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jinjeriffic · 4 months

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DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 3

Part 2

Tim reached up to rub at his temples and groaned. This was getting him nowhere. Normally he enjoyed going down the research rabbit-hole but this was ridiculous! Paranormal sciences were a bad joke. Most of it was conjecture, hearsay and unprovable theories with just enough scientific sounding jargon peppered in to confuse a layperson. Peer-review was practically non-existent, not to mention a proper scientific method. Francis Bacon would be rolling in his grave!

The slight hiss of the elevator doors opening interrupted his thoughts.

“Hey Replacement, you missed dinner!” Jason called, sauntering over with a loaded plate in hand. He set down a sandwich next to Tim’s elbow. “Alfie says he’s cutting off your coffee supply until you get some damn sleep. I’m pretty sure he’s gonna start prepping the knock-out gas soon!” he quipped, leaning his hip against the Batcomputer’s console. “Research on the League giving you trouble?”

“I wish.” Tim sighed, reaching for the sandwich, “The Assassins have actually been pretty quiet recently. I found some leads on suspicious political donations in Italy, but nothing I can tie to them directly. Talia’s in Paris as far as I can tell, working at an investment firm for God knows what reason. Probably money laundering related. And the ones holed up in Nanda Parbat have been quiet as murderous little church mice.”

“Ra’s isn’t up to anything? Colour me shocked.” Jason drawled sardonically, “You sure he’s not cooking up a new batch of demon spawn in that mountain of his?”

Tim shook his head. “You know Bruce destroyed his cloning labs after the last… incident. And I’ve found no records of the League procuring the necessary materials or equipment to restart production.” he wrinkled his nose, “Of course it’s possible that they used a shell company we haven’t come across yet, but I believe the odds are pretty low.”

“So what’s got your panties in a bunch then?”

Tim’s mouth twisted in a frown. “Ghosts.”

“Ah.”

Jason stared off into space and Tim took a bite of his sandwich. Egg-salad, score! The Cave was silent for a while, only disturbed by the noise of the actual bats heading out for their nightly hunt.

“I can’t tell you for sure if ghosts are real or not. I don’t remember anything from when I was… dead.” Jason said haltingly, and Tim stilled. “But we’ve seen people come back under pretty weird circumstances. So why not ghosts?” Jason shrugged.

Tim chewed and swallowed before replying. “Because it’s one thing for the physical body to be restored, but some kind of nebulous ‘spirit’ lingering? Why don’t we see ghosts all the time then? Why don’t people come back? Why not…” Tim broke off.

“Your Dad?”

Tim nodded and dropped the remains of the sandwich back on the plate. It suddenly looked as appetising as cardboard.

“I don’t know, birdie. We still don’t know why I came back.” Jason snorted “Maybe the universe just has a sick sense of humour.”

Tim’s lips curled up in a mirthless smile. “Maybe the universe missed your terrible puns. Some of those still haunt me.”

Jason barked out a surprised laugh. “That was terrible!”

“The universe clearly made a grave mistake.”

“Stop it, I can feel my brain cells dying!” Jason groaned and gave Tim a light punch to the shoulder.

“Well we can’t have that, you have so few already!” Tim snarked, then quickly leaned to the side to evade Jason’s attempted noogie. Jason huffed and stepped back, crossing his arms.

“All right mister teenage genius. What have you dug up about ghosts then?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “There’s obviously tons of folklore from all over the world. Pretty much every mythology has stories about the spirits or souls of the dead returning to haunt the living. But if there’s a scientific basis to all this then it’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Even the supposed leaders in the field are hopelessly biased.” He pulled up some documents on the screen. “Take these for example. The Doctors Fenton are supposed experts in the field of ‘Ecto-Biology’ as they call it, but their research papers would never fly with a proper scientific journal. A lot of it comes across as blatantly xenophobic towards the entities they are supposedly studying and their research methods seem geared towards confirming what they view as foregone conclusions. And most of their peers operate on the same track.”

Jason hummed thoughtfully as he skimmed one of the articles in question. “Do you think there’s anything to this, or is it all just a hoax?”

Tim snorted. “If there is, they haven’t offered any conclusive proof. Though they certainly seem to have made it work for them. The Fentons have a series of patents for weapons and defenses against these supposed ‘ecto-entities’ and it looks like there’s plenty of people gullible enough to buy them. I haven’t taken a closer look at their products yet, but a lot of it looks like something out of a pulp sci-fi movie.” He pulled up the image of what looked like a bazooka with green glowing parts. Jason whistled.

“So, con artists or mad scientists?”

“Could be both. Their financial records are all over the place and they’ve had some large transactions with what I’m pretty sure are shell companies in recent years. They live and operate out of a small city in Illinois.” Tim said, pulling up the relevant documents on screen.

“Amity Park?” Jason read aloud.

“Supposedly it’s ‘The Most Haunted City in America’. Seems on brand, doesn’t it?”

“It probably helps them stay in business. It looks like they have kids?” Jason pointed at the tax returns. Tim typed some search queries into the system.

“Two. One in high school, one just started her first semester at Metropolis University. With a full scholarship to boot.” He spent a few more minutes hacking into the university’s systems. “Here we go, Jasmine Fenton. Looks like she’s going for a psychology degree. And… hm…” Tim trailed off. Jason quickly realised what had caught his attention.

“‘The Damaging Effects of Envy Towards Metahumans? That’s a hell of a topic for a freshman-year essay.” Jason remarked.

“Yes. I wonder…” Tim drummed his fingers on the keyboard. “She might have some insight into her parents’ research.”

“And at a cursory glance, she didn’t drink whatever Kool-Aid her parents were serving.” Jason finished for him. “You wanna go pump her for information?”

“I might as well. If nothing else, maybe we can shut down a couple of mad scientists before they become a problem.” Tim stood up and stretched. “Time for a field trip!”

Part 4

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #batfamily #tim drake #red robin #jason todd #red hood #no beta we die like danny #I'm sick and wordvomited this out at like 4am #send throat lozenges #prophecy universe #the one where clockwork uses prophecies to mess things up (and set things right)

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mae-gi-writes · 1 year

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rile you up | lee Minho (xo kitty)

You’re Minho’s latest form of entertainment and he cannot just get enough of riling you up.

Genre: romcom, slice of life, school!au, minho is a little dick

———

“Fuck you, Minho.”

“What a ray of sunshine you are on this fine day.”

You grit your teeth together, almost grind them to nothing, and repeat the words with even more conviction, “I said fuck you.”

”Watch that tongue sunshine, might fall out if you’re not careful,” Minho’s grin just widens at the way your eyes have narrowed into slights. If looks could kill, he would’ve been shot int he head twice, revived, and shot once again. But thankfully for him, your narrow-eyed stare is nothing scarier than a cute kitten ready to take her claws out.

It’s a boring, rainy and muddy Wednesday afternoon and you really don’t want to be here, in English Lit, listening to professor Lau drone on and on about love and friendship in the verses of Lord Byron’s poems and how, if you read in-between the lines and analyze the intonations, the words, the onomatopieas, you’ll find a much deeper definition of Lord Byron’s feelings.

And Minho sitting right beside you is not making it much easier.

“You’ve got a pimple growing on your left cheek,” Minho squints at your face as you turn away, cupping your face with your hands as your eyes find the lock tick, tick, ticking at the far end of the classroom. Thirty more minutes of this torture.

“Can you just stop hyper-analyzing me like I’m some kind of lab rat?I’m really not in the mood for this right now.” You snap back.

“Woah,” Minho sighs before he shakes his head, “you really did wake up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

“And you, my friend, need to mind your own business.”

“Minho and Y/N.”

Professor Lau’s voice causes both of them to wince, physically, before looking up to see the said old man with bespectacled glasses, the book of poems in his hand and his eyebrows raised as though he expected better.

If you’re being honest, you really do enjoy Professor Lau’s classes, normally. Normally.

But not today. Today, you’re having a completely off day. You woke up late, you couldn’t sleep at all last night, and all the coffee had run out by the time you’d made it to campus. Your grades are suffering and you’re currently trying to ploughing through all the assignments without drowning.

And the worst of it all, you miss home.

You miss your mom. You miss your family, your brother with whom you would fight with at every occasion and play Mario kart with. You missed your grandma, your aunts, the food they cooked, the shared laughter, the smiles…

You’re in so deep in your thought process that you haven’t even registered that Professor Lau is telling you off until he calls for your name that brings you back to attention.

“—yes?” Your eyes flit up to Professor Lau’s and a wave of emotion suddenly takes its toll on you. You try hard to blink back the sudden burn of tears at the corner of your eyes, crawling up your throat.

“I was expecting better of your behaviour, miss Y/N,” he says, pointedly looking between you and Minho with pursed lips, “in my office after class. You’re up for cleaning duty.”

Great. That’s exactly what you need. After everything.

Fucking. Great.

———

“These pretty hands cannot clean,” these are Minho’s first words as the rest of the class files out to leave you two alone on cleaning duty and as you had predicted, there are papers all over the place, test papers and pens and pencils, “I’ve taken care of my hands all these years. I am not ruining it just to clean a classroom.”

“You are so freaking dramatic,” you roll your eyes, standing up to find the cleaning supplies that are stacked at the back of the class, in the storage closet, “let’s just get this over with and we can both move on with our lives and I won’t have to see you again for the rest of this week.”

“What’s up your arse, dude?” Minho follows you, one hand leaning on the doorframe as you start pulling out the duster, the cleaning rags and the shiny new broom that Professor Lau is currently obsessed with, “you’ve been acting really weird.”

“What?” You scoff, proceeding to hand him the broom because you know he’s never going to be the one on his hands and knees cleaning the floors, “I’m not. I’m just tired.”

“No, you’ve been acting off all week. You’re all snappy, your dark circles are so prominent you look like a walking zombie and you keep asking me to go fuck myself,” Minho rolls his eyes, “also, how do you use this?”

“Jesus chri—“ you make a move towards him, grabbing the hand holding the broom while struggling to circle his back and grabbing the other, “you keep that thing steady, then you brush the dirt from this one—“ you grip his hand and shuffle it over the floor in a sweeping motion, “until it goes into the pan. Got it?”

It's only then you realize the warmth emanating from Minho's back. If you move a little closer, you could press your cheek against him. He smells like something citrus and fresh mint and man.

Somehow, it makes goosebumps explode all over your skin. You step back abruptly, noting the heat searing through your palms where you had touched him just as he turns to face you, "you seem to be a natural at this. Why don't you do it?"

"I'm gonna take care of the floors," you're glad for the distraction that comes in the form of the rag, for there's a knot of heat in the middle of your chest and you're not quite sure how to deal with it, "let's just get this over with."

There's a long moment of silence as both of you focus on your tasks, which helps to calm down your nerves. Somehow, the sound of Minho's brush is conforting to hear.

Until he speaks up, "so you're gonna tell me what's wrong?"

"Why should I tell you, of all people?"

"Because there's nobody else around and seeing you all mopey makes me actually feel bad for you."

You wipe off the dusty corner by the teacher's desk, "Do you have any ounce of decency in you somewhere?"

"Not when you're involved," Minho snickers.

You whip around, throw the balled-up rag at him and smirk in satiafaction when it hits him square in the head, "ow--what the fuck, Y/N?!"

Glad that you managed to piss him off, you turn and continue, "oops sorry. My hand slipped."

It's not ultimately Minho's fault that you're more anxious, more easily irritated than usual. So you can't really take it out on him. But he doesn't make it any easier either.

Thankfully, the rest of the cleanup goes smoothly as butter and he parts ways with the excuse that he needs to go find his aupposed lunch date, to which you merely rolles your eyes and headed for the dining hall alone.

It doesn't normally bother you to be alone. On the contrary, you relish in those silent moments of freedom without having to hear an earful from Kitty and Q, or having Yuri complain about yet another one of her life's family miseries.

But as you find a vacant seat by the door, you can't help but suddenly feel a little small in a room full of people who seem to be right where they should be. And something in your heart constricts and clenches so hard it causes a soft sob to die at the back of your throat.

You grip your spoon a little tighter and bite down so hard on your lip that you feel the tangy taste of blood.

It feels lonely.

------

You're kind of sick.

Not physically sick.

Just sick of hearing christmas carols ringing all over campus. Sick of smelling hot chocolate in the air, sick of seeing luggages being dragged on vacation.

Sick of being here.

For an international student, returning home for Christmas was never an option. The airplane ticket is too expensive for your familt to afford, and you wouldn't ever impose that on them. But if you had to admit to that selfish part of you; you wished you were privileged enough to get to fly out at every chance you got.

Alas, that is not the kind of life that you live.

So when the doorbell rings at seven-thirty in the morning on Christmas Eve, you're more than surprised to find none other than Minho standing by your door with his hands in his pockets.

"Wh--Yeah? What do you want?" You frown upon noticing the lack of luggage behind him. Knowing Minho, he packed like a diva.

He hums and peeks inside your flat, causing you to shuffle into his peripheral vision, "what do you want Minho?"

"You're not packed."

"Wise observation, smartass."

He brushes past you and strides inside, taking his shoes off casually by the door, "why not?"

"None of your business."

He throws you an exasperated look, "you gonna keep being like this?"

"I don't know, are you gonna keep annoying the hell out of me?"

He can't help the grin that spreads over his face at that, "you're fun to mess around with."

"Well for your information, it's not fun. Not for me," you don't hesitate to walk over before grabbing onto his arm and tugging over to the door, "really. I'm fine. Now leave."

"I'm surprised you're not going home for Christmas," he continues as you're pushing him out of the door.

It stings, "why?"

"International kids usually do," he folds his arms, proceeds to lean into the open doorway and you got another whiff of his scent, "what? Daddy didn't want to pay for you this time?"

"My dad died. Two years ago."

There's surprise first, that flashes through his eyes. Then realization slowly dawns.

There’s some kind of weight in your chest. Like your heart has just broke.

"What?" You laugh but it's dry and twisted, "cat got your tongue? Too shocked to speak? Poor little Y/N, who doesn't have a father to pay off her credit card bills, right?"

"I didn't know--"

"Of course you didn't. You never asked."

"I'm--" he swallows, looks away, "—sorry."

You scoff, "don't. It's okay. I've been over it for the past two years."

It's not what he says but rather the way he looks at you that makes your insides shrivel up with dread and fear and the idea that he'll never look at you the same way ever again.

Because the thing is, no matter how much Mjnjo teases you, bullies you into oblivion, you do enjoy the attention, the banter. It's almost as if it's better than just being ignored altogether.

And amidst all his teasing and his annoying personaity, there are bite and smidges of Minho's kindness smattered in-between, flecks of tenderness that makes your heart soar, your brrath

To have such a man look down at you, pity you, makes you want to be sick.

"Y/N--" you cut him off before he can even try to make it up to you, "it's fine, Minho. Just drop it--"

"Wha--I said I was sorry, don't give me that look--"

"I said drop it!" You swerve around on him, anger bubbling from deep within your chest as blood pulses through, rushes through you, "for one goddamn second, can you just leave me alone?! I don’t need this—this constant bullying of your part! It’s tiring and it’s just so goddamn frustrating and humiliating so will you just stop?!”

The shocked silence that follows your sudden outburst is heavy. If the tension had been thick before, it’s now so hard you can barely cut it with a knife. You try to regulate your staccato breaths, try not to let your body take over your mind as you focus on breathing in, breathing out, breathing in. Breathing out. Just like that.

Calm. Like water. Like you’re a river that never stops.

“Just go, Minho,” your words are bitter. You can barely look his way, an overwhelming surge of irritation, guilt and hurt swimming through you.

Thankfully, the young man seems just as surprised as you are and leaves without even a backward glance. That’s when you finally cave in and allow your legs to crumble to your floor. Pressing your head against the door, your body instantly gives into the sadness that crumbles through you like used up tissue, soaking in all the tears that are suddenly cascading down your cheeks without restraint.

You cry yourself to sleep that night.

———

“Minho, I’m really sorry about my behaviour.”

You stare.

Your reflection stares back.

Shit. This doesn’t feel right. You close your eyes, exhale a soft breath, and open them once more only to find a set of familiar brown eyes gazing back at you.

It’s just the day after Christmas and though the majority of your friends were still off campus, you’re well aware that a certain Korean young man has decidedly stayed back because of his mother’s offshoot shooting commercial.

However, you still hadn’t gotten the guts to go back and ask him for a formal apology yet. Did you even need one when he’d been the one prodding you with a stick like he would with a nest of aggressive bees?

Oh well. You decided you’d be the bigger person and make the first move. As always.

So you look back to your reflection with renewed determination, take a deep breath before forcing the words out, “I am really sorry for my shitty behaviour, Minho, I should’ve—no,” you shake your head, start again and clasp your hands together for good measure, “I’m really sorry if I offended you in any way, I was hurt—no. God. I sound so pathetic.” You can’t help but curse at the mirror.

Inhale. Exhale. Deep breath. And you try once more, this time adding a small smile.

“I’m really sorry for everything that I said. I was being a bit insensitive and wasn’t in the right headspace—“ you break off with a frustrated snarl, “god! Why is it so hard to apologize to the dude?!”

“The dude’s standing right here.”

Shocked, you swivel around only to find none other than the said question in person leaning against your doorway, eyebrows raised and a semblance of a smirk lining his lips.

“M—Minho,” you feel like slapping yourself for sounding like a stuttering goldfish. Quickly, your hands smooth down your sweater, hiding them in the big bell sleeves as your eyes find everything — anything, to get off his face, “what—what are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you, actually.”

“Why?”

You’re still not looking, deciding that the faint crack in your dorm room is much more interesting.

Minho’s footsteps approach as he strides close, close enough that you get a whiff of his expensive cologne and restrain yourself from sighing out loud.

The bastard smells too good, you feel like crying.

“Why?” He scoffs, “isn’t it obvious?”

“Not really.”

“Alright. Fine,” you’re still not looking at him, which is why you almost jump out of your skin the moment you feel the gentlest graze of his fingertips at your jaw.

“Wha—“ you stutter, eyes flashing up to his on instinct.

Dark brown meets swirls of maroon. You almost lose your breath.

In the mid-morning light with sunshine falling over half of his face, Minho looks like he’d just walked out of some fashion magazine.

“What are you…doing?” You manage to murmur out. Barely.

It’s hard to concentrate when he’s right there, in your personal space, looking a little too dashing for his own good.

“You’re right. I was being a selfish dick to you two days ago,” his grip on your chin is firm, his dark eyes even firmer, “so I’m sorry if you took it the wrong way.”

You laugh, “wait—is Minho actually apologizing? To me?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“But this is a legendary moment,” you fake a mocking gasp at him, “I should record this right now.”

“Don’t make me regret it, Y/N.”

Chuckling, your eyes crinkle up as you allow yourself to roam over his features, “okay okay, I’ll stop.”

Minho fidgets and doesn’t say anything back. Weird, considering that he has a comeback for everything. You feel his hand drop from your chin as he takes a step back, lips pressed together and face looking like he’s uncomfortable being here.

Do you make him uncomfortable? It’s not a sight you’re used to seeing. Something tugs at your heartstrings but you try and ignore it.

“What is it?” You ask instead.

“There is…” his eyes dart away, “something I need to tell you.”

“About?”

His hand drops. Instantly, cold swoops in.

“About me. And you.”

You squint, “Minho I swear, if this is one of your stupid jokes again—“

“I like you.”

You blink.

He gazes back. His eyes. They’re gazing straight at you. Focused. Intense. Hot.

So hot it causes a flame to burst in your chest.

Wait…your mind backtracks, what?

“You—“ your mouth opens. Closes. Opens once more, "I'm sorry--what?"

His eyes answer in his stead. Dark orbs swirling with a depth that makes your skin explode in goosebumps. You realize, all too soon, how close you are, how -- if you want -- you can diminish the space between just with one single step forward.

"I like you," he says it honestly. Somehow, you relish in the way he says it. Clear and transparent. No inside games, no beating around the bush, "maybe more than a little."

You sense a but. "And?"

He rolls his eyes, "and maybe I just don't know how to show it."

"You mean, acting like a five year old boy who bullies his crush for fun because he likes her?"

"Something like that."

"Okay," you drag out the word in hopes that it will hide the way your heart suddenly skips a beat, the way your legs feel weaker at the knees, "so what--what now?"

"Well, that's the part where you tell me you like me back--" Minho catches himself upon seeing you raise a brow at him, "--or not. Your choice, your rules, doll."

Doll? You can feel the flame bursting through your chest and squeezing your heart. It aches so much it hurts, though it seems that your smile can't help tugging at the corners of your lips as you watch him and despite his seeming nonchalance about the whole matter, there's the slightest sheen of pink that gives him away.

Cute. Your brain chants.

"Well," you tilt your chin up in what you hope is a confident manner, "you normally take a girl out to dinner first."

"Is that a yes?" Minho smirks.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, yes I heard alright. Fine," he sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, "tomorrow night. Dinner. Be ready by six. I'll pick you up."

"Tomorrow? But wait I--"

"You better be there, doll."

And with that, he swivels on his feet and walk away while whistling a soft tune, leaving your heart flooded with a tide of mixed emotions that erupt through your chest and butterflies running along your skin.

---

Minho: I'll come pick you up by six. Be ready then. Wear something cute but casual. Nothing fancy.

Y/N: i like how you're telling me how to dress up when you're the one who's supposes to be wooing me.

Minho: oh you don't have to worry about that.

The way he replies so smoothly has goosebumps running along the back of your neck and you squeeze your hands into fists. You're still sitting on your bed, trying to digest all this new information as another flurry of messages burst through your phone, probably fron Kitty's latest reaction your news.

Kitty: what?! Minho?! And you?! He asked you out?!!! Omg how did I not see this coming!!!

Y/N: i thought you were a matchmaker.

Kitty: well YEAH before he went and ruined it!!! Anyway, what are you WEARING?!

Y/N: i have absolutely no idea. He said something cute but casual, so I'm guessing there's not gonna be any fancy dinners or anything.

Kitty: omg!! Minho and casual doesn't sound right. Maybe he really is trying to woo you!!

Y/N: should I wear shorts? Pants? A skirt?

Kitty: definitely no pants. Maybe that cute skater skirt you wore to Yuri's party last semester?

So you do. The skirt's baby blue colour contrasts well with the simple white tshirt you decided to wear with it, and throwing on a beige cardigan and some white sneakers complete the look. You add a small blue bow into your hair to match, and take one last look at yourself in hopes that you're looking exactly how Minho wants you to--

No. That's the wrong way to go about it. Minho likes you. Yes. You. Not the girls he's always so uses to seeing. You don't have to impress him.

That’s how you meet him right outside your door, with your newly-found resolve as you catch the simple white tee and ripped jeans, hair styled just the way he likes it, just enough to make every woman’s heart swoon.

His eyes do a once-over, “not bad, Y/N. You clean up nice.”

“Not bad?” You scoff, “I’m sure there are much better adjectives to use.”

He grins, “we’ll see.”

Minho brings you over to the Han river by electric scooter, with you standing in front and holding on to the handlebars as he guides you across the street even though it’s technically illegal for people to do such a thing. But with the wind in your hair and Minho’s warmth at your back, you don’t find yourself complaining.

“Han river?” You raise a brow at him as he parks and pays for his e-scooter ride, “really? So cliche.”

“The Han River is a classic,” he looks at you pointedly, “and I’ll have you know, I’ve never brought anyone here before.”

“Ooh, does that mean anything?” You wriggle your brows and he scoffs, looks away, “shut up.”

You weren’t expecting him, of all people, to be a fan of romantic gestures such as this. But when he parks his scooter in favor of walking alongside you by the trail — even with his multiple complaints about the dirt being too dirty and people needing to revisit their wardrobe fashion — you can’t help but wonder how much effort he’s putting into just being with you. Because knowing Minho, walking on crushed grass and having his shoes in dirt is quite a big deal.

“Look, do you want to be swooned or not?” He replies when you ask him the question, even looks offended that you’d dared ask such a thing, “I thought girls loved it when boys brought them here.”

“Yes I know that,” your grin is so wide that you’re surprised it hasn’t broken your face in two yet, “and don’t get me wrong. I love it, but I never thought you—of all people — would bring me here, of all places. It’s just not…”

“Not what?” He scowls.

“Just not you,” you confess, and then, seeing that his frown seems to take a permanent fixture on his face, you quickly add, “so the fact that you’re doing it…thanks. It means…something. You know?”

Heat springs through your cheeks at the sudden confession and you quickly look away, anywhere, but not before glancing at Minho to see that he has a faint smile dancing across his lips.

As the evening wears on, you get to talk about everything and anything; from worries about your future and the rigorous routine of adult life, about which game box is better and which restaurant serves the best korean noodles, which Minho argues does not exist, considering that every single noodle joint in Seoul is a pro in making them.

"We're the city of noodles and gimbap, obviously there's more than one good noodle stop."

"You speak like someone who hasn't tasted Uncle Cha's food yet. You know, the snack from across the road to campus."

Minho's nose wrinkles, "nah I'm good--"

"Oh no you don't," you grab onto his arm before he has a chance to run away, "nu-uh. Let's go get them right now, actually."

Surprisingly awed by Cha's cuisine, Minho has no other choice than to grumble out a faint agreement. It's no secret that it makes your day.

"But the environment--" Minho shudders, "I think I saw a cockcroach scuttling about in there."

“Oh yeah,” you let your eyes follow the wall and trail back up to him, pointing at his face, “there’s one.”

Shoving you playfully, he pulls out his tongue in such a childish manner you can’t help but burst out laughing.

You decide to take the walk back along the Han River even if it makes a detour, stopping by a coffee shop to grab some hot chocolate. The city lights now illuminate the city like stars scraping the earth’s surface and you can’t help but feel amazed by how beautiful the scenery is, with the wind trickling through your hair and soft music from busking sessions in the background.

“I’ve never actually walked along the Han River before,” you confess to him as you gaze down at the black waters sloshing against the river edge, “thanks, Minho.”

He has the look of a satisfied five year old child who got a gold star for his best behaviour, “you’re welcome.”

“Who knew you’d be the one to bring me here?” You jostle his shoulder playfully before taking a sip of your hot chocolate.

“What’s that you’re implying?” He frowns.

“That you’ve surprised me and my expectations.”

“And that’s supposed to be a compliment?” He looks horrified and dramatic, “you’re harsh, Y/N. I’ll have you know, I haven’t—“ he stops himself just in time for you to swoop in and push, “yeah? You haven’t what?”

“Nevermind,” he sips his own drink and you notice the way his ears have turned red.

You giggle, “tell me, have you gone on dates before?”

“Wha—of course I have! What kind of question is that?!” You keep on laughing and laughing at his face, shaking your head as you try and muffle your chuckles the best you can, “oh god—oh my god, you never have. It’s written all over your face—“

“You talk too much,” he mutters into his drink and turns away from you, ears as red as a fire engine.

You nudge him, smiling, loving that side of him that he’s never really shown anyone before. Because you all know the cool, confident Minho. But this, this side of Minho is uncharted territory.

And you’re all here for it.

“Why not, though?”

His eyes narrow as he looks back at you, “what?”

“Why haven’t you brought anyone out before?’ You fidget with your cup, glad that it’s warming your hands so you can busy yourself with something, “because I’ve seen you, with different types of girls. All the time—“

“Yeah that didn’t mean anything.”

“But you still went out with them.”

“Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?”

“What?” Heat flushes through you, “no, I just—“

That’s when you feel it. His hand, fluttering up to yours. He pries your hold from your cup gently before bringing it down between you, fingers entangling with yours like they’re meant to be there in the first place.

And when your eyes flutter to lock onto his, there’s liquid warmth in those pools of brown, a tenderness you’ve seldom seen before.

“This is new too,” he murmurs then, “all of this.”

Your heart skips a beat. There are no words to be said.

You swallow thickly, look away, and don’t miss the soft chuckle that falls from his lips as he keeps swinging your hands back and forth between you, his smile a permanent fixture on his face. One that your lips mirror faintly as you keep walking back towards your dorms in comforting silence.

———

“Was that romantic enough for you?”

Minho’s question is met with a chuckle from your part as you finally reach your dormitory. A few stray students are still studying deep into the night, some already asleep on the deep blue couches in the common room as you make your way through, hands still entertained from earlier.

Your heart has been skipping and rollerblading into ecstasy ever since.

“Hmm,” you hum, even tilting your head in thought, “guess so. Though if I had any complaints—“

“You wouldn’t tell me, because there aren’t any,” Minho finishes for you, “right?”

“Oh i have plenty, but I’ll keep it for another time,” you flash him a mischievous smile. You’ve reached your corridor by that time, your words causing Minho to shoot you a suggestive look.

“another time?” He repeats with a cock of his brow.

You bite your lip and look away to avoid the fact that there’s a faint, yet growing smile on your face, “yeah. Maybe.”

The said young man’s lips pulls into a small smile, “I can work with that.” He murmurs, and something warm pools in the middle of your chest.

It’s hard to control yourself around Minho especially when he’s not being a little shit. Because the fact is; he’s very enticingly charming and likable.

“Well, that’s me,” you’ve reached your door then, glad that for once your dorm room is free of activity since both your roommates have gone home for the Christmas season, and turn towards Minho.

“Thanks you, for tonight,” your cheeks are warm with heat but you can’t resist grinning up at him, “I had more fun than expected.”

Minho sucks in a dramatic breath, “wow. I think i finally got a compliment out of your mouth.”

“Trust me, that’s me being nice.”

“I know,” he flashes a grin at you and before you know it, his arm has gone up to press against the doorway, caging you in and suddenly making you feel smaller than you are already. His body heat rolls into you in waves, the scent of his boyish cologne making you dizzy as your body leans into him unconsciously.

“So,” he breathes. He’s so close, so close that if you move just a little, your noses would brush, “since I’ve taken you out on a date, do I get to kiss you now?”

Air stills in your lungs. Your teeth find your lower lip.

“It depends,” your whisper is so soft he barely catches it, too enthralled by the way your mouth curves and moves with the words, “will you take me out again?”

“If her highness wishes,” Minho chuckles, tilting his head so that your noses brush. Electricity zaps through your body, goosebumps raising at the back of your neck, “I’ll take you wherever you want.”

Your eyes lock. There’s warmth, want. Desire swimming through his own pools of brown.

“Sounds like a promise,” you breathe, “so when will that—“

“Y/N.”

The way he says your name has a knot tightening in your stomach. Your body tenses in anticipation.

He’s gazing at you as if he’s only just seeing you. His lips are so close, you can feel his breaths on your lips. Hot against cold. He smells divine.

You’re so lost in your own daydream that you respond a few seconds late, “y-yeah?”

“Do me a favor?”

One hand cradles your cheek. You freeze.

“Hm?”

“Stop talking.”

And before you can do anything else, his mouth presses against yours.

Fireworks explode. Behind your eyelids. Through your body. Blood races and your brain goes fuzzy with want and desire as Minho’s other hand wraps around your waist to tug you in, his other hand clasping your jaw firmly as he kisses you. Once. Twice. He’s a good kisser, yet so gentle and tentative.

You’re taken by surprise for a few seconds, before you finally melt into him and kiss him back. A sigh escapes you as your hands go up to wrap around his neck, and the groan of satisfaction he lets out makes your entire nerves buzz with delight.

Tilting his head to the side to kiss you deeper, longer, you let out a gasp against his mouth as he pulls you even closer still, as if he can’t get enough of you. You haven’t realized you’re pressed to the door until your back meets the hard wood underneath and you yelp softly at the way his tongue swipes over your bottom lip to ask for entrance.

He kisses you softly, yet so firmly as if you’re the only thing keeping him alive, satiated. His hand at your hip moves up, tracing the back of your spine, the side of your rib cage before brushing against the corner of your bra and making you squirm while your hands curl into his hair. You tug, causing a grumble to echo out of Minho’s chest. His tongue darts in and you part for him like melted butter so that he can kiss you and ravage you without restraint.

Everything falls away, with only Minho being your anchor. You smell him, feel him against you, and want nothing else other than the dizzying rush that makes your stomach erupt with fireflies.

Your mouths part with a pop and he takes this chance to nip at your jaw, littering kisses down your neck before suckling on a soft patch of skin. Your body reacts instantly, curving into him as your lips part in a soft, minuscule moan. That’s enough to snap him back to attention.

He gazes up at you, chest heaving and all heavy breaths. His lips are swollen and red and just so beautiful. Hair tousled like he’s just tumbled out of bed and you quickly decide that’s the look you love best on him.

The curfew bell sounds and he curses.

“Minho,” you murmur when he leans in, noses brushing to capture your lips into his once more. You sigh, eyes falling shut as he takes your next set of words away.

It’s almost as if he’s drunk on you, as if he just can’t get enough.

The thought makes you shiver. Your heart swells with emotion.

“Minho,” you murmur once more against his lips. He groans, pulls away onto to bury his face into your neck and humming, “yeah?”

“Curfew’s in two minutes.”

“I know,” he’s pressing open-mouthed kisses over your collarbone and you can’t help but whimper and cradling his head closer to you despite trying to make sense of your thoughts.

“Y—You should go,” you stutter out but it’s almost like you’re talking to yourself. He’s clearly in his own world, suckling onto your skin and leaving purple marks to claim you as his. He pulls away, groaning appreciatively at the sight you make.

“Do I really have to go?” His dark eyes — darker than you’ve ever seen them — flickers over your features. There’s a kind of hunger to them that makes you shiver.

“Yes,” you stammer out, heart almost bursting out of your chest when the boy merely tugs you close before he rests his head atop yours. He holds you, breaths you in, and your eyes close on their own accord, taking in the moment like it’s the last.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” his whisper grazes the shell of your ear and you shiver. He pulls back and there’s the kind of crooked smile that makes your heart tighten, “goodnight, Y/N.”

“Good night, Minho,” you murmur and dropping a last kiss atop your temple, you watch him walk away, raising a salute with his hand as he does so.

———

A/N: GAHHH IDK WHAT I WROTE AND I GAVE UP AT THE END I HOPE IT’S ALRIGHT BUT ANYWAY I’VE BEEN OBSSESSED WITH MINHO THESE DAYS.

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kiaxet · 1 year

Text

So it turns out the latest update in @somerandomdudelmao‘s apocalypse comic has been living in my head, and when that happens I need to get it out, so ~900 words of sad it is!

~~~~~~~~

Donnie is good at birthdays. He has been once he was old enough to understand the concept. It's a point of pride.

Specifically, he's good at presents. According to his data, most people who fail at presents do so because of the guesswork they seem to think needs to be involved. He's never understood the point of that. Data and hypotheses, certainly, but why guess when a definitive answer is available after a simple direct inquiry?

"What do you want for your birthday?"

Early on, the presents are easy. Art supplies. Comics. Stuffed animals. Things he could hand to Papa in an easily followed list format, or obtain for himself once they all got old enough to start safely leaving the lair and venturing into the city above. It's simple and straightforward and so, so easy to get right.

(Of course, he always has an annotated list of his own desired gifts to provide to his brothers; if he's solved the guesswork issue, he may as well make things easy for them too. Plus, that method ensures he gets what he wants.)

Things start getting a little more complicated as he and his brothers get older. Art supplies and comics and stuffed animals are still very much appreciated, and he's documented his brothers' tastes well enough to know exactly what they like, but the answers to his simple direct inquiry are different.

"Dee, can you help me plan this mural out? I think I have enough space, but I could use a hand with the measurements."

"Donton, my half of the day is gonna be a Jupiter Jim marathon, and I need you there. Without your laptop." A beat. "But you can pick one of the movies if you want."

"Hey Donnie, you think you can help me out fixing up the gym? Things just stay put longer if you weld 'em."

After a few years of documentation, Donnie spots the pattern. His brothers appreciate physical gifts from him, certainly, but that's not what they want anymore. What Donnie's family wants from him is time - time outside the lab where he spends a good amount of his days, time spent in conversation or shared activity or simply in the same room. It's not as easy as finding the right physical gift, but if that's what they want, then he's more than happy to provide. Now that he's discerned the pattern, it's just as easy to give his brothers what they want, and Donnie can continue to maintain that he is Good At Birthdays as a point of pride.

~~~~~~~~

The Hamatos don't do birthdays anymore. There's no time in the apocalypse, no supplies, and Donnie is one of the few who actually keeps track of the calendar date. The apocalypse certainly has its share of anniversaries, a list that only grows the more people they lose, but birthdays are no longer celebrated.

With one exception.

Casey Jones Junior, their collective adopted kid, is young enough that birthdays still matter - should still matter. They do their best to keep him safe and keep those days calm and happy for him, despite everything happening around them, and while they don't always succeed, they at least try.

And damn it all, Donatello is still good at birthdays.

"Casey Junior!" He greets the kid with a grin, leaning on his bo like it's not both an inconvenience and a humiliation to need to rely on it in order to stay upright.

"Uncle Tello?"

"Since I'm not very good at guessing, I'll ask straight out." This is not entirely true - he has a list of potential gifts for Casey drafted, with 98% certainty that whatever Casey asks for will align with one of them - but he requires that confirmation to move forward. A certainty in a world where certainty is in short supply. "What do you want for your birthday?"

"My...ah." Casey's expression falls and he looks away, gaze fixed on the paperwork in his hands. Donatello says nothing, pointedly ignoring the elephant in the room in order to give Casey space. "You...can do anything," Casey starts.

"Pretty much, yes." Material issues aside - spirits know he'd have a cure for whatever the Krang had infected him with if those weren't a concern.

"I want you to stay alive," Casey says, and Donnie's smile freezes in place as Casey looks back up at him. "Can you do that?"

Damn that two percent uncertainty.

"Ah. Of course." He shrugs, as though he doesn't know exactly what Casey is asking for, and pulls up a holographic display of a calendar. "According to my calculations, I will be alive next month, which means I'll be here for your birthday." Not talking about it won't solve the problem, but it may salvage this conversation. "So! What's an actual gift you want?"

"I want you to be here." Casey's gaze finds a point on the floor, and Donnie falls silent. "Not just for a month."

No. No, he needs something concrete - something he can act on - he knows how long his list of responsibilities is, but he still feels stymied, rushing up on the end, and he needs something he can do- "But it's not a gift," he replies, a last-ditch effort he's fairly certain is bound for failure-

"No. No, it is."

As always, all Donnie's family wants from him is time.

And now, at the end of his rapidly-shortening life, it's the one thing he can no longer give them.

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt donatello #somerandomdudelmao #cass apocalyptic series #rottmnt casey jr #fic #I wrote this with a wicked case of vertigo #so if it doesn't make sense I'm blaming that #breaking that writer's block WIDE open #writing

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honestsycrets · 10 months

Text

enfócate ii: non-negotiable

❛ pairing | tutor!miguel x student!reader

❛ type | explicit

❛ summary | miguel has to choose his battles: insist on removing peter from your life or get what he wants.

❛ tags | schoolgirl au, spanish tutor!miguel, Miguel's jealousy, slight obsessive qualities, fuck buddies, fuck boy Miguel, mention of physical assault, hurt peter, mention of violence, breakups, non-penetrative smut, slightly unknowledgeable reader, silly playtime.

❛ sy's notes | masterlist here. please READ THE TAGS. on this fic particularly, i seem to encounter people who trigger themselves.

Miguel had many girls.

None gave a shit when it came down to it. They talked a good game over text messages and phone calls, tried their best to please him sexually, and snuck into their bed. They might even have lunch or dinner with him. Very rarely this.

He was doing his notes that Monday afternoon, scribbling away when his phone lit up. He flicked a look, realizing it was your photo that popped up. Not the many cum stained photos he had in his phone in your own folder. Those were not safe for any of his bosses to see, but one of those sweet photos that Peter’s taken.

Miguel isn’t stupid. He knows a love-sick puppy when he sees one. One look at Peter’s socials reveals many things: volunteering with a high school club to teach photography, stupid little flowers that he finds gorgeous, a number of subjects for his fine arts degrees, and on Sunday-- you. Sitting on a chunky rock in a beautiful dress in a stream, the sun bouncing off your strawberry-dusted cheeks. He has to do something about Peter.

“¿Qué pasó, Princesa? I’m finishing my notes.”

“I have something for you,” you answered. “Come outside.”

“For me?” Miguel tucks his phone between his ear and shoulder, closing his manilla folder that held a time-sensitive report. Miguel grabbed his keys and wallet, heading for the door. Everyone else was gone for the day, but Miguel did his homework in the lab.

“Sí,” you laughed. “¿Quién más?”

“Tch,”

At least those Spanish lessons are paying off. Miguel rushes down the three flights of stairs in record time and pops out the back door. You pushed past the archways into the beautiful gardens that usually obscure pedestrians from staring at scientists as they quickly woof down their food and bolt back inside to deal with whatever piteous work they had. Miguel slips on his dark sunglasses, turning his arms one over another. You have time to stop and appreciate nature, more than he could say about even himself.

“Princesa,” he hangs up the phone and takes a few steps to the tables where you were, twirling around the scent of fragrant orange blossoms. He bites back an amused smile, his voice picking up in a humored lilt. “What are you doing?”

“Dancing!” you hopped on one stone table, then the other.

“Don’t fall,” Miguel snatches you short of falling off the third table, setting your ass down with a mindful pull of your dark burgundy skirt over your thighs. “Why did you call?”

You supply him with a wicker picnic basket that was hooked over your elbow, pulling open the flap. The warm smell of meat and corn greeted his nose, finally shaking loose the smile that he had suppressed since you first called him.

“I brought you dinner.”

He blinks.

“Me?”

“You said you had to study for your test,” you looked up at the red brick building, “It’s better if you don’t get distracted by going out for food.”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell you that he usually brings his own food, regimented as he is. Miguel sets his hands on your hips and watches as you pull free whatever it was you made him. You set aside the basket and offer him the glass container and a bag of tamales, enveloped in their warm little husks.

“Menudo. And these are tamales con carne. My familia makes them every year. I brought them just for you.”

“You didn’t have to,” he murmured.

“But I wanted to.” You reached for the envelope collar of his lab coat, smoothing it down against his chest. “Besides, every one of my primas do it for their men. I can’t keep just bringing food home for Peter.”

It’s not that serious, he wants to say. There’s something soft about the way you recount it to him. He can’t stand to go against what you’re saying and instead sets the food back in its home, tucking your hair behind your ear. He traces the shell to your lobes, flicking his finger against the dripping earrings.

“Come upstairs.”

“No,” you answer quickly, leaning up to place a meager little kiss on his cheek. “You should be studying and if I go up there…”

He’d definitely get in trouble bringing his fuck buddy up to his office. Still, it might be worth it.

“I won’t get anything done,” he finishes. “Give me a real goodbye kiss.”

“You didn’t like that kiss?”

“It was a sad kiss.”

Peter was an essential part of your life.

He was closer than a friend if such things spaces between friendship and relationships existed. You supposed that in the absence of romantic relationships, friendships were the next best thing. Who else, but family, would support you? You nibbled on a hunk of toast with sweetened cream cheese and frozen berries ala Peter, whose head draped over your thigh. Your fingers combed through his thin brown hair, twirling bits around your index finger as he lay with a full belly and fuller thoughts.

“Sooo, how did it go?” Peter asked, staring at fluffy clouds that whirled by that perfectly cozy afternoon. “Did my super awesome plan go perfectly?”

You’re too shy to talk about it.

“Aw it did, didn’t it? I knew it!” Peter reached up, tickling his fingers through the ribbons of a pearl headband you wore that day. “Is he good? I hear all kinds of stuff about him.”

“Peter,” blood rushed to your face. “We haven’t…”

“Haven’t what?” he asked. “Ohhh. Oh. You haven’t fucked him? I thought…”

“We did-- just not that,” you patted his warm pink cardigan, flapping your hand down. “We haven’t you know--”

“Had sex?”

Peter could be too much sometimes. Today was one of those aggravating days. You settled down your hunk of toast, bobbing your head in a nod, eager to explain without making the words. “Just… oral. I couldn’t Peter, I’m not ready yet.”

“I know,” Peter’s tone goes soft. “But he can’t be happy about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every time Miguel has a new girl, he makes sure to fuck them as soon as possible. Keeps ‘em connected, or something, or that’s what Dana says.”

“Who’s Dana?” you chirped after him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You… looked so sad seeing him with someone else. I couldn’t… break your heart like that."

“You couldn’t tell me, but you could kiss me?”

“It was a nice kiss. Isn’t it about time for him to stomp past here?”

You wonder what Peter might mean by that. He slid his eyes shut, humming with one long leg thrown over the other. About time for his afternoon nap until you shook him awake because of your sore arms or back-- whichever came first. He slides his eyes shut, going to sleep under the feeling of your fingers twirling through his hair.

“You’re impossible, Peter.”

Peter was always right. You spotted your muscular man walking past the hedges, in a clean white shirt that obscured nothing about his muscles. You thought he would do what he usually did: wave, move on, talk to whatever whore of the day was on his arm.

He was walking with a girl who was tall and lithe. She made no moves to cling onto him as he slipped down the slight grassy slope where you sat with Peter, reviewing the intricacies of corrugated pottery before class. Your heart soared in your chest as he crouched down, a hand on his knee, scanning Peter’s face.

“I thought we talked about this.”

You didn’t expect those to be the first words out his lips, but lo, they were. He regarded Peter the same way he might an annoying animal with their favourite human, with blatant distaste and a passing hint of jealousy. You didn’t understand why.

“About…”

“Other men.”

“Peter isn’t another man. He’s non-negotiable.”

Miguel’s thick eyebrows pushed together as he processed the blatant line in the sand that you drew. You weren’t about to give up your dear friend, picnic dates at lunch, or photography shoots on the weekend for a man you sucked off. No matter how good he tasted and how thick his muscles were, crouched with those wild chocolate eyes.

“I’ll stay away from other men-- but not him. You take it or leave it.”

Miguel worked his jaw, clearly debating on the value of fighting you then and there. Miguel didn’t negotiate. It was never in his nature.

“Miggy,” called the woman on the sidewalk. She wore a dark bob, a streak of purple spiraling along her head. She has a terribly squeaky tone, one that is full of ire from having to say anything at all. “The samples.”

“This isn’t over, Princesa.”

He relented. Not because he wanted to, but because time was undoubtedly limited. You were pretty sure it was.

Miguel is breaking another rule. Not only does he glaze over Peter in your life, but he brings you to his apartment for tutoring. He’d deal with Peter after he secured you. You were proving one of the most difficult of his women to keep.

Come over, it'll be private, he claimed in a text message. It’s absolutely not to peel away your soft pale pink panties nestled up against your cunt, drag them down your hips, and onto the floor. He’ll keep those.

It’s not because the desk in the study room would do nothing to obscure his sinewy frame, shoving your legs apart and dragging you to the very edge of the seat.

“Take your vocabulary quiz.” You nibbled on your pencil as Miguel buried his head between your thighs, biting down on your thick thighs to encourage you to spread your legs wider. You breathed out an elongated hiss at another bite to your opposing thigh.

“Pero, Miguel-- how…” you murmured, making the mistake of looking between your legs. Miguel met your gaze, possessed with the smell of your body. You greet him with a choked-out groan of his name the second his mouth connected with your pussy. He knew you would taste sweet.

“It’s very simple. You start writing,” The quiz should be easy. A simple finish the sentences with the right word and vocabulary word box to boot. It was terribly easy-- if not for Miguel’s tongue suckling the juices that dripped from your core, you might have already finished it. It was hard-- too hard-- to focus on anything but Miguel’s warm tongue prodding your cunt, his fingers sliding within your hole. Miguel urges his finger around the rim. “Preferably something in Spanish.”

His tongue slid from your entrance to your clitoral hood. Another finger joins the first, twisting and pulling apart your impossibly tight hole. He just knew you would feel amazing. He suckled along your lips, suckling them wet as you struggled to read and make any sense of what was on the page. It wasn’t going to happen.

“Miguel, Miguel--” Your voice drew out, it had been so long since you had a partner. “Dame más.”

“There you go,” Miguel hummed, closing his mouth around your puffy clit in worship for the admittance. The pencil tumbled free from your fingers. Without thinking, your hand buried into Miguel’s silky dark brown hair, rolling your hips onto his face to pursue an orgasm. He suckled it fat and needy, his fingers curving in your body. With a soft sob, the pleasure caused you to gush messily all over his fingers. Your fingers knotted up in his hair, riding his face until you’re left with nothing but the cozy haze of your pleasure.

You don’t know how you’re going to pass this stupid language requirement now.

Miguel kisses you, soft and sweet, gentle and light. You taste yourself on his tongue and worry about the way you taste. Miguel doesn’t seem to have a single complaint. He grabs your hands, helping you to stand upright, even though your legs were as stable as a newborn giraffe’s. With your body against Miguel’s, you could feel the outline of his cock nice and hard, tenting his sweatpants.

“Should we take this to bed?”

“I…” you asked, shyly so. “I’m not ready for that. Is that… okay?”

Coño. It’s not the answer he hoped for, but Miguel can be patient. He dips his head down and resigns himself to a night of jerking himself off. He had been looking forward to today, fucking his new girl. He steeled himself from any reaction that may inch across his face and offered you his hand.

“Claro que sí, princesa,” Miguel finds himself saying. It’s not that you can’t retract the consent, but he knows that you have some shyness to do so. He rather honesty over concern for his ego. The session had at least been an hour-- with Miguel’s focus fading at the sight of your cute little pink dress. “We can stop here. You can take the test as homework. Have it done by next time.”

“But… you’re hard.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve jerked off,” Miguel shrugs off the thought. It wasn’t how he imagined today going, but it wasn’t-- Miguel dropped his gaze down to his waistband. Your fingers tingle over the white ties, pull them loose.

“I want to take care of you,” you shoved his sweats onto the floor, pooling around his slender feet. Miguel’s cock bobbed in the cool air, impossibly hard. You walked him back from his desk to his bed. He falls back on it, his big dick kissing his muscular stomach. “Lay back.”

He found himself eagerly complying. You snatched the lube he keeps on his desk, likely knowing that he kept it there for just this reason. Miguel likes to think that his sexual needs are usually met-- but sometimes, they aren’t. You shoved his legs apart and climbed onto the bed, gliding your hands up the inside of his thighs. A warmth filled his lower belly as you popped open the plastic bottle and drizzled it over his cock. The cool liquid made him flinch.

“It’s not that cold,” you asked, a tease on your lips.

“You find it funny? Let me pour some on you, then,” Miguel remarked, his gaze following your fingers. You gripped him, soothing your palms over the top of his cock and back down, milking him like with your soft hands. You spend particular time smoothing over his root, tracing his veins up to the tip. Your thumb massaged his slit, smoothing a soft bead of fluid that gathered there.

“Do you like it?” you asked.

“It’s nice.”

He hummed and lolled his head back onto his pillow. You met him where he was, your lips against his, exchanging a soft and wet kiss. A groan escaped his chest, clearly appreciating your affection. You want him to love it, need it, and crave it at the end of the day. Maybe you could not do all the things the other women could, but there was something about the way you looked and touched him that he knew he could not easily replicate.

“Miggy. How do I make it better?” You asked, more of a whine than anything.

"Better?" Miguel reached up, cupping your breast with one hand. He gives you a squeeze, urging your nipple to harden underneath the fabric. His hazy eyes turn to the other breast, repeating the treatment. You nodded as he worked-- and it's cute how much you want to make him happy.

“Let me fuck your tits. Get on your back, take the dress off,” Miguel looked toward the bottle of lube. He finally has you naked. Every inch you peeled away revealed a little more precious skin that he’s craved to see all week. You slipped off the dress, then your bra, laying back on the sheets. The lube is lukewarm, but when it hit your warm skin, it caused you to flinch too.

“Oh, now it’s cold,” Miguel teased. You smeared the wet lube over your breasts, pushing them together just right. Warmth bit your cheeks as Miguel mounted you, either muscular thigh on the side of your ribs. Between his large body cradling your breasts and his eyes on yours, he realized that you were terribly shy. He rubs the head of his cock against your nipples before sliding between your breasts. “You’re so shy.”

“I’m sorry,” you nodded. It becomes clear that as much as you trust him-- there is some barrier to complete trust. Miguel began to thrust, his hips cantering in the warm, wet lubricant. You could appreciate every day he spent at the gym, making a physique that other men could only aspire to. He was so thick-- so handsome. His breath came out in sharp little puffs as he worked, hands coming on top of yours for both stability and the opportunity to touch you. His fingers slid between the empty gaps of your own, eyes closed, face taut with pleasure.

You knew, as much as he knew, what he was thinking of. His cock wrecking your pussy for the first time because no matter how many times you jerked him off, sucked his cock, or let him fuck your tits, he’d always wonder. He was certain you wanted it too, wanted to feel what it would be like to be under him-- pounded pretty. Your head rose to watch his cockhead peep out between your breasts. Every sweeping motion was rewarded with a little lick, earning a hiss of your name. His measured features hardened.

“Coño,” Miguel cursed as the thick ropes of his cum coated your tits. He forced himself forward, cum pumped over your collarbone and neck, dripping into your hair. The grip on your breast was unrelenting, while the other jerked himself through the bolts of aftershock. To his surprise, you gathered his cum between your fingers and suckled it, tasting his warm salty fluid on your tongue. He watched you, enraptured, as you cleaned yourself-- then went after his softening dick, suckling the spent seed there.

“Beautiful,” he murmured as he pulled away. You followed, inching up his chest to kiss him. He tasted himself, finding that he liked how he tasted much more when it was on your tongue. “Stay the night.”

He never asked anyone to stay the night. It was a flagrant violation of another rule that all the others knew he had. Miguel was open to having another roommate. A pretty girl to fuck and keep. She just had to be the right kind of girl. He has a feeling you’re that girl, nestling between his arm and chest, holding him close.

He just had to fuck you first to find out.

The thing about having multiple girls is-- his interest wanes.

He never knows the exact cause. Only that he’s distracted with you. Perhaps it’s your resistance to letting him actually fuck you. Not eat you out, not have his dick sucked, not fuck your tits, but fuck you. He’s thought about how a hundred different ways. Against the museum, in his bed, in the library, his private office-- It encompasses much of his attention. You were at Peter’s art showing Friday night, which was how he ended up here with Dana, yet again.

She wants to see this stupidly romantic movie that no one else is really into from the looks of the empty seats. Miguel isn’t invested either, his mind is racing with thoughts of someone else. Her lips are wrapped around his dick in the dark movie theatre, he goes soft. Soft-- Miguel rarely goes soft, he’s looking for a hole to fuck into. Apparently, this one is no good. He eventually sighs, pushing on her head to remove her from his cock.

“What is it, Miggy?”

A balance of light and shadows highlight her face as she sits there, looking positively aggravated with her failed Friday night date. Miguel knows that he can’t perform like this. He glances down at the near-empty theatre and itches the back of his neck, tucking himself back into his jeans.

“I’m not horny,” he murmured, folding his arms one over the other. He’s surprised she can hear him over the beaming sound of the movie theatre. She does, shoving his shoulder in protest over his shitty performance.

“You’re usually horny,” she bites back.

“Then maybe it’s you.”

The impulse to take it out on Dana is out before he can control it. She flicks her head at him, her slight eyes popping wide open. She searches Miguel’s flat features for an apology, ruffling her fluffy purple bangs away from her eyes. He doesn’t give her one.

“Oh, now you don’t want me? Ever since you’ve started seeing that teashop bitch,” Miguel perked his brow up, “You don’t have time for me. What? Is she that good?”

Tea shop bitch. It’s been over a week of trying to get you to fuck him at multiple intervals. He hasn’t been able to. Not for a lack of trying, but your shy deflection and offers to do things like-- pick an orange off the trees by his building, walk around on a date, or just touch one another. He tried to understand: you weren’t a girl that ran out to date many men. In fact, he’s pretty sure that he is the outlier in your sex life.

“You’re right,” he says. “We should stop fucking.”

“What?”

“You’re too attached,” Miguel stood up, his hands forming tight balls in his pockets. “And I’m just not that interested.”

“When did that change? A month ago? Miguel?”

He doesn’t have time for her stupid possessiveness, her obsession with keeping her slot as his default bitch. Other women told him all about Dana-- how she tended to show up where they were, bumping into them, or the rumors she spread in the department. He jots down the stairs, ignoring her squealing call of his name. The issue with Dana was this: she loved him far too much and he loved her far too little. As with so many of his once-were fuckbuddies, it was better for Miguel to go on his way.

Or, it would have been. He received a concerning message the next day.

I don’t want to see you again.

It’s from your number. Any attempted calls go straight to voicemail. Logically, he should have been able to count it as a loss and move on with any of the other women he had in his life. Illogically, Miguel wants an explanation. If he can’t get one from you, he knows just who will give him one.

Jess already knows what it’s about from the look behind her yellowed sunglasses. Her arms are turned one over the other, clearly having some sort of reservation from this meeting alone. She seems pissed off at him too despite the fact that he has no idea what the fuck he did. He only knows that you’ve virtually disappeared from his life.

“Are you going to tell me?” Miguel asks.

The crispy bagel sits forgotten before him, alongside the coffee that plumes wisps of heat into the air. Jess flicks her eye down to the steam, then back to Miguel.

“I told you to leave that girl alone in the first place.”

“You also set us up. I should know why she left.”

Jess looked off to the wind wisping through the trees, then to everybody that walked on by. There was an undeniable truth to what he said, her involvement was obvious and disconcerting. Whatever had happened, he deserves an explanation. You weren’t going to make this easy to talk to you, but he was intent. So long as he knew the depth of your irritation with him.

“Someone burned Peter. Something about… what was it? Stealing her man?”

He hates that he doesn’t have to ask who.

"Is he hurt?"

"Bad enough," Jess answers. "Y'know how special he is to her."

He's not sure he does.

#spiderman imagines #spiderman imagine #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara/reader #spiderman x reader #atsv imagine #atsv imagines #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you

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2024-grimoire-challenge · 5 months

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January Week 1

Welcome welcome to the 2024 Grimoire Challenge! Time to really get started everyone! This week will have a lot of stuff all jammed in. So buckle up, grab your grimoire and your supplies, and let’s get to work!

Monday

Name your book - this may seem silly and you definitely don’t need to name your book. Not properly at least. Other than “my grimoire” or “book of shadows” or what have you, which is totally fine. But some of us might feel the need to give it a proper title. “The Basil Grimoire” or “Hazel’s Handwritten Workings” something, anything, that ties the book to you and your craft. Make a title page! If you feel so inclined. If not, that’s fine too.

Definitions (New Page) - ritual and spell. Let’s define a few things. Make a page specifically for definitions, that we’ll add to through the challenge. Let’s start with a couple simple definitions. Define spell. And define ritual. Within the confines of magic, witchcraft and your practice. What is a spell? What is a ritual? What are the differences?

Study (herb) - Pick another herb from that list we made, and dig into the details. Make a page for it on its own, or add its info to another page! Whatever works for your craft. The questions to ask for these study prompts are going to continue to remain the same. Where did it come from, where does it grow, how does it grow, what are its mundane and practical uses. What are the myths and legends and stories surrounding the herb? What are its magical properties and why/ how do you think the other information you've learned about it have influenced its magical associations?

Tuesday

Outline/ index (New Page!) - it helped me a great deal to have an index or outline to my grimoire. I started this as a file on my computer as my grimoire grew and changed I could more easily manage it and rearrange it as I saw fit. Then eventually I could make it into a handwritten copy.

Study (gem) - Like our herb prompt, the gem prompts are going to always use the same outline and questions. Where does the gem come from? What is it used for in a practical and mundane sense? What are its physical properties? What are any myths, legends or stories? Where and how does it form? How does all of that relate to its magical correspondences and what does the herb mean to and for you in your craft?

Spellwriting 101 (New Page!) - make a new page dedicated to spellwriting. This is going to be one of those prompts that is focused on you and your craft. How do you write spells? How do you set them up? What components do you use? What is the format? How is it done? What does it require? From materials to timing and circumstances? Write it all out in your lab notebook. Make it a work in progress. Not all spells are going to work out the same or function the same as you perform them, but having a general layout and method helps to focus your practice.

Wednesday

Common tools - What are the common tools in your craft? That is, you don't need to have a list of every single tool ever used in witchcraft, just the tools that you use in yours. Both regularly and less regularly. What are they used for specifically? What purposes do they serve in the magical and practical sense? Are they ceremonial and symbolic or do they serve an actual physical purpose? (i.e. a wand used to direct energy serves many purposes, while an incense burner could literally just be that, an incense burner)

Year outline/ calendar - not everyone celebrates the same days, holidays or even the same holidays the same way. What are the special occasions and days in your calendar? Mark them and when the proper season/ holiday comes around, we can make pages dedicated to those days. This week this will simply be a list of these days, while later we will actually make pages for them individually. Think of it like the Wheel of the Year, Yule to Midsummer and so on. What days are important to you and your practice? Are they actual holidays? Or simply days of power like the full moon? Or is it simply days that are significant for other reasons, like the anniversary of the day you began practicing witchcraft?

Practical - tool usage - practice using your tools. For example if you use a wand. Practice using it to direct energies or whatever it is you utilize it for.

Thursday

Altar design/ work space (New Page!) - make a page dedicated to your altar and its setup. Why are things where they are? The reasoning can be simple as “that’s where it fits” or you can give it a more meaningful reason. Candles in front of or behind something to represent some purpose. Do you have items that represent the elements? Deities? Different sources of power or directionality? Different colors for different meanings? Why is your altar the way it is?

Practical - cleansing space - practice cleansing your space and tools. This is of course a physical and 'energetic' cleansing. Tidy it up, redecorate your space, clean the tools if they have dust or ash or anything on them. Sometimes it is good to have a clean start.

Friday

Personal practices - this is just a thought provoking prompt tied in with the Journal prompt below. What are some of your personal practices that you've brought into your witchcraft? Anything from little habits from your every day life to things brought from religion or family traditions. No matter how hard we try, we carry within us echoes of things not related to our practices into it. And that is totally okay. Recognizing them, acknowledging them, and truly incorporating them can be a huge step toward understanding ourselves, our beliefs and our practices all around.

Journal/ introspective/ meditations - Think about the above and write any of it down that you come to terms with. Self understanding is important in and outside of witchcraft.

Thank you all and I hope this week's prompts aren't too overwhelming! Stay tuned next week for the next set of prompts!

-Mod Hazel

#2024 grimoire challenge #grimoire #grimoire challenge #paganism #witchcraft #witchblr #witchy #2024 gc #book of shadows #dark academia #occult #occultism #magick #magic #witch challenge #witchy challenge #book of magic #grimoire info #grimoire inspiration

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aticolabexport · 1 year

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#physics lab equipment #physics lab equipment list #physics lab equipment manufacturers #physics lab equipment supplier #physics lab equipment supply nigeria

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avoxrising · 6 months

Text

The Feral One • Ch 26

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

A second chapter today as promised

Content Warnings - injury, surgery, mention of psych eval

An hour feels like forever as you watch the one you love slowly fade away. You’re passed out again by the time Peeta returns with a medic.

“I could only find one,” he pants, trying to catch his breath. “There were a lot of injuries due to the bombs.”

The medic kneels down to take a look at you. Your blood was still black, worrying the entire group.

“Please,” Finnick pleads. “You have to help her.”

“There aren’t enough of us right now to handle this,” the medic shakes their head. “Half of our unit died to the bombs this morning.”

“Can you radio for someone? Anyone?” Finnick asks.

The medic was able to call for an armored vehicle to come pick you up. They didn’t have any medical supplies but they could drive you to the hospital.

Finnick holds your limp hand the whole way, refusing to let you leave him.

It’s been 12 hours with no news. The doctors immediately rushed you into surgery when you arrived, not even letting Finnick come with you.

Finnick sat alone in the waiting room of the hospital. Peeta had been taken in for a psych eval and Katniss was in the ICU. Boggs was dead, the Leegs were dead, Prim was dead… (Gale was unfortunately not dead)

A gloomy aura hung over the capital that day. The rebels had won but at a high cost. Finnick didn’t know what he would do with himself if you didn’t make it.

“Finnick,” someone states as they nudge his shoulder. The blond looks up to see Johanna in front of him.

“Jo…” he replies. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard what happened…,” she starts. “I needed to be here. They flew me out from thirteen.”

“Thank you,” Finnick hums as his friend sits beside him.

The two of them sit in silence for hours, Finnick periodically dozing off in his chair.

Johanna nudges him awake when the doctor comes out.

“She made it through surgery,” the doctor states, causing the victors to let out a sigh of relief. “She’s in a medically induced coma for the time being. She’ll need to have another operation in a week to remove the mass in her brain.”

“What mass?” Finnick asks.

“The timer…” Johanna mutters.

“We don’t know exactly what it is,” the doctor explains. “We do, however, believe that it’s the cause of her sudden illness. The doctors are in contact with Mr. Latier to devise a safe plan of removal.”

“Can we see her?” Finnick asks.

“I’m afraid she’s in a quarantine until her immune system rebuilds strength,” the doctor responds. “We need to check you for injuries but after I can set up some chairs outside her room for you.”

Physically, Finnick was fine. The doctors gave him some fluids and treated some cuts but released him soon after.

He wanted to help you in any way he could. The hospital was running short on blood so he donated some. Unfortunately it couldn’t go to you but Johanna’s blood was able to.

The doctors did a full body scan on Johanna and determined she was clear of any capital additions, meaning she could donate blood and tissue to you. She spent every moment with Finnick, only leaving to grab him some food.

Mags and Annie called daily from 13 but weren’t able to come to the capital yet. District 13 was working on assigning the victors places to stay in the capital until Snow’s execution but they weren’t ready. There was still a lot of cleanup to do.

Beetee flew in two days before your scheduled surgery. He showed Finnick and Johanna the brain scans and explained in technical terms how they were going to extract it without triggering any reactions.

“My hacking abilities allowed me to gain access to the experiment database of the capital’s military lab,” he explains. “A similar experiment was done on some rats around 60 years ago. Luckily we do not believe removing it will cause any further damage to her system.”

“What was it designed to do?” Johanna asks.

“I believe the experiment was designed to trigger a rabies-like reaction in the subject; resulting in their death. However, I hypothesize that the process did not complete itself in her due to the amount of blood she lost. The reaction is transported via the bloodstream so it ceased when there wasn’t enough blood left to continue it,” he explains. “She’s lucky she got here when she did. The doctors told me they’ve never seen someone that low on blood survive for that long. I’m optimistic that once we gain access to the medical equipment in the military hospital she will heal fairly quickly.”

“Thank you,” Finnick responds.

“We’re victors,” Beetee states. “We look out for each other.”

Taglist:

@randomgurl2326 @mystargirl-interlude @uther-pendragon-is-an-ass @yourdailymemedelivery @americanprometheuss @l3xi3luv @noisyalmonddreamer @nordicvxid @teaganthemorningstar @samatokisunfinishedcigarette @justtrying2getby @lvsticm @notplutos @innercreationflower @nexxus13 @kachelleee @helluvafire @haymitchabernathyslover @memeorydotcom @frostsword @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @giverosespls @honethatty12 @just-levyy @dd122004dd @nekee-lilac02 @impeterporker @nox-the-gay-nerd @redsakura101 @hopefulatrocity @eddiemunson4ever @fangirlvibez @kittimbo @zucchinimalfoy @sleepy-roman @secretsicanthideanymore @writerofadream @vsnrly @mayonesavegana @lilifl0wer @finnickodaddy @abbersreads @fox-bee926 @ginger-swag-rapunzel @isasalom @yizhoutv @livingdead-reilly @imaegonstargaryenswife0 @faephoria @omwtkydttfym @iris1587 @sarcasm-and-stiles @10ava01 @impossessedbyjeongyeon @littleanubis21

*if the tag didn’t work please check your settings to make sure other blogs can tag you

#hunger games #finnick odair #hunger games fic #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick odair angst #finnick angst #mockingjay part 2 #the feral one #avoxrising

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edusupports · 2 months

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Dynamic Track

Dynamic Track is designed for students to investigate or experimentally determine the relationships between force, mass, and acceleration . It provides an economical and convincing method to discover Newtons Second Law. Dynamic Track also can be used to carry investigations into momentum, elastic collisions, transfer of energy, straightforward periodic movement and etc. The results produced by this Dynamic Track is repeatable, collect and reliable on every occasion due to its distinctive style and prime quality. The smooth guide of the track ensures that the trolley runs straight with a minimum of friction.

Dynamic Track Investigating Newton’s Second Law by Dragging Paper Tape

Dynamic Track with Support Rod Investigating Force, Mass and Acceleration by Dragging Pape

Dynamic Track Investigating Force, Mass and Acceleration by Embedding Paper Tape

Upper Track and Lower Track Demonstrating Newton’s Second Law

#BASIC EDUCATION #PHYSICS #TAGS: ACCELERATION #DYNAMICS TRACK #FORCE #FORCES & MOTION #MASS #MECHANICES #NEWTON SECOND LAW #TRACK #teaching apparatus #educational equipments #technical training equipments #lab supplies

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 6 months

Text

The Grand A-Z List of Whump 2/3

This list contains ~174 items listed I to Q

As always, I heavily encourage people to research topics thoroughly when writing. Whump is generally a 'dead dove' sort of topic, however it is important to avoid stereotypes/misinformation. This lists intention is to not glorify/romanticise sensitive topics in any way.

This is a comprehensive list of injuries, Illnesses and tropes - including those from the Whumptober 2023 trope vote!

All submissions are listed in italics, and those who wanted to be tagged will be included at the end. If you have any more submissions: please send them via DM/my ask box.

[A-H] [R-Z] [NSFW List]

List below the cut:

ICU

Identity reveal

Ignorance is Bliss

Ignoring an Injury

Immersion foot syndromes (Prolonged exposure to damp and cold)

Immobilization

Immortal healed wrong

Immunodeficiency

Impalement

Improvised medicine/treatment

Indigestion

Infected (Blood, Wound, Tattoo etc)

Infested

Injured caretaker carrying an even more injured whumpee.

Injured whumpee instructs caretaker how to treat them.

Injury Discovery

Injury Revelation

Insecurity

Insomnia

Insults

Internal Bleeding

Interrogation

Interventions

Intimate whumper

Intubation

Involuntary whumper

Isolation

Isolation/Quarantine

Itching

Jailed

Jamais vu (The experience of being unfamiliar with a person or situation that is actually very familiar.)

Jealousy

Jet Lag

Jumping (to safety, forced to jump)

Just dying in general.

Keeping quiet because the enemy is nearby

Keeping the whumpee awake

Ketosis (body burning fat for energy)

Kidnapped by the opposing team

Kidnapping

Kidney Stones

Killed! (Again and again and again for the lovely immortal whumpees<;3)

Kneeling

Knife through hand and into wall/floor

Knocked Out

Lab Rat

Laryngitis

Late realisation

Left for dead

Leprosy

Lichenberg scars/Lightning strike

Limited Medical Supplies

Live-Streamed/Broadcast torture

Lobotomy

Locked Up and Left Behind

Losing a Bet

Loss of appetite

Loss of reality

Lost (In the woods, city etc)

Lost voice

Low Blood Pressure

Lumbago (lower back pain)

Lupus

Lured into a trap

Lying

Lyme's disease

Lymphoma

Magical exhaustion

Magical healing

Magic whump (using spells to harm someone)

Manhandling

Major Character Death

Makeshift Splints

Malaria

Malnutrition

Manhandling

Mauled

Measles

Medical trauma

Medieval Torture

Memory Loss

Meningitis

Menstrual Cramps

Mental illness after being kidnapping (and addressing it)

Migraine

Military lovers

Military whump

Mind control/Manipulation

Miscommunication

Missing

Missing Person

Mistaken Identity

Misunderstanding

Mono

Mopping a sweaty brow with a cool cloth

Mudslides

Muffled Scream

Mugging

Multiple Sclerosis

Multiple Whumpees

Multiple Whumpers

Mumps

Muscular Atrophy

Mute

Muzzled

Nailed to a wall or floor

Nails digging into palms

Nail marks left in the whumpees skin

Natural Disasters

Nausea

Near-Death Experience

Necrosis

Neglect

Nerve damage

Nerve pain

Nightmares

No anesthesia

No goodbyes

Non-responsiveness

Nonhuman whumpee

Not allowed to die

Not Realizing They’re Injured

Nowhere else to go

Noxious (gas/fumes)

Numb

Numbness/Paralysis

Obsession (with finishing the mission, the whumper obsessed with the whumpee etc)

Open Fracture

Orthostatic hypotension (low blood pressure when standing)

Osteogenesis Imperfecta (brittle bone disease)

Outnumbered

Overdose

Overworked

Oxygen Deprivation

Oxygen Mask

Packing a wound

Panic attacks

Paralysis (this could be temporary or permanent)

Paranoia

Parent caring for sick child

Parkinson's

Passing out from pain

Passing out in arms

Permanent injuries that affect them long term

Phantom pain

Phobias (could lead to character stumbling and hurting themselves in an attempt to escape their fear)

Photographs/Polaroids ( Especially if they're of the kidnapped whumpee)

Physical Therapy

Piercing ripped out

Pinched nerve

Pinned Down/To The Wall

Plague

PMS

Pneumonia

Pneumothorax

Poisoning

Polio

Possession/possession recovery

Post-exertional malaise

Post-ictal confusion/any other symptoms (after a seizure)

POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome)

Power Fatigue

Praise (especially if it's from the whumper)

Pregnancy (morning sickness, self-conscious, hot flushes, tired and sleepy, general malaise, swollen feet, weird cravings...)

Presumed dead

Prisoner Exchange

Protecting friend from the whumpees own team (bonus points if doing it while injured)

Psychological Torture

Psychological Whump

Psychosis

PTSD

Pulled Muscles

Puncture Wounds

Q-Fever

TAG LIST: Thank you very much to the following people for submitting ideas! (I apologise if some tags did not work, I'm not sure why tumblrs not letting me tag you!)

#whump #a-z list of whump #long post #extra long post #death tw #ptsd tw #illness tw #injury tw #angst #writing #prompts #whumpblr #a-z #a-z of whump #i-q

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selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs · 11 days

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I don't know if you can do it but if you can (want to), can you do child Atsushi and child Akutagawa in teyvat with teen reader.

Or they could be with normal Ages too!

If you were not alone

Part IX

Characters: Self-Aware! (Child!) Atsushi Nakajima, Self-Aware! (Child!) Akutagawa Ryunosuke

Reader: Teen! GN! Reader

Warning: OOC. English is my second language. Physical age regression (Atsushi and Akutagawa remain their memories, mental age and abilities, but physically were turned into children). Platonic hug.

________

🐯🧥 After you, Atsushi and Akutagawa woke up in Teyvat, you tried to find both good and bad in your situation. Bad № 1 - you were transported into Teyvat, without your phone and without any idea of how to go back. Good № 1 - Akutagawa and Atsushi were with you. Bad № 2 - They, somehow, become children. If the situation was better, you would tease them for being an older sibling now. Good № 2 - Their memories were intact. Bad № 3 - You were on Dragonspine in your normal clothes, that wasn't suitable for this mountain. Good № 3 - You ended up in Durin's cave, so, for now, you were warm.

After the analysis you came a to a conclusion - situation was a bad one, not a good one or neutral one. How are you supposed to get down from Dragonspine? The closest people to the cave were Fatui solders, and you don't want to go near them. And you weren't sure, if Albedo visited this place at all. Atsushi and Akutagawa offered to use their abilities to get down from the mountain. However, there were two problems. First - it was almost nighttime, and you don't want to wander around Dragonspine at night. Second - none of you were sure, that Beast beneath the moonlight and Rashomon still have the same power level.

You three decided to sleep in a cave and rethink the situation in the morning.

You fall asleep, listening to a Durin's heart beating.

🐯🧥 The dream you have was strange. Like... You could see everything, that was happening around the Dragonspine. Hilichurls, boars, Fatui, members of Adventure guild... You even saw Albedo in his lab. Yet, you couldn't move. You saw, feel all of them at the same time... Strange dream indeed.

'Durin could not move, but he has remains of his will. It was hard, but he left the message in Scarlet Quartz's pieces near the lab. He knew, who was sleeping near his heart. Creator...'

🐯🧥 You woke up because of Atsushi's and Akutagawa's angry shouts, the smell of burning firewood, toasts, fried onions and tomatoes. The moment you opened your eyes, you saw Albedo, together with Klee, were trying to calm Akutagawa and Atsushi, while trying to keep an eye on the fire. Albedo calmly tried to reason with your older(?) brothers.

"Please, we don't mean any harm. We just want to help."

Well, it seems, you got some luck on your plate.

🐯🧥 You jinxed it. Yes, you had breakfast, and Albedo brought warm clothes. But, the biggest threat was soaring above you three. Because, if Albedo wasn't lying, soon you will have a bounty on your head and an angry mob chasing after you. On your meek "But... what if I told the person on the throne, that I don't want to be in charge and only want to return home" Albedo responded with "The Cursed Brat won't listen. They won't change their mind."

You three were in danger. And you need to move fast. Chase after Alice. To get home.

Albedo couldn't help Atsushi and Akutagawa became adults again. But, he said, that they would either get to their original age soon enough, or Alice could help with that.

And, according to Albedo, she was on her way to Fontaine.

Albedo gave you supplies and helped you find a boat.

Your journey has begun.

🐯🧥 Almost near Fontaine borders, you three were captured by Fatui. You were brought to the House of Hearth. You three were separated. Atsushi and Akutagawa were with other kids. And you were kept in the basement. In a hidden dungeon.

🐯🧥Atsushi hated the House of Hearth. While it wasn't as bad as his previous orphanage, this place still felt rotten. Especially because of the other residents.

"Poor brothers, the Sinner had corrupted you. Don't worry anymore. Father will protect you." Lynette, as Atsushi learned her name later, couldn't finish the line. Akutagawa still can't use Rashomon, but, the knowledge about self-defense was still with him. And Atsushi knew, how to throw a punch without white tiger's help.

Two ten-year-old boys were throwing punch after punch, hitting Lynette.

"Don't you dare talk about [Y/N] like that! They are our sibling!" yelled Atsushi. Akutagawa growled, trying to bite Lynette's ear.

Both of them were restrained and locked in a storage room.

They could hear, how Lyney and Freminet, who locked them, were whispering about "poor kids. I hope, it's not too late."

When the voices disappeared, New Double Black tried to make up a plan.

Akutagawa whispered.

"Did you learn, where [Y/N] are, Man-tiger?"

Atsushi shook his head.

"No. You?"

Akutagawa shook his head in return.

"No. This damn place is too big."

And, Atsushi could bet on it, other kids were keeping an eye on him and Akutagawa. They can't search the orphanage freely. But they knew, that you were still here. Something tells them, that your... "Punishment for being an Imposter" won't be quiet and hidden.

🐯 They were talking the rest of the day. And no good effective ideas were proposed. Atsushi hated it. He hated to be small and powerless. He hated, that you were in danger. If only his ability was here...

Atsushi's eyes slowly focused on the small window. At the full moon.

The transformation was painful. But, the white tiger has returned.

🧥 Akutagawa didn't pay attention to Atsushi or moon. He was thinking about you. You were his little sibling. And he was your protector. And he can't fail his job. He just needs… Just need his power. Akutagawa almost shouted.

"Rashoumon: Tenma Tengai"

And black tendrils finally came to life.

And the black hellhound has returned.

🐯🧥 Huge feline were shuffling the air, like it was trying to find something... Or someone. Yes... His family were missing. Tiger cub were missing. Tiger saw, that dragon knight was here. He will help find tiger cub.

Akutagawa, in his Rashomon's armor, climbed on tiger's back. Rashoumon's tendrils ripped off the door.

Their search has begun.

🐯🧥 You were half glaring at Arlecchino. The Forth Harbinger has been visiting your cell every day. Trying to convince you to be reasonable. She won't let you and Shin Soukoku go. She saw a chance of having her own loyal Creator. And she won't lose her chance.

Her voice was calm.

"Be reasonable. I can protect you and two kids you were traveling with. All I need from you is to be an obedient godling, child."

You breathe in, but stayed quiet. You already begged Arlecchino to let you three go. She didn't. Maybe, if you tried again...

🐯 He could smell it. Faint scent of his tiger cub. He snarled, following it. His tiger cub was in danger. Dragon knight on his back destroyed doors, that were on their way.

They reached the basement. And white tiger finally found his tiger cub.

🐯🧥 The door behind Arlecchino fell apart. Before Harbinger could react, familiar black maw sank its fangs in her shoulder and threw her away. The door of your cage have no chance against white tiger and Rashomon.

Immediately, you were hugged by Akutagawa, and the huge feline rubbed his head against your torso, chuffing happily.

Happy tars flow down your eyes.

"Guys! You are here!"

Akutagawa, before answering, put you on tiger's back, sitting behind you.

"We would never abandon you."

White tiger waited, before you two sat on his back, and started to ran off.

You three left the House of Hearth behind.

🐯🧥 Tiger were running all night, until sunset. Then Atsushi transformed back. Then the tears and hugs came again. You three were finally safe, Atsushi and Akutagawa were adults again. Now you can focus on finding Alice.

🐯🧥 It took two more weeks, but you managed to do it. You found Alice. And you finally went home.

____________

🐾 Reunion was tearful. Your fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts and siblings were happy to see you. They were happy to see Atsushi and Akutagawa.

🐾 Your stay in Teyvat were scary. But, one thing you knew for sure. Doesn't matter, what age they were, your brothers Atsushi and Akutagawa will protect you.

_______

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