeline. A portal, like from one of his favorite video games, leading him somewhere better. There will be time later to figure out if the connection is real and not just him taking the first hand extended to him. Once you’ve both had a night’s sleep and see things more clearly. But right now he says the only thing that makes sense. The only question he can manage.

“Would you like to go out with me?” He knows he should be smoother or have whatever ‘game’ is, that his brother always talked about having. But this is what he has and he hopes it’s enough.

You look him up and down as he chews a bite of bacon. To a less caring eye someone might dismiss him because of the dark circles and the tattoos and the haunted look he sees in his face these days. But maybe you see everything he likes and everything he hates about himself from a far more charitable point of view. Maybe you’ll be nicer to him than he’s allowed himself to be lately.

“That would be great,” you answer softly, sipping your coffee. “How’s now for you?”

He blinks. “Now?”

“Well, after you finish your breakfast I mean.” Turning, you casually wave at Pearl and she lifts a finger to say she’ll be there in a moment. “I should get some pancakes myself, first.” With a shake of your head you gesture to the books. “I think I’ve earned some after an all-nighter with the devil, aka calculus.”

Jungkook nods, biting his lip to keep from grinning. “Sounds good to me.”

Pearl eventually brings you pancakes, blueberry with the fancy whipped cream she likes to keep in stock. She brings him another serving of food as well and waves him off when he tries to pay. As his belly grows fuller and the two of you talk about your favorite old school computer games he realizes it’s been over an hour since he thought of his brother. While you gather your books into your backpack he pauses, wondering if that’s a good thing.

Then you lift your hand to scratch an itch and that’s when he sees the tattoo. The gentle black outline on your neck, behind your ear; the white and pink ink. Faded a bit, not fresh. The small animal with big ears is a thunderbolt and he stops, then smiles. He holds open the door for you and tilts his head back up to the bright, cloudless sky and does something he hasn’t done fully in almost three weeks - he laughs.

Later today Jungkook will share what he knows. With his friends he trusts. Perhaps with you as well, in time. But for now he has walk to take with you along a river, and it’s shaping up to be a gorgeous day.

Follow the white rabbit, little brother. And finally, at last, he listens.

[lancermylove]

The Dark Side (HC)

Fandom: BSTS

Pairing: All x fem!Reader

Warning: N.SFW

Requested by: Anon

Prompt: Umm.. This might gonna sound a little bit weird but I can request hc for bsts boys, nsfw, but… them finding out that their s/o (fem) is into bdsm stuff? That sounds crazy but I’m also so curious.

A/N: It’s not crazy at all. I think I’ve included whether or not they would like bdsm for almost all the general n.sfw hcs. I’m not comfortable writing out a full-blown hc for the BDSM plays, so fingers crossed that’s not what you were hoping for. ><

———————————————

Kokuyou was a bit stunned that you enjoyed BSDM, “That’s unexpected.” 

He doesn’t mind as long as the plays are not too dark or too violent. Though he may be rough around the edges, he still doesn’t want to get too intense with you. 

His favorite plays are sub/dom with him being the dom and light bondage.

In the sub/dom, he likes to pull some of your strings and set a bunch of rules for which he can punish you if you break them. 

For bondage, he likes to tie your arms to the bed and tease you until you beg for him to take you. 

“Oh, someone likes to get very naughty,” he smirked when he learned that you are found of the darker arts of lovemaking. 

Though he’s pretty open to experimenting, Akira isn’t that comfortable with BDSM. He will try pegging once just to see how he likes it; if he does, he will gladly let you peg him, but if he doesn’t, he will never try it again.

He doesn’t mind plays like roleplaying as long as it doesn’t involve something like master/slave or too high of dominance in general, be it him dominating or you dominating him.

His favorite with roleplaying is idol/fan or any outfit that involves you looking cute, short-frilly skirts are his favorite. 

Taiga's cheeks glowed red when you told him that you were into BDSM as he never expected it. 

He isn't that comfortable with it, but he loves roleplaying. Roleplay any game character for him, and Taiga will be all over you, but he doesn't care for normal roleplaying, like doctor/nurse (unless you're an anime or game nurse).

A smirk danced on his lips when he learned that you like BDSM. "Then, what would you like to try first?"

If pain is your pleasure, then he will deliver to your needs. Tell him what you want, and this man will make even your darkest dreams come true. 

Takami's favorites are sensory deprivation and bondage. He likes testing your limits and will actively try to cross your limits, but not to the point where he puts you in the uncomfortable zone. 

He is also a fan of master/servant but will not push you into it. He will never force you, especially if you think of it as demeaning. He may have a dark side to him, but Takami has no intention of hurting you. 

"I see..." That all he says when he learns about your desires. 

Sin isn’t really fond of BDSM and prefers to stay away from it. He’s more of a romantic who will put on music and light candles to create the atmosphere. 

Though if you push him a little, he may try some of the lighter plays, but don't expect him to try anything deemed dark. 

“I am sorry...” Kei averted his eye and mumbled. 

He will never agree to do anything that will cause you pain or will require him to dominate or demean you, so no BDSM. Though, he may be willing to try the lightest BDSM plays - keyword: may. 

Kei cannot understand the world of BDSM and prefers to stay away, but he does ask you why you enjoy it and adds that he respects your choices. 

Sotetsu is pretty open to trying some of the BDSM plays but will refuse to give in to anything too dark, so when he learns you’re into it, he flashes one of his signature devilish smirks. 

He wouldn’t mind experiment with dom/sub (him being the dom), bondage, biting, hair pulling while taking you doggy style, ice play, and a light version of humiliation play. 

If you ask him to hit you with anything or strangle you or play with dangerous toys, then he will straight up refuse. 

“What is BDSM?” He asked, and when you explained, Gui felt uncomfortable. 

He refuses, especially if pain is your pleasure, so no BDSM. If he hurts you, he would never forgive himself. The concept of pain can bring pleasure eludes him.

Gui doesn’t understand roleplaying either, but you’re welcome to try to make him understand. 

“Uh...o-okay,” he whispered in a shaking voice, “I...c-can’t.” 

Ginsei will not agree to BDSM no matter what...even if it makes you happy. Just the thought of it makes him nervous. 

He will always apologize to you for not fulfilling all your desires and also thank you for understanding. 

"Is that so...," he asked with wide eyes, "um...then would you try out things I like?" 

Yoshino is big into age play, namely being called daddy, as it makes him feel powerful. 

He can also resort to dirty talk/name-calling when he gets rough, and his softer expressions are replaced by darker ones.

He doesn’t mind roleplaying and is rather fond of sub/dom. Whether he wants to be a sub or dom depends on his and your mood. 

Hidden behind his sweet face is another face that is only reserved for you when you're in the bedroom alone with him. 

"I don't...sorry." He touched the back of his head and flashed an apologetic smile.

Anything that could cause you pain or injuries or requires him to use or listen to demeaning language is a no.

His heart is too gentle to even consider taking the light plays into account. 

"What is...BDSM?" Sinju asked. 

This boy is too pure to even think about doing anything beyond vanilla. Actually, he even has a hard time thinking about doing anything intimate. 

"Interesting," Menou smiled and glanced at you with unreadable eyes.

Menou is a fan of roleplaying. He’s an actor, and acting is the most important thing in his life (next to you, of course). Roleplaying means getting to act, so he will be willing to roleplay as anyone.

But if you like anything darker, which doesn’t require Menou to put in too much effort, he will be a little less willing. Though, he does have a dark side, so he may turn all your dreams into reality.

"I see, but unfortunately, I am not interested, especially not in the heavier plays," he frowned slightly.

Maica is a picky man and would be very choosy about what he likes, especially with BDSM. He wouldn’t mind trying some of the lighter plays once, but nothing too heavy. 

He wouldn’t go out of his way to try anything BDSM-related though. If you like it, then he will think about trying out the less pain-giving plays. 

"You do?" His eyes widen for a second before he flashes a smile, "As do I." 

Yakou likes BDSM, namely restraints, temperature play, and sensory deprivation. 

His absolute favorite is eating you out with your hands cuffed to the bed and running an ice cube over your body. He's a bit wary of hot temperature play though, so he will choose to avoid that. 

Anything that involves torture, whips, choking, or causing too many injuries is a no for him. 

He stared at you for a while, wordlessly. "Good for you, but I dislike it." 

Mokuren isn't a fan of BDSM and would not be willing to try. If you try to force him, then he will take that as you don’t care about his feelings or opinion. 

“Hm? Is that so?” He raised an eyebrow and tapped his chin.

Hari prefers to stay away from BDSM and will not be willing to give into it even if you ask him to, especially if pain is your pleasure. 

That concept eludes Hari, but he will be interested to learn why you think that way.  

Rather than having s*x with him, you will be stuck trying to explain the way your mind works when it comes to BDSM. 

"B...DSM? Oh." Though he chuckled, there was something hidden behind his reaction.

Kasumi is intrigued with BDSM but would not be too willing to try it himself. If you push him a little, then he would open up to the lighter players that don’t require him to unleash his dark side.

“Sorry, my dear. I simply cannot...,” Qu sighed and touched your cheek, “I hope you can understand.” 

Qu is not a big fan of BDSM, especially if there is a high chance of leaving mark on the skin. Taking care of the skin is important to him, be it his skin or yours. 

He also is uncomfortable with trying out anything that could be considered demeaning, physically or verbally. 

A never-before-seen twisted smile appeared on his lips, "Then, we are the same." 

Zakuro loves BDSM, especially sub/dom play and discipline. If you're uncomfortable with this, he won't push you but will ask you to try it once.

He has a decent collection of BDSM toys and will want to try everything if you agree. Yes, he has a BDSM dungeon.

If you like the darker plays, no matter how painful they may be, Zakuro will consider accepting your requests.

"Huh? What's that?" Mizuki asked loudly, tilting his head.

He isn’t all too familiar with BDSM, but Mizuki is open-minded to trying almost anything at least once. If you like it, he will give it a try. 

Due to his past, he will refuse to do anything that involves hitting you with an item, drawing blood, or injuring you beyond giving bruises. 

His favorite is hair pulling, be it you pulling his hair or him pulling your hair. 

Kongou quickly averted his eyes and bit his lower lip, "Please don't ask me to do anything..." 

Anything BDSM is a big no. Kongou's main fear is that he may hurt you due to his size and strength.

Aside from that, he is too much of a gentle soul to consider taking part in the darker side of lovemaking. 

"Oh? Then let's try something you like!" Ran flashed his shark teeth and got an almost crazy look in his eyes. 

Ran doesn’t mind roleplaying, and his favorite is idol/fan roleplay. He likes being an idol while you act as the lustful fan, but he also enjoys you pretending to be an idol and performing for him.

Biting…he will not bite you unless you want him to draw blood. If you do like him drawing your blood, then he will gladly leave bite marks all over your body.

Anything darker, he will be curious to try out and will agree to it at least once. 

Due to his love for fire, he is interested in trying out hot temperature play. 

"I...see..." Heath mumbled and shook his head, indicating that he is not too willing. 

Like some of the other men, Heath will avoid anything BDSM-related, unless it’s something on the very light side, like temperature play with ice.

Even then, he is going to worry about possibly giving you ice burns. 

"Then what are we waiting for?" Rico whispered, twirling a few strands of your hair on his index finger, "Where would you like to go? My home or yours?" 

Rico enjoys BDSM quite a bit and will try anything to a limit, the super heavy stuffy he will avoid though. He needs to make sure his skin is in perfect condition, so he doesn’t want to get injured either.

His favorite is dom/sub, with him being the dom, and humiliation play.

Whether you want him to humiliate you verbally or not, he will end up using that language while he fcks you into the bed. 

"What is that?" He asked, looking perplexed. 

Just like Sinju, Unei is too pure to even think about BDSM. He doesn’t know what that is and would be permanently scarred if he looked it up. 

———————————————

➣ BSTS Masterlist

[ihaveissuesbutthatsokay]

EREMIN URBAN FANTASY (I THINK???) AU!!!

WARNING : strong language, mention of blood, of a missing person, grief and mention of depression

The forest. That's what everyone called it. But It wasn't really a forest. 

Not a normal one, anyway.

There was something inside. Something sinister. Everyone could feel it the moment they entered. You could feel it the moment you entered, the air suddenly getting colder, shivers forming up your skin, and feeling a burning hole behind your head where you swore you could feel something, someone, watching your every step, your every movement, your every breath.

You were known as the boy who seeked freedom. 

 People tried to venture into the forest. Dreaming of exploration, dreaming to see what awaited on the other side of the forest. That's why the town folks would prepare expeditions to go outside. 

 After all, being trapped in a small town with nothing but a wide forest to keep you company, that's not freedom. It was almost as if the forest wanted to keep you tight, too afraid to let go, too afraid to watch you wither away. But you wanted to go away. You hated this small town, this confined space. 

No one came out alive in the forest. 

That's why the town stopped entering the forest altogether. It was too dangerous. Too reckless. But you were the boy who seeked freedom. You wouldn't give up. 

Why do you never give up, goddamnit!

You were reckless, naive, young. You thought the world bended at your own rules. You thought you and your friends, together, would be untouchable. 

I was wrong. 

That's right. You were wrong. 

And that's why you will always hate yourself for dragging your friends into this mess. That's why you wished you weren't the boy who seeked freedom after all. 

----

Armin couldn't sleep. Not that it was something unusual. He could barely sleep these past few years, with school work piling up, finals right around the corner, and generally just life being a complete shithole of a mess. 

He had three unfinished assignments due tomorrow. And it was already 3 am. He couldn't concentrate, couldn't focus. He could feel his eyelids closing up by themselves, his hand loosening up on his pen, his head about to drop on his desk---

He sighed in defeat, and stood up from his chair more violently than it was necessary. 

Coffee. He needed coffee. 

He made a face,just thinking about drinking it.  He hated the bitterness that crap had to offer, the sensation of his tongue being burned while he tried to chug it into one go, as he wanted to be done with it. 

He hated it, but he needed it. 

The caffeine kept him awake. 

Mikasa would always chide him about this. At how unhealthy of a coping mechanism it was, to rely on a substance to keep him awake. 

He still remembers how two years ago,  exactly 4 months after the incident, how she would constantly tell him to stop drinking that burned bean water, probably very worried at the lack of sleep Armin clearly was not getting. 

“You don't even like it.” She would frown. 

 Armin would laugh at the name Mikasa used to describe the coffee, avoiding the last statement.  “Since when did you start calling it like that?” 

Mikasa would frown again, knowing what he was doing. She didn't push him though. instead, she would just shake her head. 

“Sleep.” She would say very seriously, while giving him a sideway glance. “You need sleep.” 

Armin would look at her dead in the eyes, at the dark circles surrounding them, at the way she kept her body, the way her skin didn't have the same glow it used to have, her face hollower and emptier than it usually looked. 

“So do you.” He would softly whisper in return. She would just shrug, and the conversation would always hit a dead end there. “Besides,” he would add,  after a moment of silence, “I do like coffee. Now.” 

“Oh.” She would say. Not convinced. 

“Yeah.” He would answer. Trying to make the lie sound convincing. To whom, he didn't know. Mikasa or himself? Perhaps both. 

“Okay.” She would respond. “That's good.” She would grip her red scarf thighter, a gesture Armin noticed she would always do when she was nervous, sad or upset,  and from that,   Armin knew that she didn't believe him at all. But neither of them  commented on it. It was a comforting lie. 

Now as he was standing alone in his small kitchen, still sleep deprived, not listening to Mikasa’s advice, with  a cup of boiling hot coffee in his hand, moonlight reflecting on his windows, a single tear slipped down his eye.  It trailed all down his cheek, slowly, until it plopped into the drink he was holding with shaky hands. 

He missed him. A lot. God, he missed him so much. 

 He missed his smile, his eyes, his laugh, his everything. The way he would scream in excitement, the way he would always run at the high, high hill, always fist pumping into the air when he thought he won, only to get disappointed when he realized Mikasa was just letting him win on purpose.He missed the way he would get excited when his mom would bake him a new cake, the way he would always bring Armin a piece  afterwards, eager to see his reactions while eating it. 

“So?” He would ask, more close to a demand than a question, his tone full of youth excitement. “Do you like it?” 

“Yeah!” He said, surprising himself. Not that Eren's mom was a bad cook, not at all. But the cake flavor was coffee, and he never saw the appeal to this grown ups drink. Strangely, however, he really enjoyed this one. Thinking back at it, maybe he was just forcing himself to like it, cause he wanted to see the boy smile widen. Maybe he just wanted to love everything Eren offered him. Maybe he was just a delusional kid with a crush. Who knows. It was too late to dwell on it now.  

“Your mom is an awesome cook.” Armin commented, licking some frosting off his hands. 

The boy gloated in pride. “She said she will help me learn how to bake if I behave.” 

“I thought you weren't allowed to bake anymore,” Armin said, still chewing on the cake. “Last time we baked at your house, it was a bit of a disaster.” It wasn't as big of a disaster as they made it out to be. But they were childrens, and everything seemed a bigger deal than it was. 

He huffed in response. “That wasn't my fault! It was the oven's fault…” he murmured. Armin laughed. “I dont think your mom agrees with that.” 

The other boy shoved him playfully. “How was I supposed to know I can't just  bake coffee beans?” 

Armin sighed. “I told you it wasn't a good idea. You never listen.” 

“Whatever.” He said, plopping his legs on Armin’s lap. 

“Hey!” Armin yelped, the boy's dirty feets almost getting into Armins plate. “I'm still eating here.” 

Eren laughed. After a bit, Armin joined in. 

They laughed, and laughed, and laughed. 

Armin's laugh never quite sounded the same after he was gone. 

Neither did Mikasa’s for that matter. Probably the others too, but he lost contact with them, so he couldn't say for sure. They still all went to the same school, sure, but it was almost as if they were complete strangers, everyone collectively ignoring each other, in a desperate attempt to forget the incident. The only person he still talked to was Mikasa. And she, too, sometimes seemed so far away, like a mirage ready to dissolve right under his fingertips. 

Armin was about to take a sip from his coffee. More like chugging it down in one go, but he froze right as the cup touched his lips. 

His hands started to tremble, from fear or cold, he couldn't distinguish. Despite the heat of the beverage in his hand, he suddenly felt really cold. His arms shivered, his hands turning white as he clenched to his cup as if it could give him a sense of support. By gripping it too hard, some coffee splashed onto his hands, and he let out a hiss of pain. He put the coffee on the table, careful  not to spill anymore. 

 He started feeling feverish, his head becoming a dizzying mess. He put a hand on the counter, for support. He felt like an invisible force was pushing his lungs, pushing until he couldn't breath, until he was coughing, and coughing, he needed air, he desperately needed air, but it was as if whatever was making him feel likethis, hated air, hated it with a burning passion, and it wanted to make Armin hate air as much as it did. 

Armin felt like fainting. He probably was about to faint. He didn't know how it happened, but suddenly he was kneeling on the ground, 

This is it. He thought miserably. I am going to die, today, alone, without even knowing if he is still alive, leaving Eren behind, leaving Mikasa behind, leaving everyone behind, because im  a failure, and, and, and---

And then it stopped. His lungs could breathe again. He gasped, desperately trying to inhale as much air as possible, the burning in chest slowly fading away, even if  his head still felt like someone was smashing a rock onto it. 

But he could finally breathe again, and he could feel his pulse. He wasn't dead. He was alive. That's what mattered. He took another shaky breath, and used the chairs and the counter as support to stand up again. His legs were still shaking though, so instead of standing up, he opted to sit on the chair. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Those were the only thoughts going through his head, as he tried to sip his coffee again. That sensation, that feeling. There was no mistake. It was just like the incident two years ago, the same burning sensation, the same desperation to just give up, to do anything, anything, just so the pain could stop, the envy of being able to breathe---

“Ymir.” 

The cup shattered on the ground, a sharp sound echoing through the empty hallways, coffee spilling everywhere. Armin didn't even notice. He was frozen in place, hand still raised, eyes still looking in front of him. 

That voice. He couldn't make sense of anything. Except : That voice. 

That voice. I know that voice. I would know that voice everywhere. 

He turned around so quickly his chair went flying to the ground, glass splintering his bare feet from where the glass shattered. His eyes widened, tears spilling out of his ocean blue eyes like fountains. 

“Eren?” He whispered. He took a step forward, hand reaching out, trying to touch him, hug him, kiss him, just feel him under his touch but---

His hands went right through him, as if...as if he wasn't real. A look of hurt and confusion shadowed Armin's face. “Ymir.” The man in front of him said again. He sounded monotone, no emotions, no feelings, no nothing. His face didn't seem like an open book anymore, his eyes not gleaming with millions' adventure. 

 “You have to find Ymir.” 

“Eren.” That's all Armin could muster to utter, his voice shaking, his lips trembling. Was this a sick joke of his brain? The sleep deprivation finally kicking in? Making him almost pass out, and now hallucinate his missing-but-much-more-likely-his-long-lost-dead-best-friend?

“Listen to me, you have to listen to me, you need to find Ymir, or else, or else, or else.” He kept repeating the same sentence, as if he was a broken recorder. He closed his eyes, opened them again, closed them again. Armin took a step backwards. His mind was starting to creep him out. 

“Eren, is that really you, please tell me I'm not hallucinating you.” He needed to ask, even if it was probably all fake, all his mind–

“Or else.” He closed his eyes again, muttered some stuff.

“Or else?” Armin whispered. “Eren, talk to me, please.” 

“Ymir. Find. Ymir.” 

With that, Eren started to fade again.

“Wait, no!” Armin didn't want him to leave, not right after he finally got to see him again. He didn't care this might all be his head. He didn't care this might all have to do with what happened three years ago, he didn't care, he just wanted his best friend back, he just wanted to be able to laugh and mess around, and talk about the future as if they both had a clue, he just wanted Eren back. 

In his desperate attempt to reach him, Armin slipped on the spilled coffee; he could feel blood oozing from his feets, now from his hands, a stinging pain forming all around his skin. He didn't care, didn't notice. He struggled to get up again, and when he slipped again, he decided to crawl, not caring about the glass shatters on the floor, not caring about the pain, the stiffness of the floor, the red blood mixing with the brown coffee, he didn't care, he just needed to reach him, try again to touch him, maybe he imagined him fading under his touch, maybe it was a trick of the light, maybe he truly did come back, maybe, maybe, just maybe---

“Dont.” He whispered, more like a mix between a sob and a beg. “Don't go.” 

“Armin–?” He sounded surprised, shocked, relieved, happy, nothing like the creepy expression and monotone voice he had before when he was muttering all those things, the same name over and over again, what was it again---he couldn't remember in the moment, the only thing in his mind was that he recognized him, he saw him and he knew who he was, and he said his name so gentle, so quietly, as if he was uttering a precious thing he didn't want to break–

“Eren.” Armin said, reaching his arms out, knowing, just knowing, he would reach his arm to, and they would hold hands, and everything would be fine again, he would have his best friend back–

But just as suddenly as he appeared, he disappeared. 

And Armin couldn't do anything but curl up on the ground and cry, and cry, until his mind encircled him into a deep, unwanted sleep. 

[missinghan]

「 what am I // stray kids 」

❖ genre : sci-fi; superpower au; platonic relationship au

❖ word count : 3,9k (bullet points only)

❖ warning : explicit language, most likely ain’t scientifically true at all

❖ summary : superpowers manifest in certain individuals once they hit puberty and naturally, those odd abilities will vanish as soon as adulthood occurs; but how will those teenagers protect themselves from the curiosity of science?

❖ a/n : this isn’t a proper fic since I don’t think I’ll actually write smth decent out of this but I don’t want the idea to rot inside my dungeon either- so yea, bear with me through this character intro post(?)

— bang chan ↠ locating ability-wielders & teleportation

· sometimes when he’s running errands for his parents, chan can feel a distinct ‘zing’ ins his bones if someone else with unusual abilities is nearby and can describe their power perfectly to the t; he ignores it at first but learns to make do with it eventually; can teleport another person with him and also needs to calculate carefully before teleporting because he once ends up in the middle of a freeway instead of school resulting from lack of sleep.

· looks intimidating but is the first to talk to a new kid in class and show them around as he’s president of the school’s student council; smiles and laughs a lot once you get to know him, and is also very caring, reliable.

· he wishes to apply for a music production company after his college graduation but his family turned the idea down almost immediately and sent him to a boarding school in Europe.

· chan starts taking notice in strange things at his new school after the first few weeks; for example: how they unreasonably force students to have a daily health checkup, how their food taste like medicine most of the times, teachers don’t really seem to care about what they’re teaching and some of his classmates mysteriously ‘move away’ whenever security shows up at their dorm in the middle of the night.

· after finding out where they actually are via photos of students being locked up inside cells, arms and legs chained up like domestic animals, injected with odd substances on a daily basis which were taken by an anonymous individual, chan secretly packs his stuff and decides to ditch this so-called boarding school for good.

· he works hard to hide his identity ensuing flying back to his hometown for a solid three weeks and the fact that there are more people cursed with supernatural abilities begins dawning onto him; cutting off contact with his family completely, moving from one crusty apartment to another every month, chan tackles this crazy idea of assembling a group consisted of extraordinary people to give him a hand with creating a safe environment for the ‘gifted’ youths.

— lee minho ↠ collapse

· law major, quite the loner, raised by a single mother; didn’t have much since little but his mother’s love and affection make up for everything.

· looks intimidating, is actually intimidating; the only person he talks to in college is his dance coach, doesn’t like school nor has many friends; his slightest glare is as cold as a wife trying to win custody of her children in court.

· minho can make his surroundings crumble and fall apart with his mind, which shouldn’t be confused with telekinesis since he can’t physically move objects to his will; this deadly power is triggered whenever he’s experiencing extremely negative emotions like fear or anguish and he’s not (still isn’t) very good at getting a hold of it.

· a group of suspicious men shows up at his house one day as he returns home from dance practice; they claim to be an agency looking for up and coming talents but by the way that his mother is staring at the ground nervously with her legs trembling, his institution tells him that something’s off.

· he firmly declines their offer with a stiff “I’m uncertain that I’m the talent you gentlemen are looking for, but you should know that when the cops are here to fill out their reports, I’m gonna be very helpful, as helpful as possible.”

· “what other random merry of fucking misdemeanors are going to pop up once they go through your records? domestic violence? illegal substances and weapons possession? human trafficking?”

· with a gun to her head, his mom scrambles to her knees and begs him to go with them, admitting that she’s already signed the contract; if he follows their orders and agrees to become an experimental subject, she won’t have to worry about any financial problems for the rest of her life.

· in the heat of the moment, they ultimately force him to activate his power for the very first time; as a result, his house collapses, the death of his only family and the group of men following suit.

· “I’m too late.”

· chan manages to find minho under the aftermath, severely injured and is hanging by a string of life so fragile that can only be saved after undergoing a twelve-hour operation at the hospital.

— seo changbin ↠ sound waves manipulation

· a good student, reputable within his social sphere at school, and comes from a pretty well-off family.

· changbin is able to bend and control sound waves to his advantage; whether it’s simply for his musical instruments or moving objects around, he can also use something as minor as his own heartbeat when he’s emotionally unstable; using the ability continuously for too long can give him severe migraines and potentially damage his brain to a degree if he’s not mindful of it.

· he stays up late at night to write and produce his own songs, keeping it a secret from his parents; posts his own songs on a SoundCloud account, or performs even live at a random underground club under the alias SpearB if he has the chance to.

· an organization full of outlaw scientists comes across a video of his performance on the web, analyzing how he can enhance the beat, his vocal cords without the help of any form of technology, and just like that, he easily tops the list of their targets.

· having no choice but to do what they want when those men hold his parents hostage inside his family’s mansion, changbin gets sent to the same boarding school as chan but they’re being observed in different buildings for his power is on the more useful and dangerous side; hence, his classes consist of a smaller amount of students and they are put through checkups more constantly.

· he doesn’t really pay attention to the skepticisms that reek off all over the place as he’s too busy being homesick and studying because he fully believes that the harder he works, the more obediently he acts, the sooner they’ll let him go; all hell breaks loose when those photos are scattered everywhere, from the hallways to the bathrooms; changbin takes advantage in the riot to get himself out of there as quickly as he can possibly run to the airport.

· changbin swears to never trust anyone again until chan and minho find him sleeping inside an abandoned grocery store with a pistol inside his sleeping bag, two daggers concealed in his sleeves at all times.

· “are we seriously going to contain some headass who was this close to blowing my brain out of my head?”

· “huh, funny, last time I checked, you almost smothered me to death under a gigantic block of cement when I was trying to save your life.”

· “who are you guys and how the hell did you get in here? I don’t recall not locking the door.”

— hwang hyunjin ↠ permeation & memory manipulation

· a true theater kid, meaning he knows almost everyone but every single student at school knows him; naturally, becomes the Prince after playing one too many male lead roles because of his godly features; rather well-mannered and diligent though he doesn’t look like it.

· mistaken to be a player by every new batch of freshmen that only ever gets to watch him practicing his lines from afar, swooning tremendously whenever he ties up his hair; always carries a camera around, doesn’t like to have too many friends but if you get close enough, he’s probably the most fun to be around, won’t ever judge your questionable life choices.

· hyunjin’s ability allows him to walk right through walls as well as any other solid matters but it will drain his stamina painstakingly, causing him to run short on breaths after using his power to change his costumes faster between scenes; the thicker the wall is, the more strength it takes for him to pass through completely.

· he can also erase a certain chunk of memory from someone’s mind but he needs to physically touch them; has only used this ability one time to wipe his existence out of a childhood best friend’s mind before moving away from his hometown. 

· his interest in photography sparks the moment his uncle comes back from a business trip and gives him a toy camera, it’s nowhere near the real ones but the ten-year-old hwang hyunjin sure takes it very, very seriously; after a decade or so, he has replaced it with cameras that actually work and developed quite the talent for taking photos of sceneries and people (jisung is his number one victim but he can’t care less as long as he looks decent and that hyunjin won’t save any crack ones to blackmail him).

· suddenly gets a sketchy summer scholarship to a boarding school in London (the same so-called school that Chan and Changbin went to), his mom encourages him to go after looking it up on the internet without knowing the chances of her own son being exploited for twisted science is shockingly high.

· and the culprit who takes those photos during a wandering around school after curfew is none other than hyunjin himself; he knows damn well posting those photos means getting himself into trouble but heck, his conscience forbids him to leave this hell-on-earth place without alerting these innocent people.

· so the night before those photos are spread everywhere, in every corner, every edge of the building, hyunjin smashes his camera completely with a baseball bat and burns the broken bits in the school backyard; he tries getting through those sleep-deprived men in their fifties who aren’t likely paid enough with his ability and flees.

· surprisingly, he comes rushing into his best friend’s house right after his horrendous flights only to find him being surrounded by three mysterious men.

— han jisung ↠ plunder

· the jokester of the class, takes great joy in stressing the living daylights out of his professors with irrational questions that aren’t necessarily relevant to the lesson, procrastinates, and sleeps through lessons like there’s no tomorrow but still keeps that shiny ‘A’ on his report card nonetheless.

· being friends with hyunjin results in occasional admirers here and there for him but he does kinda have his own fandom base after being pulled upstage out of the blue in the middle of last year’s spring music festival, musing him an opportunity to show off his rapping skills; because of that event, he takes writing music more seriously with the stage name J.One.

· if jisung is being honest, he hardly uses his power since it’s basically taking over anyone’s body and mind for a maximum of five seconds meanwhile his own body is immobile; and if any physical effects occur (for example, a basketball hits him on the head spontaneously), he’s obligated to endure that pain for that person until they become conscious of their own body again.

· he’s not a creep, he swears.

· and who knows? what if his body gets kidnapped within those five seconds?

· hyunjin and jisung know about each other’s ability but don’t really discuss nor talk about them because they don’t find walking through walls or temporarily possessing someone’s body cool.

· well, that’s that until chan, minho and changbin show up at his house the same day when hyunjin returns from his summer exchange program with a cut lip and bruised knuckles. 

· “han jisung, you’re going to have to come with us unless you want to live inside a cage for the rest of your life.”

· “I’m sorry, are you threatening me?”

· “we’re trying to protect you, smartass, you’re far too dangerous to be roaming the streets so freely.”

· “....me? I’m dangerous?”

· jisung not knowing the slightest bit about his own ability downright baffles chan—he’s only scratched the surface of it at this point; his true potential is if he’s taking over another ability-wielder’s body, he will then take their power for himself; and jisung can’t remember the last time he properly uses it either.

— lee felix ↠ imperfect invisibility

· initially lives in Australia but after finding out about his ability, he moves to Seoul with his parents to live a quieter, more covered-up life without being surrounded by too many relatives.

· an absolute sweetheart, smart, kind, honest, a little slow to read in between the lines at times; can concentrate relatively well on an empty stomach, but gets drowsy quickly after eating, especially big meals. 

· lix is also homeschooled up until high school in order to avoid any unwanted situation; later on, applies for a course that can be taken online for the most parts at an average-ish university to not draw so much attention. 

· since he stays at home most of the time, he spends lots of time playing different video games, experiences random cooking recipes without burning the house down, and teaches himself how to dance through online tutorials, getting awfully good at it fast partially thanks to his natural flexibility.

· he can disappear from a single person’s field of vision for as long as he wants to but it’s still limited and considered flawed since felix can only disappear from the sight one person of his choice at a time; although it can come in quite handy whenever he gets shoved into a dark alleyway by random people varying from cheap pickpockets with a box-cutting knife to muscular men dressed in black.

· learns boxing during middle school so he can still kick asses to preserve his own life.

· felix once punches jisung in the gut and slaps hyunjin in the face with a cabbage after seeing them follow each and every one of his movements the moment he steps out of the supermarket—he’s got used to listening to people’s footsteps over time. 

· “okay, first of all, ow, and second of all, why did I get the punch and he got the cabbage?!”

· “oh, don’t be such a baby.”

· “you two don’t look like those balding dudes in money-dripping black suits...what are you on? crack? what do you want from me? money? food?”

· “of course we’re not balding men in their forties! I take personal offense to that! and please, who do you take me as? a total creep who only ever knows how to follow people with his stupid sidekick tagging along for background noises?”

· “HEY! I NEVER AGREED TO BE YOUR SIDEKICK!”

· “well, it’s time you fucking did then, han.”

· “you know, I suppose this is the part where you two put me to sleep with some kind of drug and bring me back to your excuse of a headquarter.”

· “oh, did you bring the anesthetic pills?”

· “I thought Changbin gave it to you, no?”

— kim seungmin ↠ time-leap

· born in a middle-class family, very studious but also enjoys playing baseball during retreats, takes time to open up to people so he has more acquaintances than close friends but he doesn’t mind, that way he has more time for himself. 

· definitely and never will be the kid who lets his classmates take advantage of his wit, he does do a good chunk of every group project but makes sure everyone has at least one decent thing to do (low-key loves bossing people around); can be pretty distant at first, but he just weirds people out after getting closer and doesn’t hold grudges.

· seungmin is capable of bringing himself back to a specific past event to alter the future outcome though it won’t work most of the time unless he really, really has to for safety purposes or the situation gets out of hands; time-leaping won’t activate if he wants to retake a test but works like a charm when he tries to save a kid on the street from a car accident.

· actually does deep, proper research into other ability-wielders and often stays in school during nighttime to read the news, articles or anything that he can find on the web to learn about how that one cryptic boarding school in Europe that’s accused of abusing their students got shut down all of a sudden, the students never return and family members never bother to look for them. 

· hence, he adapts to hiding his ability and himself fairly well—never takes the late-night buses, doesn’t try to become close and bond with other people, asks his parents to change the door lock every month, burns bills each time he purchases something but he tries not to go out as much as possible. 

· seungmin has seen hyunjin use his power once by accident but decided to say nothing about it; eventually finds chan’s headquarter (which is just his crusty apartment) by following jisung and hyunjin after their practice hour, baffles them all a little but joins in no time. 

· after asking hyunjin to erase his parents’ memory about himself, seungmin gives everyone a hand for their plan of building a school and campus, completely safe and under the radar for other ability welders until their adolescence is over; he time-leaps back to back in order to collect as much information about lottery tickets as he can.

· another flaw occurs when he travels to the past for the third time: his eyesight gets weaker and weaker every time he time-leaps so he starts wearing glasses as a temporary resolution but chan stops him when he tries to do it for the fifth time, saying that they would rather work hard for a little longer than have seungmin lose his vision forever. 

· after over a year or so, they successfully repurchase an education organization and officially establish an exclusive academy for ability-wielders, reaching out to those individuals before scientists can get a hold of them. 

— yang jeongin ↠ superhuman speed

· the quiet kid who most likely won’t talk unless the teacher asks him to answer a question or someone tells him to let them copy his homework; has his earbuds in most of the time to pretend he can’t hear what people are saying so he won’t have to interact with them. 

· joins after you when chan finds him hitting a wall head-on at an abnormal speed while trying to save a kitten in the middle of the streets. 

· jeongin has extremely enhanced agility and reflexes but he still lacks accuracy for he is naturally a clumsy person; therefore, changbin tells him to wear a protective layer under his uniform so even in the worst-case scenario, he can jump off a building and make it out with minor scratches. 

· reluctantly buys lunch for every member of the student council (aka 00 liners + you) on a daily basis although he can’t really see which kind of sandwiches he’s grabbing at and they end up being mushy most of the time. 

· and for those people who say his resting face is scary, he’s mainly just frustrated because of his friends. 

· also usually is the one who returns with the most injuries because of his own ability—he always flees like his life depends on it to save jisung’s ass from being hit by a truck and hyunjin’s camera from being crushed (the sole purpose of the student council will be explained more thoroughly later).

· has single-handedly saved everyone inside a bookstore when a sudden fire breaks out. 

· minho scolds him and felix a lot for spending too much time at the arcade after school instead of doing their required tasks. 

· acts all tough and mature since he’s the youngest of the squad, loves to make fun of jisung for his height but still is and probably will always be a complete child who hates eating vegetables with a passion; gets yelled at a lot whenever there’s a BBQ party since he only ever eats meat. 

· “corn? why are we raiding the Asian market for corn at one AM?”

· “an outdoor, wholesome BBQ isn’t complete without corn, duh.”

· “do you want to get us caught?!”

· “oh please, they’re going to show up either way.”

· “YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE!”

— y/n (reader) ↠ telepathic manipulation

· president of the student council, stubborn, slightly less bossy than seungmin, appears to be apathetic and cranky mainly because you can’t sleep that well; with that being said, you don’t feel too tired during ungodly hours when people are tossing around in the comfort of their bed but snap at irritating people a lot in the morning if they’re making too much noise. 

· your ability allows you to control people to your will, from something as meaningless as slamming their head through a wall to life-threatening actions like forcing them to point a knife at their own throat; it’s somewhat similar to jisung’s power though you don’t have to physically feel what your target is going through and you don’t need to worry about taking over their body.

· the only downside to it is that you easily fall asleep the moment you set your target free.

· minho is the one who gets you out of the laboratory where your parents were working on a huge, secret project about individuals with supernatural abilities for an unknown organization; you’re unfortunate enough to become their first-ever experimental subject which only nourishes resentment slowly, gnawing at your sanity while you’re dreading each day behind those cold metal bars. 

· perhaps joining the student council is what makes your life less depressing, perhaps; you’re far too busy facepalming at the beautiful monstrosity of their friendship and feeding them ensuing returning to the dorm after school since those boys only know how to eat, cooking is too much for them to comprehend (albeit felix).

· when your family was still… normal, your parents sent you to martial art classes every weekend so like felix, you don’t actually need your power to save yourself from some random mobsters on the streets.

· you’re also the only person who eats vegetables properly and even tries to incorporate more fiber into their diets but as always, they never listen, especially hyunjin when it comes to green onions.

· don’t have the best reputation in the academy because the idea of letting the new girl with a seemingly useless ability become president of the student council isn’t very appealing to many people, and it doesn’t help when every member of the council is exclusively allowed to drop out in the middle of a class to ‘collect’ any ability-wielders that chan manages to locate that day since he’s always worn out with changbin and minho from boring paperwork as well as other businessy stuff.

· even when your ability is considered almost perfect, you’ve only used it once when you thought minho was going to sell you off to another place and almost made him put a bullet through his own brain; you’ve refrained yourself from using it since that day.

[fantastic-rambles]

The Skylark’s Song [2/4]

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

Characters: Hibari Kyoya, Kusakabe Tetsuya, Namimori Middle Disciplinary Committee, Fon (mentioned)

Warnings: PTSD, Mild Language, Violence [A/N: Depiction of PTSD may not be accurate. I apologize if this bothers anyone.]

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: My personal headcanons of the (pre-canon) experiences that made Hibari into the man that he is today. Part Two: the development of his commitment to discipline and explaining his apparent state of constant sleep deprivation. [This may end up being a four-part story, lol. Or a three-part with a small extra... which I guess is also four parts. I hope you enjoy! xD]

[Part 1]

Ever since that night, Hibari had never had a good night's rest.

Other than the week that he'd been in the hospital, woozy from the painkillers that had been constantly fed to him and barely aware of the world around him, he'd never slept for more than a few hours at any given time. At first, the nightmares--the memories--would wake him up in an empty house, screaming for his parents who were no longer there, and then he'd spend the rest of the night huddled in the corner, flinching at every shadow. For a long time, he feared that the men would return, but as time passed uneventfully, he grew more convinced that they didn't care. That they didn't think a mere child could be any danger to them. And they were probably right.

By all rights, he should have probably been taken away and moved to an orphanage, but a distant relative had been found who was willing to become his legal guardian. They'd spoken briefly on the phone, eventually coming to an agreement: since Hibari refused to leave his childhood home and Fon had special circumstances that made traveling and raising a child difficult, a housekeeper would be hired to watch over him, paid out of the fortune that he had inherited from his parents. Initially, she would come early in the morning every day and leave only when he was about to go to bed, but his growing preference for solitude and independence quickly asserted itself, so that she would eventually only come in the afternoon when he was at school, to clean and prepare his meals.

In school, his teachers also noticed a drastic change in his personality. Though he remained a good student, the previously outgoing and energetic child became withdrawn, appearing as though he was actively avoiding his classmates. Any attempts to speak with him outside of his assigned schoolwork were met with a stony wall of silence, and the many phone conversations that they had with his guardian did nothing to improve the situation.

In fact, the only activity in which Hibari demonstrated any initiative of his own was in his new studies of martial arts. Every evening found him at one dojo or another, practicing karate, boxing, kenjutsu, and a number of other combat arts with single-minded focus until he could barely drag himself back home. The physical pain was a welcome distraction, though it was short-lived as his body accustomed itself to the new routine.

His devotion to the arts and strict self-discipline meant that he quickly learned all that the instructors in Namimori could teach him. By the time he started middle school, he was no longer attending the dojos, instead practicing with masters that Fon would occasionally send to him while developing his own style. Hibari also began experimenting with weapons, discarding the sword and spear as impractical to carry and bare fists as too weak, before he eventually settled on his tonfa. The metal was hard enough to be difficult to deform, they were easily concealed, and simply adjusting the force could mean the difference between injury and death.

He still saw his parents every night. But at least he stopped screaming when he woke.

For the most part, his middle school years passed without anything of particular note until his third year, when he joined the disciplinary committee and a group of wannabe punks started to attend. In general, they were harmless, just mimicking the types of idiots that they saw in anime and manga and mouthing off out of the mistaken impression that it made them cool. But it irked Hibari to have to tell them off every morning for their appearances and watch them swagger around like thugs. When they finally started trying to extort their peers, however, he finally had a real excuse to step in.

"Hey, c'mon, you've got cash, right? We just need to borrow a couple thousand. We'll pay you back later, really!"

Hibari had been about to return home when he heard voices coming from behind the gym. If there was a response to Kusakabe, it was too quiet for him to hear, but he hoisted his bookbag higher over his shoulders as he went to investigate. As he turned the corner, the sight before him turned him cold with rage.

Kusakabe and his friends stood in a loose half-circle, a few of them holding wooden swords, leering at the student they had trapped against the wall, a young boy who looked absolutely terrified. His bookbag appeared to have been upended all over the ground, with books and pens scattered everywhere, and Kusakabe knelt before him, his hand outstretched expectantly. One of his friends stretched, cricking his neck threateningly, and noticed the prefect standing there, shaking. He smirked, reaching out to nudge their leader and jerking a thumb toward Hibari when Kusakabe looked up.

"Get rid of him," Kusakabe ordered, and three of his pack peeled away, advancing on Hibari and blocking his view.

"There's nothing to see here, Prefect-san. Get lost, unless you want what he's getting," one of them snapped, and Hibari's eyes fell to the ground as his hands clenched into trembling fists.

"Hey, look at him. You think he's gonna piss himself?" Another one laughed, jabbing his bokken toward Hibari, who took a step back, to more laughter. But in the next instant, Hibari was lunging forward, the gleam of metal in his hands knocking the wood aside and slamming the boy under the chin. Before the other two realized what was happening, they were splayed on the ground, clutching their heads as Hibari stood in front of them, breathing heavily. He staggered slightly, as if he were injured or drunk, as the rest of the gang advanced on him, Kusakabe in the lead, their victim forgotten. They were cautious now, now that they saw he could fight back, and when Hibari's head snapped up, even Kusakube seemed to hesitate. There was a gleam of madness and bloodlust in Hibari's normally flat black eyes, and his stance as he lifted his tonfa in front of his body telegraphed experience.

Even so, they couldn't back down, not from a fight that they had picked, so they approached the older boy carefully, trying to spread out to encircle him. He didn't make any move to stop them from doing so, just standing with an air of watchful patience, like a predator waiting to pounce. The fact that he was outnumbered didn't seem to bother him at all, and he kept his eyes fixed on Kusakabe. His unwavering gaze seemed to make the younger boy hesitate, but at the same time, foolish pride urged the delinquent forward.

"Get him."

After a heartbeat of uncertainty, they rushed in wildly, fists swinging and getting in each other's way more often than not. And in the midst of all of them, Hibari's weapons flashed like quicksilver, falling with precise blows upon heads and joints until he was the only one who remained standing among the carnage, like some ancient god of war. The few boys who weren't unconscious were groaning, clutching where they had been struck, and their victim had run away, leaving behind only a few pencils and a snapped ruler.

Languidly, Hibari walked over to the leader, nudging Kusakabe under the chin with his foot to make sure he had the boy's attention.

"Try this again, and I'll break your bones. A third time, and I'll bite you to death. Do you understand?"

It wasn't a threat, but a simple statement of fact, delivered in a flat tone that left no room for discussion. He waited for Kusakabe to nod, then turned around and walked away, stepping over the bodies that littered the ground.

From his experiences with hot-blooded people, Hibari didn't expect things to just end there, but nothing could have surprised him more when he arrived at school the next day. The moment he stepped inside the gates, he was greeted by a shout of "Good morning, boss!" and he turned to see Kusakabe and his hoodlums bowing to him.

"What's this?"

Hibari watched warily as Kusakabe approached him, smiling while sporting a black eye.

"Hibari-san, you're strong, and you've earned our respect. Please feel free to use us however you want," Kusakabe addressed him formally, bowing again. Some of the other students were staring at them, wide-eyed, and Hibari shoved the punk away with one hand.

"I'm not strong. You're just weak," he snapped. "That's why you just crowd together with the others. It makes me sick."

But his words didn't seem to upset the other boy, who deferentially took a step back to give Hibari the personal space that he clearly wanted. However, for the rest of the day, they hung in small groups at the corners of Hibari's vision whenever he wasn't in his classroom, following him around like a pack of devoted dogs. It was irritating, and when they began to follow him home after school, he snapped again, beating them all thoroughly, even though they didn't even try to fight back.

Gradually, though, Hibari noticed that their one-sided admiration seemed to be imposing better order on his beloved school. Small incidents were quickly straightened out without his interference, and for the most part, the gang stayed out of his way. So he tolerated their existences so long as they avoided grouping up in front of him, using them as yet another tool to protect the discipline at Namimori Middle School and in town as a whole. He never dealt with any of them directly except for Kusakabe, on the rare occasions that he had to give them orders; even so, he kept a close eye on them to ensure that they didn't overstep their bounds. 

His parents had loved the town, and so did he. Even though they had been betrayed, it was only because the authorities had all been weak: afraid of violence, dazzled by money, grasping for power, or any number of other reasons. Although Hibari intended to control them himself through the same methods, he had no intention of unleashing another pack of animals that would cause even more problems for others.

And on the day that he finally finished his compulsory education, he set out to settle the score.

[Part 3]

[onelastbreath-writes]

On Bruce And Texting:

Author’s Note: Hello and welcome, this is my first properly written fic, originally posted to my AO3, and now that I have finally created a writing blog, it’s here as well. Please enjoy!!  AO3.  Masterlist

Warnings: Hopefully none, its all cute and fluff <3

Summary: Bruce Wayne texts like he's sending correspondences to the Queen, so of course the little monsters he calls children just have to make fun of him! Brats, the lot of them, but he wouldn't have them any other way.

Features: Bruce Wayne/Selina Kyle, all the bats and birds, mentions JL, no crime fighting, only family fluff, jokes and nods to Millennial and GenZ shenanigans.

Word Count: 2.7k

---

Billionaire, genius, tech expert, father of many children, and all around up-to-date-with-just-about-everything type of person he may be, it is also a well-known Fact that Bruce Wayne, the Batman(TM) himself, can’t text to save his life.

Whether it’s due to his Very Proper English Upbringing, his inability to be informal via written correspondences of any type, his indifference, or the fact that it bothers his children so much, Bruce Wayne has not and never will text with anything less than perfect grammar, spelling, and formality. If he has not sent you a proper letter (featuring a dedication, indentation for every paragraph, signature, and post-script when applicable), he did, in fact, not send you that text. Informality is not his Batman Way(TM) according to his children... he’s not too sure what that even means, but it makes his young ones laugh so it’s probably fine?  

His oldest children (Richard and Jason) were raised in the time of Change, where computers, internet access, social media, and all things similar were only just being introduced into households en-masse. They were young enough to remember a time without such devices and connectivity (both for very different reasons, of course, but they grew up without the newest technology none-the-less). They could understand his relationship to the digital environment more so than his younger children, but they still tended to poke fun at his ‘texting blunders’ regularly. All his kids somehow ended up as brats. He doesn’t know how this happened. It’s certainly not his fault. He blames the League members, and especially Clark Kent, for their defiant personalities. 

His younger children, whom he loves dearly, like to confuse him as much as they possibly can with their slang, egregious spelling errors, and all-around ‘internet humour’. He doesn’t know what ‘wig’ or ‘worm’ or ‘oof’ or anything means. He has no idea what those dances are, or how they relate to the music that seems to always accompany them, and for the love of all that is good, don’t ask him what he thinks of this or that ‘meme’. What even is a ‘meme’, and should he be more concerned about his kids being obsessed with them? He tries, oh my god, does he try to follow the children’s conversations, but they somehow all learned a language he has no idea how to decrypt. His best response to them once they start speaking in tongues is as follows: smile but not too much, listen to child even though he is deeply confused, and pat child on head or shoulder when they are finished and are looking for assurance.  

He refuses to be a parent who ignores or tunes out his children, so he always makes sure to put down his work, his crossword, his tools, or whatever else is in his hands when a child searches him out for a conversation. But somehow, despite all the time he spends around them and their strange words, when he gets text from them comprised of abbreviations, acronyms, and completely random words, he goes a little cross eyed. He would never tell anyone, but he keeps a running list on his phone about the things they say that he has had to translate in the past. Spilling tea? Speaking the truth, usually to do with gossip. Wow? Multiple possible meanings: either a video game, or someone saying it (different pronunciation depending on context and who sent the text). Stickbug? A nice little prank with no ulterior motives, just for fun. Something along the lines of “this basic bitch Karen at the grocery store who is a dirty rat-licker and is def an anti-vaxxer just took 45 (forty-five) minutes to decide she didn’t actually want that almond milk. I Stan the cashier who had to put up with her. Rad af dude.” roughly translates to “A rude, middle-aged white woman who wasn’t wearing a mask and doesn’t believe in disease control or vaccinating her children wasted a great deal of an essential worker’s time in the checkout line. The cashier was very professional in their dealings with said customer and should be commended on their actions.”  

Given enough time, the internet for searching up new slang words, and occasionally some help from a friend (Alfred, Selina, Lucius, another of his children, etc), Bruce could decode and respond appropriately to most texts. He was quite proud of these achievements, and although he didn’t always like how often his children were on their phones or computers or gaming systems, he was quite proud of how integrated and easily they adapted to the ever-evolving world of electronics. All his kids were gifted in many ways, but their ability to learn, their hunger for knowledge, and their perseverance when exploring new and challenging ideas were always the things that he was most impressed by.  

He could do without their comments though. Yes, surprisingly, he did manage to get girlfriends with his type of texting. No, he doesn’t miss the ‘good old days’ when telegraphs were the main form of long-distance correspondence (how old do these brats think he is?!). And yes, he does know what a “tweet” is, and how to “post” on his social media accounts, and what “sliding into your DMs” is (thanks to a frantic search after a WE employee mentioned it near him). The Wayne children, truly whom and what Bruce considers his pride and joy, are cruel little jerks to him sometimes. His hoard of parenting books fails to mention what one should do when their children gang up on them. Bullying is covered of course, but he can’t really talk to a teacher or his guardian about how his second son calls him an idiot sandwich, or that his third son regularly tries to get him to do something “For The Vine”. His oldest and youngest boys are only slightly better in the bullying him department; Richard and his puppy dog eyes when he wants to do something dangerous or not-Alfred-approved, and Damian and his growing collection of pets because “Mother never let me have them, and I am deprived, and don’t you love me Father?”.  

His only good child is his beautiful daughter Cassandra, the flower of the Wayne clan. She gives him hugs, and pats his hands, and can sit with him and just enjoy the quiet and stillness when his other children are not around. Her language skills are improving by leaps and bounds every day, and her heart and spirit are unparalleled, but her main method of communication is in her movements. Her hands, her posture, her dancing; Bruce couldn’t think of a more graceful, fluid, powerful person if the world depended on it. His amazing little girl doesn't bully him (and if she ever does, he probably deserves it, he trusts her), so he turns to her most of all when it comes to communicating with someone else. She doesn’t let him send anything that is “sketchy” or “wrong words, bad meaning, Dad”. He would give the world to his children, but for Cassandra, he would destroy it and build her an entirely new one.

Social media, especially with his terrible children all having accounts dedicated to making him look like a simpleton, was another rocky terrain he had to navigate on the regular. He had professionals in place at WE to run the company’s many accounts, paid top dollar to help appeal and relate to the masses, but he mostly had to manage his personal accounts himself. And so, @TheRealBruceWayne was one of the greatest struggles in his adult life. Why can’t he just retweet every post from @WE_Offical and leave it at that? People should only want to know about what’s new with the company. What do you mean they want to know more about our family and private lives? That’s unnecessary, and not important to the running of the company, right? Right? Why are you laughing?!

Luckily, most people in his life aren’t so intimately aware of his struggles. He can act and lie all he wants about being “hip” and “woke” and whatever else the kids are saying these days when he’s with the JL or in board meeting intermissions, networking with his associates. The Batman knows all and sees all, Green Lantern, of course he understands how “Tiktok” works. The Batman is a robot without a funny bone in his body, Green Arrow, but I did witness him sigh and say “same” when he knocked his cup of coffee over while on monitor duty once. No matter how badly his darling children call him out, the Justice League would be so much worse. So, it’s one of his most importantly guarded secrets... even more so than his secret identity at this point. Being unmasked in front of every Gotham rogue would be less detrimental to him than his “friends” learning of his utter ineptitude in staying on top of the younger generations’ lingo.  

When questioned why the League doesn’t have a group chat or a forum or anything that they can use to contact each other outside of world ending matters and communicator (”because we’re friends, Batman! Ma and Pa Kent would love to have everyone over for a barbecue!”), the person who dared even mention texting isn’t even given a verbal response. They are just glared at, silently, often for several uninterrupted minutes, frozen in place only able to breathe shallowly in fear of setting off the Bat. “You know why” his glare says, “I’ll eat you, your family, and everything you have ever held dear” the younger members hear. No one makes the mistake of asking about it twice.  

Outside of his children and Alfred, and his small circle of true friends involved in all aspects of his life, there is only one more person Bruce allows to know of his Darkest Secret. Selina. Someone most people would recommend he not be involved with. Catwoman: accomplished thief, distraction, chaos-incarnate most nights, and his significant other. Sharp as a whip (ha) and crafty like no one’s business; he is head-over-heels. On again/Off again and all over the place their long romance has been, but no one has ever challenged him, intrigued him, like this clever, beautiful, amazing woman has. He’s brought his partners around his children before, both for their judgement, and for their worst behaviours to vet out any “unworthy” suitors. He trusts them explicitly to tell him the truth about those he allows into the manor; were they rude about Bruce wanting to have group outings, did they say something about Bruce’s money, did they get angry or shout or make anyone uncomfortable while they were here? If his children even looked slightly unhappy with someone he brought them to meet, that person would not be invited back. Children, he finds, have the best sight when meeting people; no motives other than finding safety and love, no fear of consequences from speaking honestly...  

Selina, or Catwoman, as they had known her first, was someone all of his kids liked without issue right off the bat. She would make puns and play word games with Richard, his first Robin, tiny, still working on his English, able to connect with him over their acrobatic abilities. His second Robin, Jason, skittish and feisty as an alley cat, knew of Catwoman and her daring escapades long before Bruce found him. The young boy had a few heroes, and no one (not even Wonder Woman) could compare to the incredible burglar who bought food and jackets and medicine for the street kids in Crime Alley. She was saintly in his eyes, and to this day, Bruce was still working on convincing Jason he was good enough for Selina. Tim and Cass and Stephanie (basically another daughter to Bruce, she spends so much time with the family) all joined the Wayne clan around the same time and officially met Selina as a friend and partner of his, and in the good graces of his first two sons. Selina, in all her nightly business, and many travels and acquaintances, had met the three independently, helping Tim get home safely back to Drake Manor when he escaped to photograph Batman and Robin in the dank darkness of Gotham when he was just a young boy, spending some time with Cassandra when her despicable father left her alone long enough to recover from his rough treatment, showing her the first scraps of kindness in her short life, and watching over and protecting Stephanie as she followed and sabotaged her father Cluemaster and his criminal activities. There was no need to win them over once they met her civilian identity, she had already gained their favour and acceptance, and they were happy to have her near their new family. Damian, his youngest, his biological son, took the longest to warm up to Selina. He would never fault his little boy for fighting so hard against a woman that was not his birth mother, especially after all the manipulation and cruelty dealt to him by Talia for the first decade of his life. But as he began to learn about his father, these people in his father’s life, and this woman that was Not His Mother but “still okay, I guess”, he grew to see her as acceptable. Her cats definitely helped, he’d say, no one with cats that loyal and happy can be a bad person.  

Selina, the love of his life, he’d admit quietly to himself, was also a dirty traitor and in cahoots with his terrible children. She would say his texting skills were “sweet” and “very gentlemanly” when she was asked by anyone outside the family, and privately to him she would say she thought they were “adorable” and “please don’t ever change, Bruce, I like it.” However, nothing seemed to bring her more joy than his children sending her texts and “Snaps” and “memes” about him to her. Sometimes it was screenshots of the family group chat that they forced him to join, where he would post “To whom it may concern...” and “In regards to...” when he needed to reach all his delinquents in a timely manner. Sometimes it was video clips of him staring at his phone intently, then typing something on his laptop, then him reading and nodding along, and then finally going back and responding to the text he received with a small, pleased smile. And sometimes, when he got too injured or was too incapacitated to text coherently, he’d have his nearest able child transcribe his text to her. Depending on who was texting her for Bruce, she could expect many different things. From Dick, she’d get lots of shorthand and silly emojis, and many, many, winky and crying/laughing faces in brackets depending on what Bruce had made him type. Jason, bless him, used proper English most of the time, but would never write a single word of Bruce’s soliloquy to her, instead she enjoyed the TL;DR version: “hurt again, missing you, come home soon, blah blah blah, sappy gross words here, love you”. Tim would allow speech recognition to run on Bruce’s phone, and just let it go until the man passed out. Stephanie, the little chaos child, would film it and send it to her, including all her muffled laughter and shaky camera shots of Bruce emoting with his available undamaged limbs. Cass, still more versed in physicality and emotive movement, would interpret Bruce’s text into mostly emojis, hearts and happy faces and animals, but would include photos, and phrases that she found important enough to type out for Selina. Damian, forever his Father’s son in any way possible, texts very formally, referring to her or his siblings Bruce mentions by last name only, and lots of “Father requests me to tell you...” and “Kyle, know that Father...”. She adores these kids, and once Bruce recovers enough to text her himself, or she gets back to the Manor, they get to laugh about whatever she was sent this time.  

So, while it’s true that Bruce couldn’t text his way out of a wet paper bag, and his kids are sometimes brats about it, there’s probably a lot of different reasons he doesn’t spend too much time trying to improve his skills. Whether it’s the smiles of his children, the giggles of his significant other, or the warm feeling in his chest when he sees all his important people bonding over him, well, in the end, who’s to say?

[smileyseungmin]

Galaxies || Han Jisung

part one

WC: 3.4k

warnings: descriptions of sexual assault,, please be safe y'all,, language,, mentions of blood,, but not to much

a/n: oof i really haven't posted anything in a while sorry about that. I have some stuff written out that should hopefully go up soon. Also I didn't actually mean to write a second part to this but here it is anyways, so enjoy!

You loved the stars, space, the great vast unknown beyond the atmosphere. There was no doubt about it. Your old bedroom was painted black with hues of pink, blue, purple and mixed in with yellows, oranges, and white to complete the starry look. You missed it, and as much as you wanted to recreate the mural of your childhood, there were policies that prevented you from doing so. It was a shame really, but these policies never said anything about putting glow in the dark, star shaped stickers all along the barren, off white walls of your room. So Jisung took advantage of that and filled you ceiling with the small stars that you absolutely adored. While you were visiting your parents, he meticulously placed each and every star to represent the ones in the sky. Let's just say you cried once you got back.

Now though, those little stars that once made your heart swell with joy, just squeezed your heart of happiness until it was empty and emotionless. It reminded you of him and all the good times that you had with each other. It hurt knowing that those times were basically over. There would be times were you couldn't even sleep in your own bedroom because it was just too painful. 

Today was one of those nights.

You were sitting on your couch, staring blankly at the wall. You knew you should be doing something productive, but you just couldn't bring yourself up to do anything. You knew that sitting around, waiting for something to change wasn't your best option, but there you were, wishing that Jisung was still with you. You missed his warm embrace, the gentle words he would whisper in your ears before falling asleep. As much as you wanted that back, you knew that he won't come back. Now all you feel is the cold shoulder while he walked away from you and to hear the words full of malice that cut deeper than any knife.

You've tried to call him, text him, tell him that your sorry for whatever you did to upset him, but to no avail. He ignored call after call, text after text. Eventually you gave up too. You sent him one last text before blocking his number.

I'm sorry for whatever I did. Maybe you will find someone who fulfills your standards, since I clearly didn't. Goodbye.

You cried yourself to sleep that night.

~

Weeks passed as things haven’t improved at all. There was still that empty place in your heart that yearned for a certain person that still avoided you like the plague. As much as it hurts, you learned to ignore it as best as you could. You still worked in the same building as him. Working as a choreographer required you to be in the company building more often than not, and with Jisung always being in the building, either for dance practice or producing, the not so subtle glares in your direction as you walked by happened a lot more than you liked. 

You also started to notice the other members ignoring you and dodging you whenever they could. You didn't know why they were doing it and it hurt. All you wanted to do was know why, but they never gave you an opportunity to even ask. 

Soon enough, this sadness turned into frustration, which naturally turned into overworking yourself. It was easy to do. Work until you were too tired to think, too tired to feel anything. Sure it wasn't the healthiest of coping mechanisms, but it worked and frankly you didn't know what else to do. This is why you were currently on the practice room floor, panting, trying to catch your breath. Despite your body screaming at you to stop and get some rest, eat some food, get some sleep, you just refused to stop. You had to continue and finish this choreography. It had to be completed within the next week and you were falling behind on perfecting it. It had to be done. So, with shaky legs, you stood up, took a quick swig of water, walked over to your phone, and started up the song once again.

With each run through, you felt yourself getting better. Each move you paired with the beat of the song became more fluid, more together. It was almost there. Almost. 

With satisfaction over taking disappointment, you finally sat down, allowing your body to rest. You didn't know what time it was, but you could probably guess it was around one in the morning. This would be your third time in a row staying really late and you knew that it wasn't healthy, but you just couldn't seem to bring yourself to care, which was a bit concerning. You just didn't really see a reason to care about your health, it's not like anybody actually cared about you. Not even you cared about yourself. It was just so much easier to throw yourself into work and forget everything.

You groaned at yourself after feeling the hot tears fall down your cheeks. You were done with crying. You told yourself that you wouldn't cry anymore over this, yet here you are, sitting on the dirty floor, by yourself, feeling sorry for yourself once again.

You just let yourself sit there and just cry. You knew that it would be better to let it all out than to hold it all inside. It wasn't full on sobbing, just silent tears that formed small paths down your cheeks. Small hiccups escaped your lips every now and then, but it was mostly silent.

Apparently though, you weren't quiet enough because someone slowly opened the door, poking their head in the see what was happening.

"Hello?" You turned to look. It was Chan. You quickly turned your head away before you could make eye contact and buried your face into your hands. 

"Y/N?" You heard hesitant footsteps come closer. You didn't want him to come any closer. You didn't want him to see how weak and vulnerable you really were. You didn't want any of this. You just wanted to go home.

Chan didn't say anything. He didn't really do anything either. He just sat right next to you, letting his presence calm you down a bit.

You were grateful for it. Having someone next to you while you were crying your eyes out was definitely better than doing it alone. It hurt just a little less. Yet, even after after your tears dried up and your breathing becomes regular again, that same empty feeling in your heart still stayed.

"Sorry for worrying you. I'm just going to go now," you quietly mumbled before you got up and grabbed all your things, not even looking back. Fear kept going from looking back. Fear that Chan would lash out on you the same way Jisung did. You knew for a fact that you wouldn't be able to take it if that happened again. So you just kept on walking.

And walking.

And walking.

Walking into the chilly city night with no protection against the nipping breeze that raised goosebumps on your skin. This was definitely not one of your best decisions that you have made, considering how you had absolutely no protection against the cold and you were most definitely walking in a dangerous part of the city, by yourself nonetheless.

Fear crawled all along your skin, constantly looking every which way for any signs of life.

Maybe you were too cautious, causing you to miss the smallest details. Or maybe this stranger was just way too sneaky for his own good because he just appeared at your side out without any warning.

"Hey, you know it isn't safe for people to be walking alone at night, especially here," the stranger slightly scolded you, concern on his face. That concern was quickly replaced by guilt when you jumped, a small yelp escaping your lips.

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” You softly chuckled, hand still over your racing heart.

“No worries, its all good. You just startled me, that’s all.” 

“That’s good, but seriously... its not safe being out here all alone, especially this late at night.”

"Yeah well I never said I was smart. And besides, you were alone as well so you can’t really say anything." You grumbled, progressively feeling less scared, the presence of another person by your side calming your nerves.

"Well, you got me there. Caught red handed." You chuckled. Despite being a total stranger, he was kind of pleasant to be around.

"You look extremely tired, no offense. Long day, if you don’t mind me asking?” You groaned, thinking about the long, exhausting week. The stranger just stared at you, shocked and confused at your reaction. “That bad, huh?”

"Longer than can imagine.”

"Damn... well, I bet are just longing to get home. I know a quicker way to get there if you want to follow me.” You agreed.

Maybe it was want to be around another person that caused you to say yes. Maybe it was the lack of sleep that made you not question why he knew where your house was. Whatever it was, it caused you to agree and to be dragged into an ally by some random stranger.

The first minute or so was fine, his grip was the only uncomfortable thing about the situation. It wasn't until he stopped so abruptly and pushed you against the brick wall when you started feeling scared.

"What?" With your sleep deprived state, you weren't fast enough to stop him from pinning you against the wall, his grip on your wrists becoming impossibly tighter.

"As soon as I laid my eyes on you, I knew you were going to be easy, but I didn't know it would be that easy," he chuckled, a sly grin spreading across his face. Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall. You didn't understand. What was happening? Wasn't he just trying to help you? What happened? You just wanted to get away. 

You tried to push this stranger away, fear finally settling into your bones. You were scared of what he would do.

You snapped your head forward, your forehead connecting with his jaw, earning a grunt from him. This only seemed to anger him because he let go of one of your wrists and back handed you across the cheek, your face painfully whipped to the side. 

"Don't try anything funny or it won't end well for you," he growled, his face leaning even closer. You whimpered, tears finally fell from your eyes, small streams running down your cheeks. He slowly reached down and forced his lips onto yours.

You wanted to turn your head away. Push him away and run home. Curl up in your bed and cry yourself to sleep. Instead, you were pinned up against a grimy, dirty wall, hands exploring every part of body, lips on your face and neck, tears falling down your face. 

Your breath quickened. Panic was settling in. You couldn't breathe. Everything was blurring together. You still couldn't breathe. You felt a different pair of hands on you and you freaked out even more. Somewhere beneath your labored breathing you heard a soothing voice try to calm you but you were too out of it, too tired, and still could not breathe. 

Slowly, the fight in you drained away and your eyes fluttered closed, still hearing that soothing voice as you slipped unconscious.

~

Jisung took a look at the time and sighed. It was almost one thirty in the morning and Chan still wasn't home. He sighed and rolled out of bed. Jisung figured he would go get Chan before he passed out trying to get back to the dorms. He slipped his shoes and jacket on before walking out into the cold night.

Jisung liked nights like these. A nice cool breeze, the moon shining brightly against the dark sky. It was perfect. Almost perfect anyway. It was missing one thing. You. 

He missed you. He couldn't deny it. He really did. At times he would regret yelling at you and cutting you out of his life, but he was hurt. After someone telling him about all the things you said about him, all the things you did, he just couldn't help and be so angry. He felt so betrayed. So hurt. He didn't understand why you would do such a thing. 

He shook his head and sighed. He couldn't be having these thoughts right now. He needed to bring Chan home and make sure he doesn't overwork himself. He continued on his way to his destination when he something coming from the ally to his left. 

He was going to ignore it. Just walk away. He had other, more important, things to do. That was until he heard the smallest hint of a scared whimper. A whimper that caused his feet to move forward, slowly going deeper into the darkened ally. The closer he walked forward, the more he could hear, now listening to small pleas and heavy breathing. 

"Hello? Who's there?" He called out. He continued forward until he saw it. At first he was surprised. Seeing some guy pinning you up against the wall, hands all over you, it filled his head with so many questions. He wanted to scoff, walk away. Let his anger get the best of him at the sight of you with another man. Yet all anger toward you vanished when he actually saw you. The tears streaming down your face, your trembling figure. The fear that shone so brightly in your eyes.

Anger boiled over and he saw red.

An animalistic growl left his lips as he surged forward, ripping the man right off you. He slammed his fist into his nose, internally cringing at the sickening crunch of the nose breaking under his knuckles. Yet that didn't stop him. Jisung kept on swinging. Wailing his fists into this guy's face until there was blood everywhere. He only stopped when he heard your ragged breath and small whimpers. He released the guy and immediately sprung over to you, not caring about the man who shakily got up and staggered away. His heart broke into pieces when he tried to reach for you, but you flinched away. He knew that you still were panicking, but it still broke his heart. Jisung tried to talk to you, sooth you his arms, but you were just too out of it. He barely had time to catch you when your eyes rolled to the back of your head, falling unconscious. 

"Shit." He picked you up bridal style, brushing your hair out of your closed eyes. "It's okay. I got you." Jisung blinked away the tears that formed at the corner of his eyes and held you close. 

"No one will ever hurt you again."

~

"Okay, thanks. Yeah I'll see you tomorrow." Jisung hung up the phone. He sighed and put his phone down. He called Chan to make sure he got home safe and so nobody freaked out when Jisung wasn’t at the dorms in the morning. He sat down on the floor, seeing how he laid you on the couch, and stared at the ceiling. Nothing really changed since the last time he was at your place, except for one thing. That one picture of you and him that you always had sitting on the side table was faced down, so the picture wasn’t showing. That hurt Jisung, but he didn’t dwell on it for too long. He had other things to focus on. 

Jisung was busy in the kitchen, making some tea for the both of you when you finally woke up. You were confused. You didn’t know how you got into your apartment in the first place.The last thing you remembered was that stranger... Tears pricked your eyes at the thought of it, but you blinked them away. You were even more confused when you heard movement in your kitchen. After slowly, and shakily, getting up, you groggily shuffled into the kitchen, eyes going wide when you saw Jisung. He looked over his shoulder upon hearing you enter the room, but didn’t say anything. He only stared at you for a second before turning back around. You looked down at the floor in shame before carefully walking to the small table on the opposite side of the room, taking a seat on of one the old chairs that came with the apartment. You flinched when Jisung placed a mug of steaming hot tea in front of you. He just sat in front of you but didn’t say anything. 

It was quiet for a few minutes, the two of you hesitant to start any conversation.

“What were you thinking?” he asked with a bit too much malice laced in his voice.

“I’m sorry.” You really didn’t know what to say. You were still shaken up by the events that happened early that night and you were so tired from the lack of sleep.

“I’m sorry. Is that really all you got?" he fumed, letting his anger get the best of him.

"I was just so tired... I wasn't thinking straight," you murmured, trying to justify yourself for something that wasn't even your fault to begin with.

"Your tired. Is that really all you got? Well in case you didn't know, I'm fucking tired to, but you don't see me whoring around, desperate for attention." You froze. You studied Jisung's face for any sign of remorse for the words he just spit at you. His face remained the same and you let your anger, your frustrations, finally boil over.

"Whoring around?" You pushed away the long abandoned tea that was no longer hot. "Is that what you think I was doing? Throwing myself at every guy I see because I'm some desperate bitch? Well in case you didn't know, I wasn't trying to hook up with anyone. I was trying to get home after a long, tiring day when that guy tried to take advantage of me." You weren't yelling, but you were sure close to it. You hated yelling, yet Jisung's words cut deep, hurting you and making you angry. Jisung was aware of this too, his face of anger changing into guilt as soon as your voice started raising, shaking slightly as you tried your hardest to jot break down. You stood up from the table, tears gathering in your eyes yet again.

"I- I thought you knew me. I thought we would always be there for each other, no matter what happens, but I guess not." You voice was reduced to barely a whisper. You weren't sure if Jisung could even hear you. "I'm sorry for whatever I did to hurt you, to make you mad at me. Just know this though. I have always kept my promise. I have always waited for you, but I don't think you waited for me."

You stared at him for a second, but when he did nothing, no attempt to correct you, to tell you that he still cared about you, you turned around and walked off, locking yourself in your room.

You didn't see it, but tears slowly fell down Jisung's face. All the frustrations of these past few weeks finally getting to him. He knew he should leave, this wasn't him apartment after all, but he couldn't find the motivation to stand. All he could do was replay your words over in his head. You kept your promise. You waited for him.

He was so stupid, believing the words of someone that he didn't even know. He believed that you were sleeping around with people you didn't even know. He believed it and he hurt you because of it. Hell he blamed you for the horrible, unjustified actions of that guy. You probably didn't want to wait for him anymore, and he wouldn't blame you. He was horrible. He hurt you and had no right to say all those horrible things to you. He was horrible.

He didn't know how long he had sat there, but Jisung finally decided it was time to leave. As he was walking out, he glanced at the picture of you and him, that was faced down. He walked over and picked it up, staring at both your smiling faces, wishing for the simpler days to return. Jisung set the picture down, facing up this time and walked out, longing to hold you and just apologize for everything that he did.

[stephissalty]

no chance too high

Pairing: Iwaoi

Rating: T

Warnings: Language

Words: 4900

Notes: this is the first thing i’ve written in like 3 years. idk what i think about it, but it exists

Summary: "The chance was too high, and Iwaizumi wasn’t willing to risk what he had at stake - which was his everything." Iwaizumi had a bad feeling when Oikawa roped him into being an RA with him.

AO3

no chance too high

The night before his high school graduation, Iwaizumi made a vow to himself that he’d confess after graduation.

Oikawa had just gone home after an evening of hanging out at Iwaizumi’s house, and Iwaizumi’s chest ached when he thought about the way his friend had looked at him when they’d walked home from getting ice cream. That look had given him just the slightest bit of hope that maybe - maybe - after all of these years, his feelings might not be unreturned.

But hope was a dangerous thing when a friendship was on the line.

And five years was a very long time to hold an unrequited crush.

As soon as the graduates were released, Oikawa immediately found Iwaizumi, and wrapped him in a rib-crushing hug. Iwaizumi hugged him just as tightly, dropping his head onto Oikawa’s shoulder. “We did it, Iwa-chan.” He sounded breathless, and his eyes were big and brimming with tears as he pulled back. Then, he grabbed Iwaizumi’s wrist and tugged him toward where their families were making their way towards them.

Their families took them out to dinner at Oikawa's favourite restaurant. Afterwards, they found themselves sitting in the grass on the hillside of a nearby park, deserted save for the two of them. The sun had long since gone down - dinner took a long time - and they were seated close enough that Iwaizumi could feel heat from Oikawa’s arm.

Oikawa sighed and smiled. The sight of Oikawa’s true, happy, genuine smile made Iwaizumi’s chest bloom with a familiar warm feeling, so much that he felt a heavy feeling at the base of his throat like he might cry. “I’m proud of you, Iwa-chan. I’m proud of us. ”

Iwaizumi smiled and met his friend’s eyes, vision blurring slightly. Weak . “I’m proud of us, too.”

Oikawa reached out and caught the first of Iwaizumi’s silent tears as they fell. His thumb lingered for just the slightest second on his cheek. Then, he carefully grabbed Iwaizumi’s hand from where it was gripping his knee and laced their fingers together, squeezing slightly. The action was so sweet, so delicate, so romantic that Iwaizumi thought he might combust.

Iwaizumi’s heart hammered in his chest as his eyes widened, darting back and forth between their linked hands and Oikawa’s genuine, kind, amazing, beautiful face. Oikawa’s eyes almost seemed to be telling him it’s okay, tell me, and he’d nearly convinced himself, was about to open his mouth, was finally going to tell him when -

“Thank you for everything, Iwa-chan. You’re my best friend, and I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Best friend.

Friend.

It was the slap in the face that Iwaizumi needed to get out of his delusions that his clearly sleep-deprived brain was dreaming up. Oikawa wasn’t being romantic; he was being friendly - because he was Oikawa.

And anyways, the chance that he’d be rejected was too high. He couldn’t take the chance of losing the best thing in his life over a stupid, ridiculous, stubborn crush. If his feelings weren’t returned, that’d be awkward and it’d be weird for Oikawa to be around Iwaizumi. And worse, if his feelings were returned, and the relationship went badly, they’d no doubt have to cut off all contact because staying friends after a breakup is hard.

And losing Oikawa wasn’t an option.

“You’re my best friend, too,” he choked out, his chest feeling heavy and his throat constricting.

The chance was too high, and Iwaizumi wasn’t willing to risk what he had at stake - which was his everything.

A year and three months passed.

The second year into his marketing degree, Oikawa decided he wanted to be a resident assistant. He decided it on a whim, so whenever Iwaizumi asked why he was doing this, Oikawa would brush him off and tell him to ask himself from eight months ago.

Regardless, he’d managed to rope Iwaizumi in on this whim and convinced him to also apply to be an RA - a decision that, on move-in day, Iwaizumi was already beginning to regret. By some miracle of fate (and probably some flirting on Oikawa’s part, he presumed), the two of them had been approved as RA’s and were assigned to opposite sides of the same floor. As RA’s of an honors living learning community, they were required by the housing committee to plan a certain number of joint programs together themed around various different topics and design bulletin boards every month, and just thinking about the hell he’d allowed Oikawa to sign them up for was giving Iwaizumi a headache.

“Oi, Shittykawa, help me move this box,” Iwaizumi shouted down the long hallway. Oikawa jogged down the mostly deserted hallway - as RA’s, they moved in a few days prior to their residents. “Is it too late to back out of this?”

“Yup,” Oikawa quipped happily as he grabbed the opposite side of the box Iwaizumi was attempting to carry to his room.

“Damn.”

The two slowly moved their belongings into their respective rooms, the feeling eerily similar to move-in day of their first year of university.

After Iwaizumi had finished putting all of his belongings away, he made his way down to Oikawa’s room, where his best friend was seated on the floor in the middle of the room, organizing photos on a cork board to be hung above his bed. “Oh, Iwa-chan! Where should this photo of us go? Upper left or middle?”

He regarded the cork board, noticing how it was filled entirely with pictures of only the two of them or just Iwaizumi. He spotted the picture Oikawa’s mother had taken of them at graduation, Oikawa leaning his weight over Iwaizumi’s left shoulder, head thrown back as he laughed at something, while Iwaizumi looked at his friend with a grin of his own. That was one of his favorite pictures of the two of them. There were also countless photos of the two of them in their volleyball jerseys, smiling after winning a game, holding trophies after winning a tournament, action shots as Iwaizumi spiked a ball Oikawa had set to him. There were a few pictures of them at parties together, Oikawa’s eyes slightly hazy as he had his arm slung around Iwaizumi’s shoulders, a drink in his other hand. Another photo was a candid photo of Iwaizumi - first year, it looked like - doing homework with a sly smile on his face, likely because Oikawa had just done something dumb. The board was a physical representation of their friendship over the last six years, though they’d known each other for far longer.

The photo in question had been taken last month. It was dark, taken at night. Oikawa had insisted that they go downtown to watch fireworks, which turned into a whole night out. The selfie, taken by Oikawa, Iwaizumi behind his shoulder, was slightly blurry, likely due to Oikawa laughing at something. In the photo, indeed, he was laughing as he looked somewhere in the distance at the fireworks, face illuminated by a light pink. Behind him, Iwaizumi wasn’t looking at the same point as Oikawa, wasn’t watching the fireworks at all. No, Iwaizumi was gazing softly - almost lovingly at Oikawa.

His chest constricted as he surveyed the whole board again and said, “Middle.”

“That’s what I thought! Thanks, Iwa-chan!” He stabbed the photo with a clear pushpin just above Iwaizumi’s head and stood to hang the board on the wall. “Where do you wanna go for dinner?”

"I don’t wanna go too far,” he mused. “Pandacanes maybe?”

Oikawa made a noise of affirmation and headed towards the door, dragging Iwaizumi along. It was the first time in a while that they didn’t have to bicker about you choose, no you choose where to eat.

The two chattered mindlessly about nothing as they made the walk towards Pandacanes. Oikawa suggested that they could see Hanamaki and Matsukawa the next day - they were living off campus in an apartment together - to which Iwaizumi hummed his approval. Conversation then shifted to their classes for this year - for Oikawa, his third year marketing classes would be getting harder than they’d been before, but would be nothing compared to Iwaizumi’s upcoming engineering classes. An ongoing debate between the two of them was STEM Major vs Business Major - so far, Iwaizumi was winning by a long shot, and he never let Oikawa live it down.

After ordering, they sat at a table in the far corner of the large room, and Oikawa pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. “Have you thought any about what you’re doing for your first program?” Iwaizumi shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Okay, me neither.” Oikawa unfolded the paper and pushed it towards the other. “So obviously you’ve seen this -” No, he hadn’t. “- and you know that we have to have a program within the first week to get to know our residents.” Yes. “And put up a bulletin board about getting to know each other or not killing your roommate or something like that.” Okay. “So I was thinking that we could do a joint social program and check off one of the three social programs and one of the five joint programs right off the bat. We could do like a game night or a movie night in the common room? What do you think?”

Iwaizumi hummed. “Sure.” Frankly, he couldn’t care less, and this whole RA thing seemed like it was a pain in the ass - but it was what Oikawa wanted, and thus, he would do it. That was just how things turned out. He did things to keep his best friend happy even though he didn’t really want to, ended up having a little bit of fun, and Oikawa stayed happy. “I don’t want to do the first floor meeting by myself. Can we do that jointed?”

“Mhmm. We can make the double floor meeting -” Iwaizumi tuned out his friend’s voice as he skimmed over the paper. All of the responsibilities on it made him want to be sick, but he’d do it to keep Oikawa happy. He didn’t think too hard on any meaning behind that - he never did.

Their residents moved in three days later. At nine, Iwaizumi made his way over to Oikawa’s room, pounding on the door. “Lazykawa, wake up!”

While he was waiting to be let in (he heard some disgruntled moaning and stumbling around inside), a voice came from behind him, “Are you an RA?”

Startled, he jumped and quickly spun to face the voice. “Uh - yeah, I am. I’m the third floor east RA.” The person who’d spoken to him was a few inches taller than he was and stood stiffly. Iwaizumi also distantly noted that his hair happened to resemble the shape of a turnip. “How can I help you?”

“I’m Kindaichi Yutaro. My parents asked me to go find my RA and introduce myself. I’m in room 308,” Kindaichi said, stumbling slightly over his words.

“You’re on the west side, so Oikawa’s going to be your RA. I was actually coming over to find h -”

The door swung open, revealing Oikawa dressed in only a pair of volleyball shorts. “Iwa-chan!” Realization slowly dawned on his beautiful face.

Iwaizumi glared. “Oikawa, this is Kindaichi-kun, one of your residents,” he gritted.

At least Oikawa had the decency to look embarrassed. “Hi, Kindaichi-kun! I’m Oikawa Tooru.”

Kindaichi averted his eyes from Oikawa and his bare torso. “Nice to meet you, Oikawa-san.” He then turned tail and ran back towards his room.

“Don’t forget the floor meeting tonight at seven!” Oikawa called before Iwaizumi harshly shoved him back into his room, slamming the door behind them.

“Dumbass.” Iwaizumi launched himself onto Oikawa’s unmade bed as the other rifled through his closet to find a shirt. “We should go into the common room and introduce ourselves to our residents as they move in. And not embarrass them. That poor kid was traumatized. Look what you did, Trashkawa.”

“Hey! I thought it was just Iwa-chan!” he pouted.

“It was just me. And then the kid was there. Get your act together. We have things we need to do.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Iwaizumi glared again, harsher this time.

“Sorry, sorry, I won’t do it again!” Oikawa pulled down his shorts to change into a pair of black ripped jeans. Iwaizumi averted his eyes. Not weird not weird not weird. He doesn’t find it weird; it’s fine. “How do I look?”

Oikawa looked great . The jeans - great. The grey short-sleeved button-down he had tucked in - great. The black converse - great. The face - great - wait.

“Like an asshole.”

“Do I look like someone you want to be friends with?”

“I don’t get a choice, Assikawa.” He jumped off the bed, gripped Oikawa’s sleeve, and dragged him towards the exit. “C’mon.”

“Okay, Bossy-chan.”

They sat in the common room on the couch, watching Black Panther for the millionth time, as their residents moved in. Their upper bodies weren’t touching, but their legs were tangled together on the circular table in the center of the L-shaped couch.

“What’re you watching?”

Oikawa, from where he sat in the corner spot of the couch, leaned his head over the back of the couch so he could see the hallway adjacent to the common room. Iwaizumi dragged his eyes away from Oikawa’s exposed neck and to the person who’d spoken.

Two boys, starkly different in every way possible stood next to the bench that separated the common room from the hallway. The first - the one who’d spoken, he presumed - was significantly shorter than average and was practically vibrating with energy. He had wide, excited eyes and a wild head of orange hair. The other, in a stark contrast, was fairly tall - somewhere between his own and Oikawa’s heights - and stood so still that he might be mistaken for a statue. A wicked scowl and frightening glare covered his facial features, and he had straight, black hair.

“Ooh, who’re you two? Why don’t you smile, Grumpy-chan, like your friend Shrimpy-chan, here?”

The taller growled and started to respond something that was sure to be a scathing comeback, but Iwaizumi sighed and drove a brutally hard hand into Oikawa’s ribs, causing him to yelp. “Apologize, Shittykawa.”

“Sorry, sorry, Iwa-chan.”

“Not to me.” He glared even more. “I’m sorry for Oikawa. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa mumbled solemnly. Then, in a whiplash-inducing change of attitude, he asked, “What are your names?”

The bright-eyed one responded, “I’m Hinata Shoyo, and this is -”

“I can answer for myself, dumbass,” the other cut him off. “I’m Kageyama Tobio. We’re in room 347.”

Iwaizumi quickly answered before Oikawa could say anything to further annoy Kageyama. “It’s nice to meet you boys. I’m Iwaizumi, and I’ll be your RA on east side. And this asshole -” he hits Oikawa on the back of the head a little harder than necessary “- is Oikawa, the RA for west side. If you need anything, my room’s a straight shot down the hall, and his is down the opposite side.”

“Thanks, Iwaizumi-san, Oikawa-san,” Hinata said quickly, smiling brilliantly.

“We’re watching Black Panther if you’d like to join,” Oikawa offered.

As Hinata was about to agree, Kageyama glared harshly and mumbled something about needing to finish unpacking before grabbing Hinata by his collar, thanking them half-heartedly, and storming out of the room.

They’re quiet for a moment.

“What do you make of that?” Iwaizumi asked.

“They were in awe of my strikingly handsome good looks and couldn’t stand to be in the room with me any longer.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and lightly hit Oikawa over the head, no real anger behind it. “Of course that’s your answer.” He couldn’t keep the fondness from his voice. It goes to his benefit that, luckily, Oikawa may be incredibly perceptive, but that perception does not apply to manners that involve himself.

That’s probably the only reason why he’s managed to go nearly seven long years of having a crush on Oikawa without the other finding out. At this point, he should just be honest with himself and admit that it surpassed being just a crush about eight years back, but that sounds like a scary admission that Iwaizumi isn’t willing - isn’t able - to make.

“So mean, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whined, shifting closer on the couch to Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi tried to suppress his sudden inhale at the proximity - their arms  and thighs were now lightly pressed together, Oikawa leaning slightly against Iwaizumi. “And look, we just missed the best part!” Then, he leaned his head onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder and got into a more comfortable position to watch the rest of the movie.

Iwaizumi should really be one hundred percent, undeniably immune to all of Oikawa’s touchy tendencies after all this time. After all, for how many years had this been their default movie-watching position? How many times had they shared a bed? How often did Oikawa drape himself over Iwaizumi for no better reason than that he felt like it? Regardless, all of Oikawa’s physical whims still affected him almost as much as they did when they were in junior high.

There were times when he could forget about his stupid crush.

And then there were times when Oikawa did this and it suddenly became really damn hard to keep his hands to himself. But alas, from years of trained self-control, he prevailed.

The rest of the afternoon passed fairly uneventfully.

That evening, they held their required floor meeting for their new residents. The two of them sat on opposite sides of the table underneath the TV mounted on one wall of the common room. Iwaizumi fiddled with the HDMI cord and set up the PowerPoint they’d made for the meeting.

Once the room was filled with all of their residents - all hundred or so total of them, Iwaizumi thought with a shudder - they started the meeting. Iwaizumi let Oikawa do most of the talking - if the bastard roped him into this bullshit, he’d take the bulk of the work, goddammit. The beginning was fairly standard - Housing Policies, curfew, campus rules, alcohol policy, visitation policy, et cetera.

Then they moved onto the biographical slides they’d decided to make for whatever reason - Oikawa’s idea, again.

Oikawa skimmed over the slide Iwaizumi prepared for him - the rule was that they weren’t allowed to see the slides ahead of time. There’s nothing strange on the slide - his name at the top, his major, his high school, his sport, favourite food, favourite color, and a fun fact “alien nerd”. He put a few nice photos of Oikawa - an action shot from a game of him setting a ball for Iwaizumi, who was just out of shot, a picture Iwaizumi had taken during finals week last semester with Oikawa smiling cheekily and flashing a peace sign, and one of the two of them from winter break when they’d gone snowboarding. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“I’m Oikawa Tooru, and I’m the RA for west side. I’m a marketing major, second year. During high school, I played volleyball - setter - and Iwa-chan over here -”

“Goddammit, Shittykawa, don’t call me that!” Iwaizumi hit him over the head with the attendance clipboard, which had made its way back to him.

“- Iwaizumi was wing spiker and ace, if any of you are volleyball players.” He rattled off a few more facts that were on the slides, glazing over the alien nerd fact, regardless of how true it was, and adding a few more random facts. “We’ve been friends since elementary. Speaking of, Iwa-chan, that’s about all I’ve got, so I believe it’s your turn.” He flashed a dazzling, shit-eating grin, eyes sparkling in such a way that Iwaizumi knew that Oikawa knew exactly how much he was pissing him off right now.

He suppressed a growl and flipped the slide and found himself shocked at the amount of stuff on it. It was basically a biography in and of itself. Oikawa had changed the background to the color of their high school’s primary color - a choice that complemented the number of action shots of Iwaizumi spiking, serving, and receiving that dotted the screen. The page had him outlined down to his birthday. He shook his head and looked away from the slide.

“I’m Iwaizumi Hajime, aerospace engineering major, second year. I’m the RA for east side, but it’s my full-time job to keep this asshole in line, so don’t mind him,” he smirked and jabbed a thumb at Oikawa.

“Mean, Iwa-chan!”

He hit Oikawa again. “It’s my turn now, shh.” He turned back to the common room, half of which had their mouths open in awe, the other half of which was trying to hide their laughter. “Like Oikawa said, we played volleyball together in high school. We both play recreationally when we get a chance.” He regarded the slide. “According to Oikawa, I have a Gemini moon, which is a questionable fact that I didn’t know about myself. Where the hell did you find that?” Oikawa shrugged carelessly. Iwaizumi regarded him for a second before continuing on just as Oikawa had, listing off facts about himself.

“Do you guys have any questions for us?” Oikawa asked when he was sure Iwaizumi had finished.

Hinata, who was sitting on the couch in Kageyama’s lap, started to ask a question. “Are you guys d -”

“Stop it, dumbass,” Kageyama snapped, effectively cutting him off. He then quickly apologized to the RA’s.

Iwaizumi swallowed. He knew what question it was, and he didn’t want to hear Oikawa’s answer out loud. His heart probably couldn’t take it.

As Iwaizumi was going to swiftly move on, Oikawa said, “No, it’s fine, what was your question?” Iwaizumi stiffened. Surely Oikawa wasn’t that oblivious.

A faint blush on his cheeks, Hinata asked, “Are you guys dating?”

Oikawa laughed, but it was his bright, high, fake laugh he had only to keep up his image. “Iwa-chan wishes,” he joked, jostling Iwaizumi roughly. “No, we’re not together. Any other questions?”

Iwaizumi heard ringing in his ears as another resident asked a question that Oikawa quickly answered, following on that way for another few minutes. He heard his heartbeat in his ears, his heart in his throat. He couldn’t force his eyes to focus on anything.

It hurt, even though he knew it was coming.

Iwa-chan wishes.

Oh, how dearly he did.

Oh, how dearly he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs how much pain Oikawa put him through and how scared he was of ruining everything by slipping up one day. But he couldn’t do that, couldn’t hurt Oikawa, couldn’t risk their friendship. He’d lay down on the runway in front of a plane ready to take off, wheels set to cut him in half, before he took the chance that would ruin his everything. His friendship with Oikawa meant the world to him, and if he didn’t have that, he didn’t have anything.

He didn’t speak for the rest of the meeting, just sat there in a daze as Oikawa was in his element. Eventually, most of the residents dispersed back to their rooms as Oikawa left them with the reminder about their program over the weekend.

The only residents remaining were Kindaichi and Kindaichi’s roommate, Kunimi, Hinata and Kageyama, and one other pair of roommates, Kuroo and Kenma. Oikawa set up the movie that they’d promised they’d show for anyone who wanted to hang around. All three roommate pairs shifted around the room to be more comfortable. Kageyama sat in the corner of the couch with Hinata on his lap, Kuroo and Kenma sat at one end of the couch, leaned against each other, and Kindaichi and Kunimi were in two separate chairs, an even foot apart.

Oikawa pressed play on the movie and tapped Iwaizumi’s forearm. “Iwa-chan, come on, let’s sit and watch the movie.” There was obvious concern on his face, but Iwaizumi hardened his expression and swallowed.

“I think I’m going to head back to my room. Bring back my laptop when you’re done with it.” Without giving Oikawa any room to argue, he started walking towards his room. He knew that his friend was probably standing there, confused and a little sad, but he didn’t care. He was hurt and a lot sad and he wanted to be alone.

He was about to curl into a ball on his bed when there’s a double staccato knock at his door. “Iwa-chan, open up.” Iwaizumi debated pretending like he didn’t hear the knock at all, but he knew how persistent Oikawa was. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but let me help.”

Iwaizumi slowly opened the door and mumbled, “Go back to the movie. Socialize and bond with our residents.” He never took his eyes off the floor.

“No, you’re my best friend, and you’re upset about something.”

“Go, Oikawa.”

“No.”

Iwaizumi snapped his head up, a slight bit of anger bubbling to the surface. He just wanted to mope in silence. “Oikawa, goddammit, let me be!”

Down the hall, a door opened, and a head popped out, looking their way questioningly - a clear sign that they were being too loud.

“Iwa-chan, let me in, and we’ll talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, least of all with you! ” Iwaizumi shouted, but still allowed Oikawa to step into his room, where Oikawa launched himself onto the bed.

“But why, Iwa-chan? Why won’t you talk to me about it? I’m your best friend.”

Seven years of pretending, of hiding, of lying, finally, finally caught up with him. He snapped. “Because it’s about you! You’re the one who’s hurting me, Oikawa, and you don’t see it.”

Oikawa froze. “How can I stop hurting you if I don’t know what I’m doing?” he asked slowly, choosing his words carefully.

Iwaizumi groaned and grabbed at his neck in anxiety. “It’s not that simple! I can’t ruin the best thing in my life because I’m weak and can’t get over my own shit!” Oikawa stared at him silently. Iwaizumi wasn’t ready, he knew that. But… “Oikawa… I can’t. If I tell you, it’s going to ruin our friendship, and…” he choked up, tears filling his eyes. “I can’t lose you.”

Oikawa inhaled and exhaled. Again. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but there’s quite literally nothing you could do to get rid of me, Hajime.”

“You say that… but you don’t know .” His words are choked.

“Look, you’re my best friend, and you’re not going to get rid of me that easily. You can tell me.”

Best friend.

Friend.

“And that’s all I’ll ever be,” he mumbled sadly, the last of his walls breaking down at two small words. “Tooru, all I’ll ever be to you is your best friend, and I… I can’t stand it.” Oikawa still looked confused, but he saw the slightest bit of realization in his dark eyes. “That’s what’s killing me. For years, Tooru.” Now or never. “I’m in love with you, and you don’t feel the same, and I’ll only ever be a friend to you, and I’ve just ruined our friendship, and I’m sorry , okay? I love you, Tooru, and it’s eating me up, and I don’t know what to do.”

Oikawa was silent, his mouth dropped open in awe. “H-how long?”

Iwaizumi looked down in shame. “Seven years.”

“Hajime.” There was a finger on his chin, gently urging him to look up. “I love you, too.”

Iwaizumi ripped his head away from the gentle finger. “You don’t understand!” he roared, frustration at an all-time high. Of course Oikawa loved him, but it’s different, and there’s no possible way that Oikawa is that dense -

“Rephrase time, then,” Oikawa said and took two fingers and a thumb to force Iwaizumi to look at him this time. “I’m in love with you, too, and I’m going to kiss you now.”

Iwaizumi’s heart had been through so much already. It felt like it may actually burst into a million pieces when Oikawa’s lips touched his own in a soft, chaste kiss. Oikawa’s hand on his cheek, other hand on his thigh, lips on his - Iwaizumi couldn’t keep up. But it’s amazing. It’s everything that Iwaizumi waited all these years for. It almost - almost - makes all of the pain he’d been through worth it.

Oikawa pulled back slowly, his eyes fluttering open. “Do you believe me?”

“Yes, but -”

“No buts!” Oikawa punctuates it with a quick peck to the corner of his mouth. “I love you, Iwa-chan, and I can’t take back the hurt I’ve caused you, but I can try to make it up to you in the future. Will you be my boyfriend?”

“Yes, but -”

“Yay!”

“Oikawa.”

To: 3rd Floor Residents, Staff

Cc: Iwaizumi Hajime

From: Oikawa Tooru

Subject: FAQ Correction

Dear Residents,

I’d like to make a clarification to a question that was asked at the floor meeting this evening. Iwa-chan and I are, in fact, dating. Hands off, Iwa-chan is mine! <3

Happy studying!

Oikawa

PS - Iwa-chan said that I need to put in here that he doesn’t consent to being called Iwa-chan and that it’s only acceptable when it’s from me ;P

[coffeeaus]

This Side of Paradise || Lim Jaebum

⇥ pairing: lim jaebeom x female!reader

⇥ genre: romance; angst + fluff + smut, realistic fiction // prostitution!au

⇥ warnings: foul language, sexual content, mature content [drinking, sex, and mention of rape]

▪️summary: jaebeom knows the rules:

do what the customer wants

do not upset the customer

smile and look presentable

give the customer the fuck of their life

know your damn place, you are the whore

he added his own a long time ago:

don’t have unrealistic expectations

but then he sees you, he starts seeing you again and again. suddenly he’s breaking the very rule that will keep him alive. [unedited]

↳ Tee🍒

He pours wine into your glass, this goes on until the red liquid reaches halfway. The silk robe on him opens up and Jaebeom is quick to cover back up his exposed body. You say nothing, you always say nothing, because you learned long ago that asking questions only leads him to further weird behavior. His weird behavior mixed with that crisis going on in his mind that showed on his face.

Jaebeom was shit at hiding emotions.

You carry the glass to your lips and just when Jaebeom turns to go shake yet another pain reliever into his system you put it back down. The amount of wine that he poured lessened over time as your visits became more frequent. He wasn’t hellbent on getting you drunk to make it easier to deal with you. He wanted you sober yet just the right amount of tipsy so that he could at least pretend that for an hour what this little game was, was at the very least normal.

He would share out some wine each night you came home with half-lidded eyes—or maybe it was him who was coming back home from a busy day at the office-

No.

No matter how hard he closed his eyes and tried to pretend that everything was all shits and giggles; he needed to remember his place.

You are the customer.

He will always be the whore.

Nothing more, nothing less.

"Love?"

His skin tingles at hearing that sweet word fall from your lips, he has to hold himself from collapsing in a loud aching sob. Love. It makes him feel safe, secure and to some degree a ball of warmth in the pit on his stomach. Love has him turning to you eagerly, his eyes filled with magic and pixie dust and all the good shit he told himself he would never feel.

"Hmm?" Jaebeom bites his lip too hard, damn near drawing blood, but he's used to it. Customers come and go, some like it slow and sweet (and even then Jaebeom isn’t feeling it) while some like it rough, and then there are those others who get off on abusing him.

He’s all worn out, his body is near the point of breaking down. His eyes though filled with color and soul right now would go back to black and emptiness in the morning. The fragments of his now pieced together mind would once again scatter into lonely parts. The steady beating of his heart would return to yet another cycle of ache as he missed you so much so often.

You manage to smile at him weakly, "you need to get some sleep. I don’t want you to..." You trail off because convincing yourself that you don’t understand the reasoning as to why he was wearing out by the day, was sickening.

Jaebeom is relieved that you don’t finish your sentence. He knows enough to put the pieces of what you were trying to say together. "I’m fine, it’s all about you right now. It’s your time-"

"I know."

He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he does the only thing he knows; sits on the bed, fixes open his robe to expose part of his chest, spreads his legs open a little and waits for you. Trying to use his eyes to draw you into bed with him.

However you don’t budge. Again you smile softly at him, managing to hide your hopeless nature from him. "I’m not in the mood tonight love." You return to the notepad that rests in front of you, you struggle to ponder about what it was you wanted to write down.

Jaebeom eventually falls asleep.

Jaebeom gets you to lay with him the next night you come. You and him both know that he misses your touches whether they be romantically or sexually; neither of you says a word. You just pull your pants off and crawl in next to him. There he wraps you into his arms and nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck pressing a light kiss to your skin.

"I’m here until morning."

"I know." He presses closer, his bulging member rubbing against your ass.

"You need to go to sleep."

Jaebeom shifts on the bed so that he’s propped up using his elbow, looking at you with sultry eyes.

"The only thing I need is you right now."

He cups your face with his hands, guiding his lips to yours in a passionate and oversexed kiss. You almost pull away from him—almost, but you find yourself melting into his touch as he runs his fingers against your slit. The fabric of your underwear is the only thing holding him back from complete and total contact.

A shiver runs through you, your eyes closed and suddenly you’re gripping onto Jaebeom’s hand as he hooks his finger in your underwear to push it to the side. "Do you want me, or do you need me?" His voice is deep and raspy against your ear, and as his lips lightly graze over your neck you give out a soft hum.

"That’s not an answer baby girl."

His middle finger rubs your already wet folds, teasing you, trying to make you even more vulnerable and submissive. Jaebeom doesn’t give you time to respond and you can already feel his fingers pushing inside you, slightly curved to hit your sweet spot. Hungrily he moves towards your core spreading your legs apart as he lays on his stomach, his warm breath on your clit creating knots in your belly.

Soft and warm, his tongue slowly runs over your swollen clit with his fingers still pumping in and out of you. You subconsciously arch your back and curl your toes tightly, the pleasure that’s building in you taking control of your mind.

Your hands are shaking as you grab his face and pull him to your lips, kissing him hungrily—the roles have changed—while Jaebeom has noticeably slowed down. He stills hold the same passion from minutes ago but he just wants to savor your body, study each curve of it and press his soft pink lips onto every sweet spot he could remember.

But you need him, you thought that by putting a pause on fucking him for months now would make you focus on other aspects of him. And while yes, it worked, your need for him became more unbearable by the day.

"I want you inside of me, please." Your hips involuntarily buck up into his, his member pressing against your clit. He let out a defeated moan and throws his head back and chuckles quietly. "Please baby." Your begging now, and hearing how much you want—no need him has Jaebeom ready to fill you up with his cum.

He strips out of his underwear, letting it spring out all while little drops of cum cover the head. "So embarrassing," he can’t stop from feeling more and more vulnerable as his cheeks get a soft tint of red and with you just looking at him with your eyes half closed—Jesus he going to get himself killed at this rate.

Jaebeom aligns himself with your wet entrance, rubbing the head over your slit once more before pushing into you. The pressure and slight discomfort was there, but only for a few seconds before it’s gone and you're moving your hips to tell him to continue.

And he does, with his hands gripping the sheets on both sides of your head, he moves his hips into yours slowly.

"I don’t want to just fuck you Y/N." His voice is soft, airy and shaky as he grazes his teeth on your earlobe. "I want to make love to you." He leans back up, gripping your thigh with one hand with the other rubbing your clit slowly.

"Then do—oh fuck just like that."

He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead. At the same time, you wrap your legs around him, inviting him to push deeper into you. Your fingers are digging into his back but he doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t scowl because just the feeling of your tightness around his cock is enough to help tune out his worries and fears. Nothing mattered right now besides you and him.

Jaebeom doesn’t know what it was—most likely it was you and the way you just felt around him—but he came undone in a matter of minutes.

"Fuck I’m so sorry I—" he had failed you, all he wanted was to make you feel good and he screwed that up by losing himself in less than an hour.

But you smiled at him through sleep-deprived eyes and gave out a pleased moan. "It was... amazing? Damn, I think there’s a better word for what just happened."

"I’ll clean you up just stay put." He goes to get up from the bed but your hand on his arm stops him.

You shake your head, "it’s fine I’ll get up soon. You need to rest more than me."

"I’m fine, see, I’m fine."

"When are you going to stop lying to me?"

He’s taken aback, it shows on his face and you cringe to yourself with your sudden abruptness and the questions he will most likely shrug off.

When I stop loving you.

"There are things you shouldn’t know about me. This is dangerous Y/N, so fucking dangerous you have no idea what trouble we’ll get in—"

You nod to yourself, "you’re right, so make me understand. I literally only know your name, which I’m sure probably isn’t you name—"

He’s irritated at this point because it’s too many questions and God he was going to have to answer them to keep you happy. "It’s fucking Lim Jaebeom. Are you happy?"

"Not quite. I know your name, your favorite color, food, song, actor—what am I suppose to do with this information?"

"Nothing, which is the whole point. I'm supposed to be a ghost Y/N. A fucking ghost. I don’t exist in the real world. Only in here. This is where I'm supposed to be."

But he doesn’t have to be a ghost anymore. He didn’t belong here nor was this where he was supposed to be. No one is supposed to born only to be caged up and stripped of their wings. He was meant to fly and live life happily without limits. So it broke your heart to hear him think less of himself. It broke you to know that he was the product of years of abuse and submission.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, "well do you think you're supposed to be with me?"

The feelings for each other wasn’t anything new, it was there out in the open, but no one verbally acted on it, only resorting to the physical language called sex.

Jaebeom turns his back to you as he lets a few tears fall. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know if he can be the lover you want him to be. Nor is he sure he can give you want you want from in here. "I think that I'm supposed to be with you. But I don’t think that you're supposed to be with me."

It was true, he was so dependent on your existent. It got him throughout the days and nights just to know that there was a possibility that he would see you again. He twisted your words to give him a false sense of security and he took in every detail he remembered hearing about your life and fixed them in a way where he was now in those precious memories of yours.

However you, you could do so much better.

But you won’t, because better is Jaebeom and the constant back and forth isn’t for nothing.

"That’s tough because I think the universe had us purposely find each other. I probably saved your life, but Jaebeom, you helped me too."

"What?" He’s looking at you now with watery eyes as if you’re crazy. What were you talking about?

"When I first came here I was the most lonely I’ve ever been. And yes I have friends and family but I couldn’t relate to them? I don’t know it sounds better in my head but the point is that talking to you has helped me not feel so alone. So thank you for that."

"God, why did you have to tell me this?"

"Huh?"

"This just makes it harder. There will never be a normal between us. None of this shit exists outside of this room. And you deserve so much more. So much."

You reach and take his hands in yours holding them firmly with tears in the back of your eyes. "I deserve you, and you know that." He swears he’s about to cry right then and there but your lips meet his, again and again.

The moment after you leave, Jaebeom finds the notepad he’s always seen you write on. There’s a bunch of words on it, curiosity gets the best of him so he picks it up and reads it:

You’re worthy of love, I love you, the universe loves you and in time you’ll see that. Faith led us to one another so I will do everything in my power to get you to experience this side of paradise with me. You deserve more love, freedom, and contentment. You deserve the world Lim Jaebeom. —Your Soulmate Y/N

{We’re a brand new blog and we’d appreciate it if you support us by sending in requests, we do imagines, reactions, headcanons, and texts. Thank you!}

[jiminniethemarshmallow]

Late Night (M)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Jimin won’t let you fall asleep. 

Warnings: slight fem!dom, teasing, profanity

A/N: This was the first smut I’ve ever written sooooo… yeah. The beginning of the end for me I guess. Enjoy :)

You heard him come out of the bathroom into your room, the scent of body wash and shampoo following his figure. You were curled up in bed and half asleep, his noise waking you. You started to doze off again as you listened to the sounds of him walking around the room and shuffling things around, not really caring about what he was doing. Finally he slipped into bed with you, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer so that your back was flush with his front. He sighed and his hot breath tickled your neck sending a shiver down your spine.

Jimin was your husband of about a year, but you never could get used to the feeling he gave you every time he looked at you or when he wrapped his arms around you and kissed you. Everything he did felt new to you each time and butterflies were released in your stomach every time you thought about him. It was hard for you to believe that you were married to such a perfect man and that he was all yours.

He planted a kiss on your shoulder and adjusted his hands on your waist. He paused for a second and then moved them across your stomach and hip bone until they were resting on your ass.

“No panties?” He questioned with a smirk as he gave your ass a small squeeze. You opened your eyes slightly even though he couldn’t see you and replied;

“Why do I need panties if I’m going to sleep?” You were only dressed in one of Jimin’s long tee shirts that was long enough to cover your butt. He was only wearing boxers.

He hummed at your response and you could feel him smiling at your back. “I never said you did, I was just asking.” He moved his hand down to your outer thigh and began to rub up and down your leg. His gentle touch gave you chills and you silently cursed at yourself for letting him make you feel this way.

“Stop it Minnie.” You said, more so at him than to him. He didn’t reply but he continued his movements. You have been with him long enough to have a secret unspoken language, well not really a language but more of an… understanding. People have said that its like you can read each other’s minds and you agree. Ever since you became best friends almost 6 years ago, you two have had a very special connection, one that didn’t need words to communicate.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.” You whined as you told him to stop once more.

“But I thought you liked it.” He said slowing his hand so that it was barely moving.

“I’m tired and you’re interrupting my beauty sleep.” You complained. He moved his hand and draped his arm across your waist. You sighed, relieved that he decided to listen to you for once. You started to relax and doze off but once again his hand started to wander, this time going under your shirt and finding its way to your boob. You gasped as he grabbed onto one of them. He ran his fingers across your nipple, which hardened in response.

“But you’re already so beautiful.” he whispered in your ear as he kissed your neck. “Plus, I love touching you. It helps me sleep.” He said with a chuckle and you knew he was just making up an excuse to fondle you. He ran his thumb across your nipple again and repeated in small circle motions. You bit your lip in an attempt to resist moaning. The last thing you wanted to do was let him know that you liked it. Well, he already knew but you just didn’t want to give him confirmation.

“Jimin!!” You whisper shouted. He giggled and released your breast. He returned his arm to its previous position and readjusted, pressing you against himself again. By now you were wide awake, the thought of sleep leaving your mind as you felt his clothed erection pressing into your ass. You knew that he wouldn’t be able to contain himself or his boner all night so there was no point in resisting. An idea began to hatch in your evil sleep deprived mind and you pushed back on him making him lay on his back and you climbed over him, straddling his waist.

You reached over and turned on your bedside lamp so you could see him. He looked up at your face and then down at his dick that was currently sandwiched between himself and your womanhood.

“I thought you were tired.” He said, trying not to seem fazed by the situation.

This somehow made anger swell up inside you slightly, finalizing your decision to carry out your plan. Since he couldn’t wait all night to touch you, you were going to test just how much self control he had.

“I am,” You spoke “but clearly you aren’t.” He read your unspoken words and decided that your plan was to help him.

He reached up to grab your hips. “Okay I-” you smacked his hands away and looked him fiercely in the eyes.

“I’m in charge.” You stated firmly. A light pink danced across his face along with a small grin. He was excited about your newfound energy and was practically holding his breath in anticipation. You bent down and kissed him slowly but passionately. You felt the wetness between your legs begin to form and start to soak his boxers.

You crawled back until you were eye level with his boxers and looked up at him as you pulled them down. He swallowed and watched you as you observed his length spring free from its confines. You placed a kiss on it and then straddled him once again, sandwiching him as you started to move. He let out a soft moan and the sound went straight through you, causing you to get wetter on top of him. You moved your hips and stared seductively at his face, wanting to see his reaction. You leaned forward and arched your back slightly so that your clit was rubbing against him, hands moving to his chest for support. You bit your lip to contain your whimpers and Jimin did the same, his eyes tightly closed. Slowing the pace, you looked down. The length of his dick was soaked and his tip was leaking precum. You leaned forward and kissed his lips again, reaching between the both of you to grab him and slide your hand up and down his drenched member.

“(y/n),” he said between kisses, “Can I touch you?” He asked in an innocent yet deep voice.

You moved back a bit to look into his lust-filled eyes and said “Sorry, babe. But you need to learn how to keep your hands to yourself.” He gave you puppy dog eyes, but you just shook your head and continued to grind on him. He wouldn’t dare disobey you while you were in this type of mood because he knew that you would stop and he needed this too bad.

You wanted to tease him a bit more but it was getting harder for you to keep focus and hold yourself back. So you got off of him and moved so your mouth was above his cock. You grabbed him and his eyes shot open in surprise.

“Do you want this?” You asked and he knew that you meant your mouth. He nodded, unable to get the words out while you were squeezing him. “Use your words.”

“Yes.” Jimin answered in a needy voice that was so sexy you almost moaned.

“Ok.” You reply. You kiss his tip and then lift your head to look him in the eyes again. “But remember you can’t touch me.” And with that sentence you take him in slowly until he is touching the back of your throat and your nose is touching base. He lets out a drawn out sound that is a mix between a moan and your name. You move your head up and down his length shallowly and swirl your tongue around him. He slyly tries to buck his hips slightly into your mouth and you let him get away with it because you take pity on him. His hands grip at the sheets and you know he is just dying to grab your hair and push you all the way down on him.

Sucking him off like this was making you hotter than ever, his moans increasing the wetness between your thighs. You can’t take the throbbing in your core anymore and you jump up. He lets out a sound of disappointment but his eyes light up when he sees you lining him up with your entrance. You slide down on him slowly and let out a sigh of relief. You can feel every inch of his veiny hardness and it feels too good not to moan out loud. He doesn’t seem to notice as you lose yourself a bit and he once again tries to buck up into you. This time you can’t let him get away with it and you stop almost completely, causing him to sigh in frustration. You give him a look and try to speak but you realize that if you speak, your voice won’t come out as strong as you want it to. But the danger in your eyes is enough to get the message across.

Starting with a tortuously slow pace, you move up and down on him. After a minute or two you start to see your effect on Jimin. He is breathing heavily and sweating, but it isn’t from your movements. It’s because of his built up frustration. He can’t handle the slow pace and is struggling to hold himself back from grabbing your hips and slamming into you. The very thought of him doing that to you makes you tighten your walls around him and he groans. The pace also has effects on you, but you have a lot more patience and self control than he does. You lift up and he falls out of you. He gives you a look of disbelief and you have to bit your lip to hold back your laughter.

“I thought you said you wanted my mouth.” You say as you crack him an evil grin.

You move down his body for the third time and give him a lick before you settle your mouth back down on him. You can tell how close he is by how the pitch of his moans change and how he twitches in your mouth every time you roll your tongue over his slit. Your hands find his and you intertwine your fingers with his. He takes the opportunity for contact and squeezes your hands. You moan on his cock and he groans in response. A few more bobs of your head later and he cums hard in your mouth. He throws his head back and lets out a series of curses.

“(y/n), fuck!!” You swallow every drop of the liquid, thankful that he ate a lot of fruit today. You release him with a pop and give his head one last kiss before you move up to his face to speak.

“You can touch me now.” You say lips brushing his. In one second he wraps his arms around you and crashes your lips onto his. He flips you over so he is on top and begins to kiss along your jawline and down your neck.

“You’re such a tease.” He says as he pulls his shirt off of you.

“That’s what you get for waking me up.” You giggle. He moves down to your collarbones and sucks and bites the soft skin there. “You can do whatever you want now.” You say as though he didn’t already know that.

“I want to do you.” He smiles, but it’s a seductive one despite his playful attitude. He sucks your nipple into his mouth and massages the other one. You moan loudly, no longer having to hold them in. He moves to the other one and bites down a little causing you to squirm under him. His hand moves lower and his fingers find your clit. They move in slow circles, spreading your wetness around. “Look at me.” Jimin says. You open your eyes and try your hardest to focus on his face. “I want to play a game with you.” He says and you stare blankly at him. “It’s called ‘how may times can I make you cum’ and I think it’ll be really fun.”

An unidentifiable emotion swells up in your chest and you can’t quite tell what it is. It was something between fear, excitement, and extreme lust. You bite your lip again and he presses harder on your clit, making you moan.

“I want to hear you.”

You moan louder the next time and he kisses lower down your body. When he gets to your womanhood he decides to tease you a bit.

“Do you want this?” He asks and you blush hard at the fact that he was using your own game against you. Not wanting to hear him quote you again you mustered up your energy and spoke.

“Yes, please.”

He gave you a confused look.

“I want your mouth!”

You didn’t really want to raise your voice at him but it just came out that way. He smiled nonetheless and gently pushed your legs farther apart. He used two fingers to spread your folds and took one long lick through your wetness. You gasped at the sensation. Then he wrapped his lips around your bundle of nerves and began sucking and licking you. Your back arched off the bed as you moaned his name loudly.

“Jiminnn~” you moaned and you felt him grin at your vocality. He licked up and down your folds and then, without warning, he inserted two fingers into your entrance. You cried out in pleasure and bucked your hips. Erotic, wet noises filled the room as he increased the speed of his fingers and tongue. You trembled under him as you got closer and closer to you climax.

He felt you tighten around his fingers and encouraged your orgasm with his words.

“You’re so fucking sexy, I want to see you cum on my fingers.” He growled.

You couldn’t hold back and you came on his fingers just like he wanted. You shook violently as the room went blurry. He continued to pump in and out of you to ride out your orgasm and he kissed his way up your body as you came down from your high. He kissed up your neck and jawline as you caught your breath. He took his fingers out of you and licked them clean right in front of your face.

As he hovered over you, his member rubbed against your clit. You shuddered from over sensitivity. He licked his lips as he stared at your sweaty and shaken figure.

“You are gorgeous.” He whispered against your lips as he bent down for another kiss. Then he asked you what you wanted to do next. He got off of you and watched as you rolled to your side and patted the spot behind you.

“You want to spoon?” He asked, his voice showing his confusion.

“Kinda..” You reply and he lays beside you seeing that you were obviously up to something. As he laid down you backed up into him and felt his member on your ass. You both adjusted yourselves so that his length was between your legs and he moved back and forth along your core. You turned your head so that he could just barely reach your lips and he kissed you. Although it was a bit awkward it still made you hot in the best way possible. You lifted your leg and he put his knee in between them to hold you in place. With your pussy now more accessible, Jimin slid into you slowly. You arched your back to help him slide in and he did not hesitate to move once he was fully inside. He pumped into you at a fast but steady pace. Thanks to your recent orgasm, you were still really sensitive and you felt your orgasm build quickly.

Your moans grew louder with every thrust and soon you were shaking again, so close to cumming.

“Ji- Jimin,” You stuttered. “I’m so close..”

His breathing was heavy in your ear as you said those words. He reached over and vigorously rubbed your clit, immediately heightening your pleasure. Soon after, you were tightening around him and shuddering on his cock.

“Oh my gosh, Jiminnnn~” you cried out as you came.

But he didn’t stop or pull out. Once you had come down a bit he started pumping into you again, softer this time, but he went deep. Hypersensitivity hit you and all you could do was moan, words refusing to form in your brain. You came around him again not long after and found most of your energy depleted from your body. Your whole body was buzzing, a tingling feeling in your hands and toes and you laid there motionless until Jimin pulled you up on top of him.

“I didn’t finish yet, babe.” He said. He looked up at you and saw the look on your face. “Don’t be selfish.” He pouted.

Honestly you didn’t want to move, but you couldn’t be selfish like that, especially when he was giving you that look. You moved slightly, unintentionally grinding against him and he moaned. You realized how close he was and inserted him back inside yourself. You were less sensitive now but he still made your insides twitch. You started to ride him but he stopped you.

“You don’t have to do anything.”

You didn’t have a chance to look at him with your confused look because he pulled you down so that you were flush with him. Your breasts pressed against his chest and your nipples hardened at his warmth. Bending his legs to get better leverage, Jimin then started pounding into you. You buried your face in the crook of his neck and whimpered in his ear at the rough impact. He changed the angle of his hips slightly and hit your G-spot, admiring how quickly he was able to find it. You gasped and moaned when he hit it, your reaction telling him to stay there. He groaned loudly as his sign that he was close. The room was filled with the sound of skin-on-skin and a cacophony of both of your moans and heavy breathing.

“Close?” He asked, kissing the sweaty skin of your neck.

All you could do is nod and with that he intensified his pace, pounding into you harder than before. He slammed into your G-spot repeatedly and you became a moaning mess, practically in tears as you neared the edge. He moaned even louder in your ear and the beautiful sound was enough to push you over. You clenched your walls on him and came harder than you ever have before. Everything went white as you went limp in his arms. The force of you clenching on his cock sent Jimin over the edge too and his hips stuttered as he shot his seed deep inside of you. The sound that came out of his mouth was so sexy that his voice alone could make you cum, but you were too far gone to pay attention.

The two of you sucked in air, trying your hardest to recover from possibly the most intense orgasms you have ever experienced. Jimin didn’t mind that you were still laying on top of him and you didn’t care that he was still inside of you. You stayed like this for a while as you both caught your breath. Your body was weak and shaky, so all you could do was roll off of him limply. He got up and got some tissues to wipe up what was leaking from you. Once he was done cleaning up he plopped back down next to you and pulled the covers over your bodies. You were facing him and he pulled you closer to snuggle up into his bare chest. He lifted your chin and planted a very lazy kiss on your lips.

“4 times..”

“What?” You ask barely able to hold your eyes open.

“I made you cum 4 times tonight.” He said with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes and told him to shut up and go to sleep. He laughed.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Minnie.”

Your eyelids were too heavy to stay open any longer and you fell asleep right there in his arms. He kissed your sweaty forehead and turned off the lamp, falling asleep while holding on tightly to you.

[sylvaniaschoolofmagic]

Sleep Deprivation

[Knuckles is adjusting to his first year at Sylvania, but his body is not.]

[Takes place the year before Sonic arrives at the school.]

Because the Island drifts, there was never a steady day-night cycle. Instead, their days were thirty hours long and they took a midday nap between the two middle meals, curled up with their families in their homes. Knuckles has fond memories of the second morning meal with his mother and then a long nap, wrapped up in her arms, head cushioned on her arm, then Guardian lessons, floating along with the memory of her whispering voice and the feeling of her hands rubbing his back. He stills feels it today, like the kiss of the wind on his skin, and it’s especially potent on the weekends, when he spends his days with the Master Emerald, pretending that things are like home, where the sun didn’t set every evening, perhaps instead in the middle of the day, and he takes his nap, takes an extra meal to match the days with his people, with his mother.

Now, two months into his school year at Sylvania, he still hasn’t completely adjusted. The whole twenty-four-hour thing is screwing with his innate rhythm and the three meals leaves him hungry at odd times, often during the middle of class, so he can’t focus. He wants to nap at eleven in the morning every day and nearly nods off in class without fail. His professors have to be noticing, but none of them say anything, just watch as his head droops into his chest and he slumps in his seat. His grades—as he understands them, which is vague—are falling and the Council is watching so he knows he needs to keep them up. He doesn’t want to fail out of magic school, even though he doesn’t want to be here, because at least then he has something to fall back on if he ever gets tired of being alone on the Island (debatable).

But, he can’t sleep. The bed is too soft, he’s always hungry, and he’s used to going to bed at the equivalent of two in the morning, so by the time he manages to fall asleep he usually only gets four hours. His body is barely compensating and his already broken Mobian suffers as a result. Sometimes, he doesn’t understand a word that comes out of the professor’s mouths, and other times they rattle through his head, echoing off his skull, waking up the headache that lived in the back of his brain permanently.

“Are you okay?” one of his fellow Hufflepuffs asks every morning, always a different one. He grunts and shrugs, trying to ignore the aching in his bones and head, limbs dragging.

No, he’s not okay, but he would never admit it. Besides, none of them would understand. 

Once, he fell asleep in potions. He tried not to, Chaos did he try, because he heard some terrible stories about Eggman cracking down on snoozing students, but he was going on two weeks with barely enough sleep and it just happened. He nodded off, pillowed on his own arms, and he probably slept for a good five minutes before anyone noticed. His tablemate didn’t even bother to wake him up, and if he had it in him to hold a grudge, she would’ve been the first on his list, but he didn’t have enough energy so he let her off the hook.

A large book landed next to his head and he jerked up, sputtering, yelling “What? What?” in Echidnan, but it came out garbled and a lot louder than he intended.

Eggman was leaning over him, hands on his hips. “I don’t have the patience for sleeping in my class,” he declared as he poked a fat finger in Knuckles’s direction. “And I don’t care if you have culture shock. Five points from Hufflepuff. Sit up.”

Knuckles felt something snap in him, maybe the exhaustion mixed with the frustration of the language and the leftover grief that he would never be rid of, maybe even the loneliness of being surrounded by people without a single friend, and he stood—snapped his feet into the ground and stood, chair clattering behind him. Like a robot, he gathered his books and quill and turned.

“I said sit up! Not stand!” Eggman cried, confused and a little amused, because of course the poor foreign echidna couldn’t understand him. A few of the Ravenclaws across the aisle chuckled, which really was the last straw.

Knuckles started toward the door, face set in determination, hands clenched around the straps of his bag.

“Knuckles, sit down! You are not excused from class! Do you understand?”

Knuckles stopped. “Yes,” he answered slowly, ignoring the thick accent surrounding his words. “I understand everything. I’m leaving. I need a nap.”

Eggman didn’t say anything and Knuckles didn’t turn to look at him but he could imagine his expression—flabbergasted, shocked at his gall. Or, maybe it was slow realization, that Knuckles was from a different culture and maybe this was normal for him. Maybe students often walked away from teachers, removed themselves from situations when they got in trouble. (It wasn’t. His teachers would’ve killed him for doing something like this, but they weren’t here.)

So, he left, and he took his nap. To this day, he can feel Eggman glowering at him, both in class and in the Great Hall, but it was worth it. On the plus side, his classmates don’t talk to him like he’s illiterate anymore, and they look at him with a bit of reverence, whispering about him, and he learns to recognize the word badass.

When he does sleep, it’s with nightmares just like he did after... Well, it’s manageable but only because he has experience.

Still, sometimes he wakes with his mother’s voice in his ears, whispering at him to run, run, run, but he can also hear the elders saying, “He’s not fit, you know that Tula,” and that just makes him break out in a cold sweat right there under the covers. He rises and pads out of the room, silent under the cover of darkness because he’s used to not making a sound. In the two years he spent on his own, he might have opened his mouth and made noise no more than ten times, and that was often when he got himself into trouble. Compared to then, moving around the castle silently is easy, especially with the Master Emerald humming at him, warning him of potential danger.

As he goes to the gem, all he hears is the elders, their doubt, and his mother’s strong voice telling them they’re wrong, her son is more capable than they knew. His mother, the Guardian before him, standing tall and standing up for him, even when he constantly proved that he was no more than an average student, an average Guardian candidate, an average child.

It took extraordinary to make a Guardian. One look at his mother proved it.

Now, he’s the Guardian through default.

She was beautiful, but in a terrifying, strong way. He looked up to her, watched her, mimicked her. She taught him to meditate at an early age, held him when he cried, trained him when he failed at simple strength drills. Some of the other Guardian candidates were stronger than him, faster too, but she knew— Knew he was to be the Guardian, claimed that the Master Emerald told her itself.

“You have my family’s strength,” she muttered as she touched the crescent tattooed into his chest, her other hand rising to rest over where he knew her matching one lay hidden under her necklace, “but you also have your own.”

He’d smiled up at her, with a seven-year-old gap-toothed smile, and she’d beamed right back, happy to be his mother. He vowed to make her proud then.

Sometimes, he dreams of her. He sees her getting ready in the morning, sweeping her spines up into their customary ponytail, smells the flowers she preferred, hears her voice, senses her steady gaze from the Emerald dais, watching as he trained with the others, feels her pride even now. Back then, he had no idea how much pressure she was under, but now he can imagine it. He knows she wasn’t supposed to ever have any children, that it was against their laws because she was the Guardian, but she never once begrudged him. She was nothing but proud and encouraging, never pushed him too hard or swept him to the side. She was always able to balance her job and him, and he idolizes her more now than ever before.

So, when he dreams of her, he’s back home. He was incredibly close with his mother, like all good echidna children, and, in his dreams, he can see her again, hear her chanting, spend his free time sitting at her feet as she stood near the Emerald and preformed the daily rituals. It’s like nothing ever happened, like she’s still with him and he’ll wake up and go to Guardian lessons and spar with his classmates and she’ll patch him up afterwards.

Of course, when he opens his eyes, it’s to the pulled curtains of his bed in the Hufflepuff dorm. He’s always disoriented for a few seconds, and then his chest rings with emptiness and that’s how he knows.

She’s— They’re still gone.

[wreckedregent7]

Expedition Journal - Emith Samar

Before clicking the readmore, please note: The following is a story I wrote to give some faux-lore to a location and item in the game League of Legends - this is not actual canon lore, and should be taken with a grain of salt. That said, I hope any who read this enjoy!

Entry 1 - My name is Emith Samar, of southern Shurima. Today, I was approached by a group of northerners - Noxians - who came to Shurima on an expedition. They sought knowledge of the past, with hopes to learn for the future. For reasons I do not know, they chose to first explore the ruins of the ancient city of Icathia, whose people were long conquered by the Ascendants of times past.

Though I warned them of terrible dangers, they offered me coins and protection to help them unearth the mysteries of Icathia, the city in the mountain. To ensure that this knowledge does not somehow get lost, they gave me this journal, that I may write what we find.

Before I rest, I wish to take note of one individual among the expedition group: a curious old man, cloaked in fine garb, seemingly untouched by the sands of my home. He always stands behind the group, with two adventurers at his side. Could they be close friends? Bodyguards? He makes me uneasy, but I trust that he might be the most inquisitive of them, the one who started the expedition.

But enough talk, my bedroll waits.

Entry 2 - In two days' time, we've reached the gates of Icathia, half-submerged in sand. They asked if there were any other ways in, and I told them of a broken section of wall that led inside, though it led into the remains of a barracks. They beamed at the mention, and I guided them to it.

When we entered, two of the Noxians examined the barracks, taking notes of its layout. After they finished, we entered into the city proper. The place crawled with festering, chitinous beasts, not unlike the Xer'Sai to the northwest. These creatures spawned almost ceaselessly from a crackling crystal formation, seating what looked to be a pitch-black sphere, which shifted in sight to look almost...Empty. Like a pocket in the air.

Every time the black sphere warped into an abstract hole, another creature crawled out from within. There was nothing there for it to come from, and yet it appeared from the orb as though there was plenty of space for the rest that followed it.

As the men cut down the vicious swarm, their elder moved to the orb, holding his hand out to it. A flash of light came from his hands, and most any looking in his direction reeled - myself included! We were nearly blinded, but when our sight returned, the black orb sat, nestled in the crystal formation. He spoke to the group in their own language, Va-Nox. Though, unlike the others, his words sent a shiver down my spine, like there was some inherent malice that he borne upon the winds. I asked what he said, and one who spoke Shuriman told me that we were to camp outside the walls, and wait until morning to delve again.

I trust the elder means well, but he remains ominous. Did he know something about the creatures? The men who spoke only Va-Nox called them "zur-rot". They must have fought whole nests of the Icathian swarms in the north to have a name for them. Once again, I must quiet my thoughts and rest.

Entry 3 - I woke up early today, as the shadow of Icathia makes me anxious even in sleep. Most all of the expedition remained asleep, though how they managed to with such an omen looming over their heads is beyond me. Curiously, the elder and his two compatriots were absent - perhaps wanderlusting in the city, searching for something to learn?

I crawled up out of my bedroll, and entered the city, careful not to wake the rest of the group. As I explored, I noticed footprints in the sand and dust leading towards an opening. The entry looked vaguely like a crypt, but much more ornate. Twisting pillars holding an arch with metal that shines, ignorant to the shade.

Following the footprints, I entered the tomb, keeping quiet. Whether my sneaking was for the ire of the elder or the possibility of more "zur-rot" beetles, I could not decide. With no torch, I held my hand to the wall, sliding it down carefully to keep my bearings. As I did, my fingertips bumped and slid over carved letters in an ancient language, all of which were oddly familiar. Even still, when I slid my hand back up the writing, all it spelled was gibberish and nonsense. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I was greeted with a soft, pulsing light, filling the room with a violet glow. At the far end of the room was another bed of crystals, with a genuine portal into some place that was impossible to directly look at. Though I saw in front of it were pillars of metal, twisting in ways inimitable by even the most perverse craftsmen, rows of threadbare carpets laid out like a place of worship, and on the floor...Them.

The elder's compatriots lie, crooked daggers plunged into their shoulders, blood pooling in the gaps between stone, bodies twisted in inhuman ways. I turned to run up the stairs, but as my foot struck the first step, my blood ran cold and my body froze in place. With great effort, I turned around, trying desperately to stare at the portal, with my gaze greeted by another. Vaguely, through the shadows, I saw... What almost looked like an eye, but I knew it couldn't be. It felt like a thousand-thousand eyes were piercing me with their gaze, it couldn't have been just one.

I regained my nerve, and broke into a sprint back up the stairs to the entrance of the crypt, needing no walls for guidance, only fear. When I reached the top, my momentum nearly threw me into the Noxian elder, and I stumbled to the ground to stop myself from running into him. He looked down at me, and just barely from the fading daylight, I could see a smile creep onto his face - or a grimace, I could not tell.

We returned to the camp, and the rest of the expedition greeted me as though I had done an incredible task in my absence. They said the elder told them of the relic I found, of the bravery of his friends to sacrifice themselves to aid our escape, and they asked me if I would do the honors of studying the relic and penning their names to the work to honor their sacrifice.

I know the elder lied to them, but I cannot tell them - To do so would surely end in all our deaths.

Entry 6 - This relic worries me. I have seen it before, but only ever on paper, scrawlings of madmen who drew the semblance in the sand after climbing their way out of Icathia. Worse still, the air feels heavier when I hold it, and when I look in its eyes, I feel like it stares back.

Entry 9 - The relic is a ceremonial mask, made of stone that feels like pitted bronze, but looks like polished purple stone. The depiction is vaguely human, and somewhat feminine, with sharp eyes, no nose, and no mouth. It has two horns that simply peak with the shape of the mask, though they look almost like someone stacked shards of the stone on top of each other sideways, then somehow...Merged it, though I cannot fathom how.

I have been talking with any other Shuriman we pass to learn what they know of it, and so far I've only heard murmurs of familiarity.

Entry 10 - Finally, someone with knowledge of it! They said it was a magical tool to deprive ancient sorcerors of their magic for meditation, though it was lost after the Butcher conquered Icathia. Even though it has been ages since Shurima has felt such powerful magic, and even longer since Icathia stood, I feel as though this ancient mask has not actually faded in strength.

Entry 12 - I cannot stay with the expedition any longer - I heard them talking, about the mask, about me. Their leader calls it "the abyssal mask", that someone wants it, and the group asked if I'm needed any longer. I will run when they sleep, I will run as far as I can and as far as I need. I still have the mask. They will not have it.

Entry 14 - If you found this journal, you must be looking for the mask. You will not find it. The mask is a danger, and I have hidden it away. Noxus cannot have it, Shurima cannot have it, no one can have the abyssal mask.