#some of them just dry up and shrink. and they keep forever. and they have magical protective properties.

[tobacconist]

the esoteric significance of having an ancient dried up lemon in your kitchen

#some people stick them with pins or cloves or chillis #but the best way is just to buy a load of citrus fruit. and eat it. and sometimes you dont eat all of it and some of them go bad #but some of them #some of them just dry up and shrink. and they keep forever. and they have magical protective properties.

[carolmunson]

the vacation diaries - entry two

entry one eddie keeps a journal from your time together at the inn in upstate indiana. a series of blurbs starting from the first morning after ’before there was a before’ in my steddieverse series.

warnings: 18+ themes, minors dni. mentions of seeing a therapist/being put on medication. otherwise, pure fluff.

dinner was a disaster. for me, at least. i think she thought it was pretty funny, and if i can get her to laugh instead of whatever wistful look she’s been pulling then maybe my suffering is okay. who fucking over cooks duck? it’s impossible to make duck dry. i wanted to send it back but i didn’t want them to spit in her desert. i’ve made better duck in wayne’s trailer! i’m so pissed.

don’t even get me started on the excuse for pasta primavera that was on her plate. of course she thought it was good — i thought maybe i made her palette a little more sophisticated over time. i guess not.

i think she felt a little better yesterday after she got out of the shower. a little refreshed. we mostly drove around to look at all the scenery out here — the snow makes it extra nice. we stopped by a diner for coffee and she held my hand the whole time again. i missed that. all those gentle touches. she got so reserved, i think maybe she felt like she had to earn them. she’s never have to earn gentleness from me. maybe it’s a learned behavior.

i think she felt a little better yesterday after she got out of the shower. a little refreshed. we mostly drove around to look at all the scenery out here — the snow makes it extra nice. we stopped by a diner for coffee and she held my hand the whole time again. i missed that. all those gentle touches. she got so reserved, i think maybe she felt like she had to earn them. she’s never have to earn gentleness from me. maybe it’s a learned behavior.

despite the awful food, dinner was fine-ish. i should've just jumped in the back and cooked everything instead. i promised when we got back home i'd make her something better. talking about home made her sad. she didn't say she was sad. but i could tell in her eyes that it made her think about steve. steve always orders pasta primavera when he goes out to dinner. it's always never as good as i make it at home.

she looked really pretty. she always does. she wore that lipstick i like and winked at me when she put it on in the mirror. i think sometimes when i look at her i'm gonna explode. she makes me want to fucking explode.

it was nice to kiss it all off after dinner. we came back here and hung out in the common area for a bit, made friends with some old folks and played checkers, they shared their bourbon with us. i taught her how to play chess. sort of taught her. she definitely still doesn’t get it but that’s okay. we played checkers with the old folks until they had to go to bed the way old folks do. she hasn’t smiled like that in a long time. her laugh is so genuine when she’s not trying to hide it from steve. the way the corners of her lips crease right before she’s about to giggle. i never see that anymore. i wanna make her laugh forever.

she kissed me up here and thanked me for dinner but she doesn’t have to. we made out a little a lot, and i know she wanted to fuck but i just didn’t feel like it was the right time. and like, who the fuck am i, right? when have i ever said no? but i don’t know, i just don’t want her to think i brought her up here to fuck it out of her. i want her to relax. i want it to be about her.

he called this morning. right when she left the room to go save us a table for breakfast. he's not sleeping, he called his doctor to find a shrink. he's scared they're gonna put him on pills, but maybe he needs pills. he sounds bad but he said he's not mad at me. i shouldn't care if he is or not, but it felt nice to hear him say it. he didn't ask to talk to her which i thought was brave but i know he was listening hard to hear her in the background.

i don't know what we're gonna do today, she's getting dressed and doing her hair. maybe we'll just drive around until we find something cool. take her shopping at some of the little kitchy stores that're over here. get some dumb christmas ornaments for next year.

i'm excited to kiss her again.

i'm more excited to hold her hand.

- ed

#vacation diaries #the steddieverse

[swagsaladdelusion]

Do M&Ms Go Bad?

Hey there, candy connoisseurs and sweet tooth enthusiasts! Have you ever stumbled upon an old bag of M&Ms hidden away in your pantry and pondered, "Do M&Ms go bad?" 🤔 Well, fear not, because we're about to embark on a journey to uncover the truth behind these iconic chocolate treats. So grab a handful of those colorful candies and let's dive in!

Do M&Ms Go Bad?

The Scoop on M&Ms Shelf Life 📅

Alright, let's cut to the chase – do M&Ms really have an expiration date? The short answer: yup, they sure do! But don't start tossing out your stash just yet. While M&Ms might not last forever, they've got a pretty decent shelf life if you treat them right.

Unopened Bags in Pantry

So, you've got an unopened bag of M&Ms chillin' in your pantry – how long can you keep it around? Surprisingly, those babies can last anywhere from a year to a year and a half past the "best by" date. That's right, you've got plenty of time to savor those chocolatey delights.

Opened Bags in Pantry

Now, once you crack open that bag, things start to get a little trickier. Once exposed to the air, M&Ms start to lose their mojo, and their shelf life shrinks to about 6 months. But fear not, my friends, there's still plenty of time to enjoy those crunchy candies.

Refrigeration

You might be tempted to pop your opened bag of M&Ms in the fridge, but hold your horses! Refrigeration might seem like a good idea, but it can actually do more harm than good. The fluctuating temperatures and pesky humidity can actually speed up the aging process, so it's best to steer clear of the fridge.

Freezer

Now, if you're really serious about preserving your M&Ms, the freezer is where it's at. By freezing those bad boys, you can extend their shelf life to a whopping 1 to 2 years, depending on the variety. Just make sure to seal them up tight in a heavy-duty freezer bag to keep 'em fresh.

Signs Your M&Ms Have Gone Rogue 🚫

Alright, so you've dug up a bag of M&Ms from the depths of your pantry – but how do you know if they've gone bad? Here are some telltale signs to look out for:

Cracked Shells: If your M&Ms have seen better days and their shells are looking a little worse for wear, it might be time to bid them farewell.

Visible Mold: Ain't nobody got time for fuzzy white growths on their candy! If you spot any mold, chuck those M&Ms in the trash pronto.

Chalky Texture: Give your M&Ms a nibble – if they're feeling powdery and chalk-like instead of smooth and creamy, it's time to say goodbye.

Odd Smell: Take a whiff – if your M&Ms smell funky or off, it's best to pass on 'em.

Change in Color: Keep an eye out for any faded or discolored candies – they're a surefire sign that your M&Ms are past their prime.

Bad Taste: Trust your taste buds – if your M&Ms taste off or different than usual, it's time to toss 'em.

Properly Storing Your M&Ms for Maximum Freshness 💼

Alright, now that you know how to spot a rogue M&M, let's talk about how to keep those candies fresh as can be. Here are some tips for proper storage:

Cool, Dry Place: Store your M&Ms in a cool, dry spot away from direct sunlight and heat. Your pantry is the perfect hiding spot for these tasty treats.

Airtight Container: Once you've opened that bag, transfer your M&Ms to an airtight container to keep 'em safe from moisture and staleness.

Avoid Refrigeration: Say no to the fridge! Keep your M&Ms away from those chilly temps to maintain their quality.

Freezer Friendly: If you're planning on freezing your M&Ms, make sure to seal 'em up tight in a heavy-duty freezer bag. Label 'em with the date so you know when it's time to bust 'em out.

Consume in Order: Don't play favorites – make sure to munch on your older M&Ms before diving into the fresh ones. It's only fair!

Freezing for Maximum Shelf Life ❄️

Ah, the freezer – the holy grail of M&M preservation. But not all varieties freeze as well as others. Here's the lowdown:

Plain and Dark Chocolate: These classic varieties freeze like champs, lasting a year or more without losing their luster.

Peanuts, Almonds, and Mint: No need to worry about these mix-ins – they freeze just fine for up to a year.

Peanut Butter: Beware the peanut butter! These bad boys have a higher fat content and can turn rancid faster, so munch 'em up within 6 to 9 months.

Caramel and Nougat: These moisture-rich varieties are a bit trickier – enjoy 'em within 3 to 6 months for optimal texture.

FAQs: Your Burning M&M Questions Answered 🔥

Still got questions about your favorite chocolate candies? We've got you covered:

Can I still eat M&Ms that are slightly past the best by date?: Absolutely! As long as they're stored properly and show no signs of spoilage, you're good to go.

How long can opened M&Ms stay in the pantry?: About 3 to 6 months, so get munching!

Is it okay to refrigerate or freeze open M&Ms bags?: Skip the fridge, but feel free to freeze 'em for maximum freshness.

What is the best way to tell if frozen M&Ms have gone bad?: Keep an eye out for any funky smells or ice crystals – if in doubt, toss 'em out.

Can I use expired M&Ms in baking recipes?: You betcha! Just toss 'em in the oven and watch 'em work their magic.

How do I know when to toss M&Ms that look/smell bad?: Trust your instincts – if they look or smell off, it's time to say goodbye.

Can I still eat M&Ms that were not sealed properly?: Give 'em a once-over and use your best judgment – if they look okay, they're probably good to go.

What’s the best way to store partially used bags of M&Ms?: Transfer 'em to an airtight container and gobble 'em up within a few months.

Do different M&M flavors have varying shelf lives?: Yup, some varieties last longer than others – but they're all delicious!

Can I refreeze M&Ms if they were previously frozen?: It's best not to – once they've been thawed, it's game over.

Do specialty seasonal M&M varieties have the same shelf life?: They might vary slightly, so keep an eye out for any changes.

Conclusion: Keep Calm and M&M On! 🍫

So, there you have it – the ultimate guide to M&Ms and their shelf life shenanigans. While these colorful candies might not last forever, with a little TLC and proper storage, you can enjoy them for months (or even years!) to come. So go ahead, indulge in those nostalgic treats and savor every chocolaty crunch. After all, life's too short to worry about stale candy – just keep calm and M&M on!

#m&ms #m&m

[voraciousvore]

Bucky's (36/44)

Chapter 36: A Risky Plan

Ronny, traveling in Martin’s palm, stayed quiet. Too many shocking things had happened in very rapid succession, and he needed to stop and process them. Shrinking so ridiculously small was jarring and humiliating. Being swallowed alive and facing death by digestion had been beyond terrifying. Watching Martin, towering over him as a massive colossus, messily devour Mr. Hardon had also been appalling. He couldn’t help but feel frightened, being held in the impossibly huge man’s hand, rocked by the long strides of his endless legs. He knew Martin wouldn’t harm him—at least, not on purpose—but the instinctive fear persisted nonetheless. 

Ronny hated being so small, feeling as if he would shrink into oblivion. He wondered why he had been diminished so much more than the other two Giants. He recalled the feeling of the pills tumbling down his throat. The fact that Mr. Hardon had forced him to down multiple pills, rather than just one, may have been a factor. Those pills had a horrifying power. He questioned where Mr. Hardon obtained them from. 

“Ronny, are you doing alright?” Martin inquired, interrupting Ronny’s thoughts. He spoke gently, but Ronny could feel his sonorous voice, large and full, vibrate through the air and flesh all around him. 

“Y-yeah…” Ronny mumbled, hugging his knees. 

“Hm?” Martin raised his hand up closer to his ear. “Sorry, it’s hard to hear you when you’re so tiny.” 

“I’m fine!” Ronny snapped. In truth, his skin was starting to burn, but he didn’t bother to inform Martin. “I’m just… in shock, is all.” He paused. “I can’t believe you ate Mr. Hardon. I didn’t think you had it in you.” 

Martin sighed and winced. “I had to. If I didn’t kill him, he would have harmed more innocents. I couldn’t have him coming after Candy. He’s persistent. He would never stop hunting her.” Ronny understood all too well. All he had to do was substitute Mr. Hardon and Candy with Bucky and Tanya and his situation would be almost exactly the same. He felt sick inside, thinking that Bucky would continue to seek out the human who eluded his grasp. And now, he was too small and weak to do anything to protect her. 

Ronny experienced a stab of anxiety. He hoped the effect of the pill was only temporary, not permanent. He couldn’t possibly stay at this size forever… could he? Then again, he never would have dreamed in a million years that he would ever shrink as he did within the bounds of reality. He desperately prayed he would grow again. He needed to be able to keep Tanya safe. 

Martin took Ronny into the bathroom and put his hand under the sink. He turned on the faucet just enough for it to spit out a thin stream, but to Ronny it was the epic deluge of a waterfall. He obtained some hand soap from the dispenser, a little blob that would be enough to submerge the tiny man, and dumped some on him. Martin’s fingers were simply too big to help, so Ronny had to lather himself up, which he preferred anyway, even though he felt like he was drowning in soap and water. 

Once Ronny was clean, Martin offered him a shred of paper towel to dry off and exited the bathroom. Ronny felt better now that the unpleasant sting was gone from his skin. “Where do you want me to take you?” Martin asked. “Back to your desk? Did you bring Tanya to work with you today?” 

Ronny hesitated. He was torn. He didn’t want Tanya to see him in this pathetic state. It was humiliating and emasculating. However, the thought of her being alone upset him, even if he was too small to protect her. As much as he resented the idea, she would be safer if they both stayed with Martin, until he hopefully returned to his normal size. He hated to think that Tanya might see Mr. Griffin naked, and better sized than him, but concern for her safety outweighed his jealousy. 

“Tanya’s at my desk,” he informed Martin, projecting his voice so the Giant could hear him. “Take me there, and please keep her protected for me.” Martin obeyed and placed Ronny on his desk. He was amazed how expansive the surface appeared. He jogged over to the gigantic computer monitor, which seemed so far away for his short legs to carry him. 

“Tanya, are you here?” Martin boomed overhead. Tanya, in her hiding spot, recognized Martin’s voice, but refused to emerge or respond. She didn’t believe Martin would harm her, but she was still mildly nervous around any Giants that weren’t Ronny or Leon. Ronny considered calling out to her, but he was embarrassed by his pitiful squeaky voice at this size and couldn’t overcome his mental block. Either way, he wouldn’t be able to conceal the truth from her; any moment now, she would see him. 

He circled around the monitor to find Tanya tensely sidled up to it. When she spied him out of the corner of her eye, she reflexively shrieked and jumped back, not recognizing the strange little creature as her lover or even as a person right away. She did a double take and looked closer. “R-Ronny?” she asked in a high pitch, baffled. 

“Yup,” Ronny sighed. “It’s me.” 

Tanya was gobsmacked. “What… what happened to you? How…?” She was at a loss. “You’re…” 

Ronny scratched his head. “I was shrunk, somehow. Some weird pills were forced down my throat.” He shrugged. 

Tanya kneeled down to get a closer look at him. “You’re so small… Ronny, are you okay? That must have been so scary!” To Ronny’s surprise, she scooped him up in her arms and gave him a comforting hug. He tentatively hugged her back, wrapping his thin arms around her neck. She was plush and warm, with her soft body engulfing him, her pleasant scent surrounding him. While Ronny would of course prefer to be his regular Giant size, being small didn’t seem quite so bad, all of a sudden. Tanya stood up, still holding Ronny against her like a little teddy bear. 

“Are you okay to stay with Martin, until I return to my normal size?” Ronny asked her. “I can’t protect you from a Giant trying to snatch you up when I’m even smaller than you.” 

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea,” Tanya agreed. She stepped out from behind the monitor, where Martin was waiting for them. He lowered his hand in front of Tanya. She paused, squeezing Ronny tighter against her, before voluntarily entering Martin’s soft palm. She sat down cross-legged in the center of his hand and held Ronny in her lap. Ronny felt her tremble slightly and did his best to comfort her with his presence and physical touch. 

Martin returned to the boss’s office, closing the door behind him. Candy and Leon were still on the desk where he had left them. Leon had torn up a scrap of paper and cinched it around his waist with a paperclip to cover up his nudity. He offered another torn strip to Ronny, who tied it around his body as best he could. The paper was thicker and more cumbersome than he expected. Ronny didn’t want Tanya to be near Leon, but he didn’t feel so bad about it when he was cradled up to Tanya’s bosom so lovingly. Martin allowed the pair to dismount to the desk and crouched down so his face was level with all the others. He felt odd, being so much bigger than everyone else. He was used to it with Candy and other humans, but not with his fellow Giants, who were still spooked by his enormous presence. 

“Leon was just telling me what he knows about the pills,” Candy announced. “The effects are temporary, but he doesn’t know for certain how long they will last.” Ronny let out a sigh of relief. Tanya gave him a reassuring pat on the head and kissed his cheek, still holding him in her arms like a baby. She thought he was adorable when he was small, though she still preferred him as a Giant. She wondered if that was how she looked to him at his normal size, being so tiny: cute and precious. She liked the sentiment. 

“I’m pretty sure the CEO sanctioned all this,” Leon remarked quietly. “He told us in the manager meeting yesterday that Mr. Hardon was coming back, and threatened to fire and blacklist me. But I never thought he’d go so far as to murder me. By allowing Hardon to devour me, no less.” 

He shuddered. “I can’t stand by and do nothing any longer. I’ve put up with it for too long.” His eyes were misty and distant. “I should have spoken up a long time ago. The company has been doing unethical things for a while now. I just… didn’t know what to do about it.” 

“What do you mean?” Martin rumbled. Leon flinched at the volume of his vocalization but regained his composure. 

“I can’t say for certain, since I’m not directly involved, but I think they’re engaging in human trafficking. Mr. Wolfe has hinted at it before.” Tanya bristled, thinking of Nutmeg. Her eyes blazed with hot fire. Ronny looked up at her, noting her anger.  

“I know they’ve also been bribing and blackmailing politicians to bend the laws and get their way, on both the large and small sides of the city. Big Corp holds a lot of power in the governments and is contributing to their corruption. That’s how the CEO got Mr. Hardon released, and how they’ve been supplying Bucky with humans.” 

“We need to stop them,” Tanya declared with passion. 

“Agreed. But that’s not all. Those pills that shrunk Ronny and me… they want to use those to open more restaurants like Bucky’s, and stock them with Giants shrunk down as entrees,” Leon explained. Ronny blanched and shook. After being minimized and ingested whole by Mr. Hardon, the danger presented was all too real for him. Tanya hugged his diminished frame tighter in her arms. 

“What can we do?” Candy interjected. “Do you have a plan in mind?” 

“Actually… I do.” Leon paused dramatically. “I’ll need help though. Human help.” Tanya and Candy focused in on his words. Tanya in particular was desperate to save her friends who were trapped at Bucky’s, and prevent any other unlucky humans from falling into the same trap. 

Leon opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted with a jolt of pain that shot through his entire body. He whined and convulsed on the desk. With sickening pops and cracks, his body started to explode outward, his limbs deforming and twisting over the surface of the desk like octopus tentacles. Martin, recognizing that Leon was growing back into a Giant, briskly swept the two humans off the desk into his hands, along with Ronny, so they wouldn’t be injured. 

Leon’s torso and head inflated with a final audible crunch, and he sprawled out on the desk at his full size, sweating, his narrow, bony chest heaving for breath. The others watched his transformation with amazement as he regained his wits and sat up, holding his pounding head. The scrap of paper wrapped around his waist when he was small was torn into little bits littered around him. Leon flushed as he sat on his desk naked, and hurried to put his clothes back on. He sighed in relief once he was neatly dressed in his suit and tie. He felt like his normal Giant self again. Being small had been way too scary, and he had all the more empathy for humans who were forced to be that way all the time. 

He gave a small cough, sat in his chair, and stared at the others blankly. “Now, where was I…?” 

“You said you had a plan to stop the CEO and Bucky,” Tanya informed him, flames in her tawny eyes. 

“Right! So I was thinking… going to the authorities will do us no good. If Mr. Hardon was able to get out of prison, Bucky and Mr. Wolfe will be able to enact underhanded dealings to negotiate their own releases. So…” His brown eyes, usually soft, hardened. “We need to release the information to the public. Humans and Giants. Once everyone knows what is really going on, there will be an outcry, and the government won’t be able to cover it up. They’ll be forced to take action.” 

“In particular, if the human populace knew what was happening, they would never allow their own people to be shipped off to be eaten by Giants!” he added on. Tanya nodded emphatically. “However… we need evidence. We can’t make claims without backing them up with undeniable hard evidence. Otherwise, we’ll be discredited and silenced and they will deny everything.” 

“I’m assuming Mr. Wolfe must have files on his computer—email correspondences, invoices, expense reports, spreadsheets, things of that nature—that will inculpate him and reveal the truth.” He gazed down at Candy and Tanya. “This is where I’ll need human help, though it’ll be risky. My plan is to schedule a meeting with Mr. Wolfe tomorrow in his office. I’ll sneak one of you ladies in there with me, in my pocket. I’ll find a way to lure him out of his office for a couple of hours so you can have uninterrupted access to his computer. You’ll email the secret evidence out to everyone and blow the lid off the whole operation!” 

“That sounds dangerous,” Martin remarked nervously. “What if the human gets caught? Mr. Wolfe might eat or kill her. We can’t risk that…” He clutched his hand around Candy and Tanya defensively. 

Ronny groaned unexpectedly and twisted in Tanya’s hands. His bones and muscles began to snap and creak as they reoriented themselves. “Ronny’s growing!” Tanya cried. Martin hurriedly set her down on the floor so she could let go of the expanding Giant, then grabbed her up again so she wouldn’t be crushed or knocked over by his increasing mass. Ronny’s body unfurled and blew up like a balloon, his flesh strained by the exertion. He lay on his back, puffing for air. 

“That’s... quite an experience,” he gasped as he threw on his clothes. While he was on the floor, he regarded the adjacent heap of clothes that had once belonged to Mr. Hardon. He picked up the bottle of pills and examined it. The pills were small capsules, red on one side and black on the other. He slipped the bottle into his own pocket and stood up, straightening his tie around his neck. He reached out his hand to Martin and gratefully received Tanya. He was relieved to be back at his proper size. Tanya, too, seemed to be reassured by his large presence and snuggled down in his plush palm. 

“I’m opposed to this idea,” Ronny piped up. He felt far more authoritative at his Giant size, with his deeper, louder voice. “I can’t put Tanya at risk.” 

Tanya frowned. “But Ronny-” 

“Nor Candy,” Martin agreed, overriding her protest. “What if... one of us took a pill, and shrank?” Ronny went white. The idea of being that small and helpless again did not appeal to him at all. 

Leon shook his head. “That won’t work. The pills aren’t reliable enough. We can’t count on them to shift a Giant to the correct size or duration of time. You might end up too small to use a keyboard, like Ronny, or grow at an inopportune moment and ruin the whole thing. I’m not in Mr. Wolfe’s good graces, so we only have one shot at this. We can’t risk it.” 

Martin and Ronny both huffed with frustration. Tanya tried to talk to Ronny again. “Ronny, let me do this. Please. I want to save the other humans! I have friends that are still trapped at Bucky’s, and I finally have the chance to help them! Please!” 

Ronny grumbled to himself under his breath. He wanted to flat-out refuse her, but he remembered all the times he had hurt her and made her cry. He didn’t want to upset her again. “We’ll discuss it tonight and get back to you, Leon,” he vocalized, with some reluctance. 

“Okay,” Leon replied firmly. “I’ll call the CEO and make the appointment for tomorrow. That will give you time to make your decision.” 

Ronny and Tanya nodded. “Sounds good.” Ronny spoke for both of them. He stood up and walked out of the room, deep in thought. He didn’t know what he was going to do. 

Chapter 37

Chapter 1

#giant #giant/tiny #g/t #tiny #g/t writing #size difference #giant tiny #g/t fluff #Bucky's #shrinking #shrink #growth

[bluepoodle7]

#InfectedRealtorAu #UncannyValleyCommercialSurveillanceWorkDistrict #Instapartner #Instapetz #SomeIdeaIHad

The commercial surveillance side of the Work District of the Uncanny Valley in my Au that Hazzy works for is called the I Want That And You Need Company.

They make useless and useful products for beings to buy.

The newest project they are working on is called the Instapartner.

A Instapartner is a dehydrated being that when you add water it grows into a being but sometimes it's just a sponge.

So it's a gamble if you get a working Instapartner.

They are also making Instapetz which are dehydrated animals or monsters that don't need a lot of care and don't need to be cleaned up after.

All these dehydrated beings need attention and love to survive but these beings can eat if they want to but don't really need too.

If you ignore or badly harm them then while you are sleeping they will dehydrate you like their produce and return the buyer back as a Instapartner or Instapetz to the company they came from.

You become the returned product.

Most are used as companions but others use theses beings for jobs people don't want that don't pay well and are dangerous.

Other treat these beings like items or play things and can easily break but can heal up if they rehydrate.

This still hurts them.

People in the Uncanny Valley wonder if these beings should have rights like everyone else since the Instapartners can think and talk while also making decisions.

Instapartners and Instapetz can understand each other even though the buyers can't understand the Instapetz speech.

When you get instructions for a Instapartner or a Instapetz you need to read it carefully.

You need to let the Instapartner soak in water for 3 days to fully hydrate.

And for the Instapetz they need 2 days.

Next you need to either name the being or wait one day for them to name themselves.

Next you need to go online to the company website then set the Instapartner and Instapetz in front of the computer to watch a video to fully set up your new companion or partner.

It's important for you to watch the video just in case your Instapartner and Instapetz is or isn't working properly.

If it is defective you need to re dehydrate the being and send it back for another one or half a refund.

Broken or badly damaged ones won't be accepted by the company.

These were made for lonely beings in the uncanny valley that just wanted something to talk to and listen to.

Both others just used them to gain either money and power while not caring about the whole love thing.

The company website is 90's looking and filled to the brim with other ads for other products while also is pretty slow unless you choose to buy the premium membership then only certain ads will play but its mostly to upgrade to a higher tier.

Also to buy mineral water to keep your instaproducts from quickly dehydrating and shrinking in height while also in size but you will be charged extra.

The company will do the infomercial sayings like the two easy payments line with a limited time offer and free gifts.

While also doing the customer acting too incompetent to use the products in black and white.

People that use the instaproducts for hard labor jobs use the mineral water so they pay extra or just try to bootleg the mineral water themselves to save money.

If you ask for too many refunds or returns then you will one day receive a free gift in the mail.

If you open it a item will scan the person which will teleport you into these ads forever.

When you ignore or not love your instaproduct companions some may just leave in the middle of the night or wait for the buyer to sleep to absorb all the liquid and minerals in the buyer's body to dry them out like zombies.

Then will morph into them and pretend to be the buyer playing with the dehydrated body like they are the instaproduct.

If character that is scared of water like a regular guy that buys or is gifted this product and ignores it they will wait for the being to rest then will overhydrate them to kill them.

I Want That And You Need Company ads for these products would be.

"Lose yourself!" "In these savings and deals with sales galore."

I can see the ad play where it's either a imprisoned person that had too many refunds or tried to scam the company being a "actor" in the ads forced to answer the narrator while telling the dangers of the product but is said way too fast.

The narrator saying.

"Are you lonely?" "Did your time loop fail to get your love interest in your grasp?"

Then the "actor" nods or just saying yes.

"Then you need the Instapartner."

"The Instapartner will love you, do your chores, do your taxes, go to boring places you don't want to go like your job, religious' places, and school."

"Be warned that you need to always love your instapartner in ensure that you still care about your companion."

"Also you get a free bottle of mineral water to slow the dehydration process."

(The bottle looks big but it's shrinkflation.)

"We are not liable for."

The "actor" lists the problems but talks fast.

"Also Instapetz are available too for a few more payments so order now."

Any returned Instaproducts will be resold to businesses for cheap labor where the money goes back to the advertising company and puts into tv ads with a tiny bit to the website.

Usually when a place layoff people the instaproducts replace the workers since they just work.

Besides the Instaproducts don't need sleep unless you want them too, just eat for fun but don't need to eat, and don't need bodily functions unless you want them too. Just need to have a mineral water sprinkler system in building to rehydrate.

Every few minutes in the mineral water sprinkler system area a speaker will play with different sounding voices saying compliments and how they care about each Instaproduct to ensure them that they are loved to work harder.

The Falseperson's that work with these beings are slowly losing their jobs which are turning some mutualism and commensalism into parasite ones due to anger.

Basically these ads.

Video not mine but link is there.

Infomercial Montage [First World Problems] - YouTube

Based this on these novelties and images not mine but links are there.

Amazon.com: Forum Novelties Grow a Boyfriend Novelty : Toys & Games

Amazon.com: Forum Novelties Grow a Girlfriend Gag Novelty (Packaging May Vary) : Toys & Games

Amazon.com: Gejoy 8 Pieces Water Growing Capsules Growing in Water Animals Toys Dinosaur Dino Sea Creature Capsules Party Cognition Sponge Pills Toys Bath Expanding Foam Animal Toy : Toys & Games

What the ads sound like from Hazzy's company she works for.

Videos not mine but links are there.

HHGregg is Havaving a Summummer Sale - YouTube

Has You Really Been Far (commercial) - YouTube

Just had a short dream species called a Simpallton (Simpleton) where it can do simply do a ton of things. (Dec 5 2023)

My guess is that this creature can simplify you or anything down to the basics.

I imagine these are the beta versions of the Instapartner with the Dashers to see what happened but only made two of them because they were dangerous to the public.

Since in my dream it felt like a advertisement from the I Want That And You Need Company and the Door to Door Ding Dong Dashers.

I imagine them slapping the creature or thing and it just simplifies.

For example if it one gets in contact with a mimic that it's a treasure chest it will slap it back to being a normal treasure chest like it became normal.

The other slaps stuff back to normal.

New Product And What Is This Company Anyway?

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

I Want That And You Need Company also made a product where REALTORs can easily move their house bodies without badly damaging themselves or dying in the process.

It's like one of those house mover trucks but carefully uproots them in a way where the creature won't die but the company needs to check how deep the REALTORs root system is before relocating them.

This also uses fungmammal spores to keep the REALTORs alive long enough to replant them in a new space for a high fee.

Once moved then the company will remove the spores once they heal up the REALTORs root system that got uprooted.

House Hauler is this product.

It's unknown who runs the company or if it's a new species that is running the place but needs a face to it to seem normal.

Since all their products seem alien/robot like the company kind of understands living beings but doesn't at the same time.

#Infected Realtor Au #Uncanny Valley Commercial Surveillance Work District #Instapartner #Instapetz #Some Idea I Had

[hanazou]

hello,, I’ve been feeling down lately and a loved one of mine recently has passed away...

if you are comfortable with it may I request a scenario of Atsushi and Chuuya comforting their s/o who were grieving over a death of a loved one? ;0 thank you I love your blog 💖💖

𝙘𝙝𝙪𝙪𝙮𝙖 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙩𝙨𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙞 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙛

Books : Chuuya | Atsushi

Genre : Comfort, romance

Category : Headcanons, short scenario

Shelves : Hardback | Paperback

Warning : Description of grief

Note : I am deeply sorry for your loss. I can’t do emergency requests but I tried to get this one out as fast as I could. I could only do short scenarios of this so I added headcanons, I hope this is alright. Once again, my condolences and please stay strong.

Chuuya has to ask you a couple of worried questions before it strikes him what you’re dealing with.

He will be on the verge of panicking when he first hears the bad news, worse if you're the one that has to tell him what happened. He instantly undergoes flashbacks from experiencing something like this himself and he fears that your coping with the grief might harm you.

If you can’t afford to talk to him like you usually do, he understands.

He stands/sits next to you, arms crossed, occasionally glancing at you to see if there’s any change in your stance, expression, anything.

He avoids staring at you directly in concern that you'd become pressured by him.

He’s ready to catch you if your legs fail you

Holds the top of your head lightly yet firmly. If you don’t show signs of protesting, he’d slowly pull you closer to his neck.

Getting physically affectionate is his prime card to comfort you, but before anything, he takes off his gloves so he won’t dirty you.

His fingers move kind of unevenly and feel rough, but that’s how you can feel his desire to support you

If you can’t stop crying or on the verge to go on a complete mental breakdown, he immediately collides his body against yours as tight and strong as he could.

If your legs give up, he drops down with you in his arms instead of keeping you standing with his ability and he’ll clutch your face close when you both land on the floor.

If you won’t hug him first, he’ll pull you to him. He forces your face down his shoulder so you’d grieve as much as your heart can empty while his hand brushes your back up and down.

“Cry as long as you need,”

Words, as I’ve once said, isn’t his speciality, but he tries regardless. He wants to make sure that you know you aren’t alone, that you have him with you.

He doesn’t talk as much but his distressed expression stays as long as he’s with you.

“You can take it out on my shoulder, you know,” He hesitates a bit, unsure if he sounds too rough.

If you can’t stop crying, he pats your shoulder, only knowing how to say “There, there” since he thinks it’s better than saying nothing at all. Chuuya thinks you need to hear him being there.

Chuuya squeezes through his tight schedule to make time for you.

He negotiates as best as he could with Mori to give him as much time off as possible.

If it’s impossible to take a week off, he goes full rampage in his job with the thought of you in his head motivating him to finish everything as soon as possible, making a mess where he goes.

If someone gets in his way, Chuuya shouts, "I've got someone more important to see, you punk!" while blasting them away.

He always brings food and drink over and makes sure you eat. He spoon-feeds you if necessary. He isn’t the cleanest but him wiping your face clean makes up for that.

"Come on, babe, you gotta eat," Chuuya says. "They won't like seeing you grieving like this, so eat, yeah? For them?"

If the emotions exhaust you to sleep, he sits against the wall and pulls you to him so you’d sleep against his body, making sure his limbs are around you so you’d never feel the loss of pressure around your body.

If it's cold, he wraps you with a blanket and occasionally touches your fingers to know whether you're staying warm or not.

Since Chuuya’s goal is to make sure you don’t feel alone or abandoned as I’ve mentioned, he does everything to solidify his presence.

He calls often if he has to be away, he sends food delivery, leaves short sticky notes, and sends voice messages.

It’s noticeable he doesn’t know what to say and even more obvious that he wants to keep reaching out to you.

Chuuya tries to strike a light and brief conversation once in a while. He’s disturbed by your uncharacteristic silence, it scares him.

“Do you want some takoyaki?” He’d ask randomly. The anxiety on his face never wavers away.

He does any activity that comes to mind when he stays at your place, but regardless of what he does, he’s never more than three feet away from you.

Always, without fail, kisses you good morning and good night on the forehead regardless he stays at your place or not.

Or if you're not opposed to it, Chuuya wants to take you to his place. He may still have to go to work, but something doesn't feel right about leaving you alone for so long in a place he's not too familiar with. At least in his space, you're constantly reminded you're not alone and that you're there because you're never abandoned.

Like a strayed ship in a storming ocean, your emotions are the waves storming your damaged vassal of conscience to the point that even looking forward to sunray from the bleak sky of endless cloud sounds mythical, making speaking a heavy chore. You’ve been exhausting yourself to sleep, soaking everything with your tears until it no longer comes out. It’s frustrating, it’s turbulent, so active in making you passive. Your tears run out but not the multiple stabs around your heart. Your voice leaves you but not the intensity or the transparency of hurt on your face.

It feels impossible, fictional, but if it were, then you aren't supposed to have your heart cauterized. It's the reminder of the bitter truth you're grappling against accepting.

If they had to go, why not bring the pain with them? Why do they have to leave you fractured, incomplete, empty, by transcending away while you stay behind, only able to watch them shrink somewhere unreachable?

Why do pieces of you have to be chipped off your already fragile soul, leaving holes in your essence? Why leave many pieces behind, why leave you alone?

“Hey,” A voice zaps your mind back to your head.

You remove your face from your wrinkled, moist, and sweaty palms, everything in front of you foggy from the swelling of your eyes. You still wear your dark clothes, unable to find the heart to change into something new, something brighter, after the sudden tragedy strikes. It was not, and still not is, in your capability to even stand up to eat.

Chuuya’s oddly timid and soft-sounding voice for this week is what makes you feel something other than rocking instability.

Slightly opening your eyes to see him, his figure before you hurts your eyes from how colourful he is. His face appears like a messy mix of vibrant paint, his orange hair, blue eyes and fair skin, and dark clothes sticking out from the stale background behind him.

A pair of silver keys, ones that unlock your door, stand out from his black-gloved hand from beneath his tightened fist. He puts it in his pocket and takes your hands, forcing you to stand and steadies your arms when your knees wobble.

"Have you eaten the lunch I had delivered here?" He pats off the dust from your shoulders and arms, his vibrant face still paining your swollen eyes.

Your eyes roll to the untouched paper bag on the table. You figure Chuuya’s eyes follow because of the stifled sigh he holds in.

"Babe, come on…"

"I can't," is what you try to say, although with your dry throat, it comes out like scorched empty words. "I'm sorry, I know you picked it with great care and thoughts so I'd eat, but I just can't, not when—" You catch a coarse breath. "Not when I'm like this, I can't yet."

"Still don't want to talk about it?" His voice squeezes. "You can't keep it in forever, you know, and you really shouldn't."

With your blurry vision, you figure that his arms extend open. A weak ‘what?’ is all you can hoarsely ask.

“Saying nothing, skipping meals and not drinking.” He says sourly. “Let out your grieve like how it should be done. That's what they'd want too."

Your tears make a reappearance at either a bad or perfect timing, depends on how you tilt your head to see it. They prickle your eyes, some rushing down your face.

“Come here,” Chuuya says, perhaps frowning from the way his voice changed.

Your eyes close slowly before opening again, your puffed eyelids troubling you from keeping your eyes opened. “I don’t think I can,” You sound like an overworked opera singer. “If I hug you, I won’t be able to let go and I might suffocate you without meaning to.”

You think Chuuya makes a sound of annoyance until a force smashes your body forward, lunging your face against him. The brief faint glow of orange earlier helps you process that he used his ability on you to bring you to him. Now his arms trap you in him, your forehead strongly weighted on his shoulder.

“Then suffocate me,” His muffled voice says from behind your head, one of his hands taking your arm to hold his body. “I’m always here.”

Your hands stretch his shirt with your tight clasp as you feel yourself getting lost in the waves. The turbulence crashes out from within you as you incoherently cry on Chuuya’s stable body, him becoming your guaranteer in the midst of the rocking forces that threaten your balance. His rigid arms support your weight as you wail out, ensuring that the waves don’t sweep you away, somewhere unreachable from him. He secures you, letting you explore the storm’s rolling waves while still grounding you safe.

“I’m here,” The soft wind in the storm grazes your ear. “I promise.”

Atsushi is one of the most sympathetic and empathetic people you could ask for when it comes to comfort you through your grief.

He’s nowhere oblivious to someone who’s hurting. He recognizes what kind of pain you’re going through and it doesn’t take him too long to identify what you’re feeling and the intensity of it although he can’t process it into words.

Atsushi is so worried sick for you that he has trouble thinking straight and his breaths get faster.

He’s really anxious about you feeling left behind or abandoned.

He makes sure that you don’t doubt that your beloved one who has to leave earlier definitely loves you.

It breaks him if you think of things such as disappointing them, unable to fulfil their wishes, etc.

Atsushi can feel your hurt as if it’s his own, and because of his heightened emotional senses, he’s quick to jump in to support you. It’s instinctive.

He’s at first hesitant to touch you, let alone comfort you with his embrace, so he starts with generic sentences like “I’m so sorry” and “You can lean on me” while offering his empty shoulder

It’s challenging for him, but Atsushi is persistent to comfort you with his words before he touches you.

He insists on speaking before holding you around him.

Atsushi validates your feelings by putting his guesses of how you’re currently feeling into words. He’s not the best with words so he’ll struggle to pick his vocabulary, but the things he says are mostly true.

“I’m sorry you have to feel like your heart is becoming stiff,”

“If you feel like everything around you is empty, I’m still here,”

When he does get to the point where he feels that physical touch can help you, Atsushi is very tender.

He starts with wiping your tears away until your cheeks are drier and offers you tissues. He’ll help you blow your nose

He removes the hair sticking to your face and wipes your face until you’re dry

He hugs you like he's the one broken; putting his face on your shoulder, arms hanging from your neck. It's because that he fears that you might get as hopeless as him. He dreads for that for that happen so he holds you with the strongest Affirmation he can give.

"I'm with you, I'll always be," He keeps repeating while he hugs you.

Touches your fingers most of the time and squeezes your hand

Atsushi fights tooth and nail to get several days off to stay with you in your place. He’ll have a whole speech prepared so he can convince Fukuzawa and Kunikida

He’ll spend the morning bargaining with Fukuzawa in his office after giving Kunikida a 15 minute TED talk about how badly he can empathize with your loss and how he’s rock certain you need his company

He asks Kyouka to help him make your food that’s easy to digest for the stomach, like soup and porridge. You can best bet that she’s going to add some tofu to it.

“Kyouka-chan helped me make this fish soup,” Atsushi presents you the bento boxes, unwrapping the cloth. “Let’s eat, okay? You have to keep your stomach filled. I’ll help you.”

If he’s unable to spend the night at your place, Atsushi makes sure to arrive at 6 am sharp every day to check on you, and the earliest he’ll leave is around 8 o’clock

He cleans your place every day diligently and does an excellent job at it. Doing the dishes, cleaning the floor, making sure the sink is clean and ensures the bathroom floor isn’t slippery. He doesn’t want an untaken care living space to worsen your emotional state.

Despite always bringing fresh food, Atsushi makes sure to cook fresh batches of rice to eat with anything he delivers so if you miraculously want to eat something, you’ll have something to consume.

If he has to leave for a while, he surrounds you with plush toys. If you don't have any, he borrows Kyouka's bunny plushies collection and arranges them around you, your pillow, the corner of your bed, and on your blanket.

Atsushi never wants you to forget that your loved one loves you. He does everything in his power to remind you everyday that although they're gone, the love they have for you will eternally stay with you and that nothing can ever change that.

He hugs you while verbally reminding you of that.

His hugs always lasts a long while if you're not uncomfortable with it. He can stay long minutes in that position.

Or he sits/lays down next to you in silence, doing absolutely nothing. He's anxious about the quietness himself so his fingers are always near yours.

Words of affirmation randomly comes out. Sometimes he talks about his personal experience to encourage you that everything will be alright, sometimes he tells you the reasons to his belief why your loved one's love for you preserves through all.

He keeps his talks motivational and faithful for the future. Sometimes he'd quote the things Dazai had said to him, filtering out the nonsense if necessary, or the things he always told himself in hope for a brighter tomorrow.

A breathing doll has been haunting your room for a week. It blinks, it moves, it can be spoonfed, but nobody at a glance would argue that it lives. It’s a doll. Calling it an undead is more generous than calling it a doll because of the existing needs. A doll sits inanimately, breathes at the bare minimum, and is devoid of wants and needs.

It’s the perfect status to illustrate how corpse-like you’ve been living like for this week. Your stone-cold face, just as cold fingers, eyes that barely shift, dried mouth and chapped lips make it a challenge to have you described as something living. To even use the word ‘live’ to describe you is contradictory and to hear the word ‘live’ suffocates your throat and clamps your once functioning heart. The indescribable pain mutes you, paralyzes you, turning you doll-like.

A broken doll, you are, once full, once living and moving until the one you love had to bid life farewell first without warning.

One tireless and loyal white-haired boy frequents you every day, bearing food and water to make sure the living doll in your room doesn’t fade into the cold. Cobwebs would have formed between your arms and your bed if he didn’t clean you off the filth you don’t bathe away, your nerves have been too dormant for you to feel filthy.

A bright white figure shifts around in front of you like a poltergeist. You pay it no mind. This isn't the first or second time you're seeing things that aren't there, or rather, someone who isn't supposed to be here. Your cluelessness to cope with the grave reality seems to have driven your brain on autopilot, it seems that this time it decides to give you a hallucination so you'd have someone to cling to.

A sudden snap startles your eyes to open wider, albeit without focus. Something black was in front of you, it had five branches and moves so... humanly. Like it's real. You trace it back to the white hallucination in front of you and it takes you a while to realise that you aren't hallucinating. The white haired boy who has been frequenting your place is here again today.

"Atsushi..." His name falls emptily through your teeth.

Atsushi’s mouth opens and his lips move in accordance. His face wrinkles to the centre. The inconsistent pressure he applies around your cold hand before holding you as tight as now tells you of how fragile he knows you are.

His mouth opens again familiarly. You shift your eyes to him without any effort to listen through the incoherent sound.

When his lips move for the third time, you figure out he has been calling your name. You blink twice and his chest deflates with a long exhale.

“You’ll pull through,” His hold around your hand boldens as he grit his teeth. “They had to depart first but they did so while loving you. You're loved, they love you. You can use that to push on, their love for you lives on and so do your memories of them.”

He observes you with high intensity as if expecting you to speak. You notice the disappointment when all your eyes do is gaze hollowly through him. You think he breathes in a sob from the sudden squeak he makes.

Your eyes lazily roll to follow your hand Atsushi lifts to put against his face. “I’m with you, I'll always will be. You’re not alone, you’re not alone, you’re not alone.” He chants. “You’re never alone, you’re never alone.”

He brings your hand down against his chest. Something beats inside to hammer you the reminder that it will never stop thrumming. The warmth reminds your nerves of something. It feels contagious, bringing you recollecting something you used to feel often.

“I promise, I promise, I promise,” Atsushi hurriedly says, “I’ll always be here for you.”

Like a mantra, his words deliver the familiar sensation his chest makes you feel to your essence. After your slowed blink, you tilt down your head and tilt back up, repeating that movement until it’s fitted to be called a nod. Atsushi heaves a breath out and pulls your hand to get between his arm and side until your upper body drops against his.

“They watch over you, I promise,” His hand holds your head as you passively breathe on his shirt. "Anytime and anywhere, they're with you, and so am I.” He says airily. "You're never alone and never will be. They're with you and I'm staying forever, you'll never see your side empty, I promise they watch over you, I promise, I promise, I promise,"

Your head tilts to the side, giving more space to breathe. His solid body exudes more of the feeling you don’t realize you crave. It reaches your throat eventually, nourishing you with words you once lost.

"Thank you," You whisper.

A living doll you temporarily are but not forever, and most certainly, a loved human you are for as long as the memory of your beloved and Atsushi keep you close to them.

© all rights reserved to hanazou. do not repost, modify, or claim any of my works as your own.

#chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #chuuya x y/n #chuuya headcanon #chuuya headcanons #chuuya hc #chuuya hcs #chuuya fanfic #chuuya scenario #chuuya comfort #chuuya imagine #bsd chuuya #bsd x you #bsd x reader #bsd x y/n #bsd #atsushi x reader #atsushi x you #atsushi x y/n #atsushi headcanon #atsushi headcanons #atsushi hc #atsushi hcs #atsushi fanfic #atsushi scenario #atsushi comfort #atsushi imagine #bsd atsushi #[📜] — book checkout.

[sanzoumon]

FREE RICKORTY+ PROMPTS!:

Seriously, if you wanna write any of these just go for it and then let me know. Spoilers for S5E10. Some are more gen but could also be shippy, smut encouraged but optional. All of these are definitely bottom!Morty btw. Others are straight up smut.

Non-rickorty prompts (really just Morty x Summer) are are the bottom.

PROMPTS:

Trapped on what remains of the Citadel, Rick confesses that he recently realized he’s in love with Morty and that he wants to be by Morty’s side forever - in whatever way Morty wants (as in be it romantic, familial, platonic, whatever, it’s Morty’s choice). How does Morty feel and what will he decide?

After the whole Planetina thing Morty gets much needed comfort from Beth. Tho he feels better after that, Morty feels the overwhelming need to be with Rick. As it happens, after that whole ordeal with Daphne, Rick feels an overwhelming need to be with Morty. Bedsharing and comfort ensue.

Morty notices that ever since the Citadel was destroyed, Rick’s been way more physically affectionate. Little touches, petting his hair, hugging, casually rubbing soothing circles on him when they relax, wanting to cuddle, affectionate kisses, handholding, even nuzzling him. Morty likes it. A LOT.

In a rare moment of relaxation, Rick and Morty snuggling up together, they share a kiss. Both are shocked but then immediately begin an intense make-out session.

Rick wants to make up for his prior mistreatment of Morty. Morty asks for something be never expected: A kiss. And Morty means a full on kiss - tongue included. Who is Rick to deny him?

Rick and Morty have a rather intense incest kink. Lots of dirty talk.

Morty finds out that Rick has feelings for him. Rick freaks out, feels like a piece of shit, and tries to run away. Morty stops him, clings to him, begs Rick to calm down and to not leave him. Rick is practically hysterical, Morty gets him to shut up and calm down the only way he can - a kiss.

Morty preys on Rick’s guilt for having mistreated Morty in the past by guilting him into having sex. Morty knows Rick doesn’t want it, but he’ll do anything Morty wants. Morty feels like shit doing this but he can’t get about of how good Rick feels inside him.

Morty royally screws up on an adventure, almost getting himself killed, and Rick opts for a good ol fashioned punishment - a bare bottom spanking. Aftercare happens because Rick was terrified for Morty and needs him to understand this is why he spanked him.

Rick suffers from Domdrop after a really emotionally intense session with Morty. Morty provides Rick with the aftercare he needs.

The family finds out about Rick and Morty’s relationship. Shocking everyone, it’s Beth who attacks Rick square in a blind rage. The whole time Morty is begging her to stop hurting Rick, who doesn’t even try to defend himself, and it’s Jerry and Summer who have to hold her back so she’ll actually listen to Morty.

Rick and Morty get married at the alien equivalent of Las Vegas. Summer was a witness and recorded the whole thing.

In another dimension it’s considered a rite of passage for a boy to have sex with the household patriarch when he turns 14. Morty never felt the need to do that but then Rick comes along and says that’s because Jerry wasn’t man enough to do it, so Rick takes it upon himself to do so.

Morty is attracted to Rick specifically because Rick is a dirty old man.

On the Citadel, some Morty’s are bred purely to be sex slaves for Rick’s. Bred to be more compliant, submissive, and who love Rick’s unconditionally no matter how badly they mistreat them.

Rick and Morty have an emotionally incestuous relationship. Basically: “when a parent or caregiver relies on a child for the support that an adult partner would usually provide. They may also treat the child like a romantic partner.”

Morty deliberately gets himself into trouble on adventures because Rick will, out of worry and adrenaline pumping through him, fuck Morty afterward like an animal. Like a twisted version of “glad to be alive sex”.

Rick and Morty have to hide in a tight fitting enclosed space while facing each other. Awkward boners and grinding / dry humping ensue.

Omegavese. Morty goes into heat and Rick knocks him up. It wouldn’t be so bad if Rick wasn’t seriously turned on by Morty being pregnant with his baby.

Omegaverse. Unclaimed Omega’s have it rough and are constant targets for harassment. One day Morty gets assaulted by some Alpha’s at school and before they’re able to violate and claim him, Rick shows up and makes them wish they were never born. Morty knew right then that Rick was his Alpha and begs for Rick to claim him.

Rookie Cop Rick x Cop Morty. Rick likes how chubby Morty is.

Toxic Rick x Toxic Morty. They’re both made up of the irrational attachments they have for each other. Without their healthier selves to reign them in they can’t keep their hands off each other. Basically, in between all the science, Toxic Rick fucks Toxic Morty and Toxic Morty can’t get enough of just how much Rick loves him.

Evil Rick x Evil Morty. Sometimes Morty lets Rick have control of himself again just so Rick will rape him like he used to before Morty took control.

Morty’s fantasy is for Rick to fuck him against his will while Morty cries and begs Rick to stop. Rick can’t deny Morty his perverted fantasy.

Rick goes on a rampage to save Morty and, by the time all is said and done, Rick is mildly wounded and is practically drenched in the blood of his enemy. And it’s the hottest thing Morty has ever seen in his life. Morty wants Rick to fuck him right then and there, raw and primal, using the blood as lube.

Morty’s just so small and cute. Rick loves it a little too much.

Rick loves to degrade and humiliate Morty in bed. Morty loves it too.

Breeding kink. They like to pretend Morty can actually get pregnant when they have sex.

OTHER:

Summer asks Rick to shrink her giant space incest baby down to normal baby size. Everyone tries to talk her out of it because she’s young and not ready to raise a baby, but she knows she can’t live without him and that she wants this.

Morty x Summer. It may have been under very weird circumstances but fact is they have a baby together. Summer says she doesn’t expect anything from Morty and is cool with it, but Morty wants to be involved. Raising a kid together can make you feel things you never expected to feel.

Morty x Summer. Morty liked attractive redheads and Summer is no exception.

Morty x Summer. After everything they’ve seen and done, sex with each other to relieve stress isn’t that noteworthy.

Morty x Summer. Summer is humiliated that she actually enjoys being fucked by her little brother. Worse yet, Morty knows it and taunts her with it while fucking her. Worst of all, him doing that makes it even better for her.

Morty x Summer. Set during the time Rick was in prison. They’re always fighting lately, sometimes to the point of physical aggression. One thing leads to another.

Morty & Summer. After the whole Morty Jr. thing, Morty isn’t sure he wants to be a dad again. But Summer is worn ragged with school, taking care of their recently-shrunk-to-normal-size space baby, and their family giving her crap for raising him instead of leaving him in space. And, well, he is responsible for the kid existing in the first place. Basically they raise their baby together.

Summer sees Morty getting picked on at school and she ends up beating up his bully half to death.

Morty x Summer. Something happens and they end up bound together face to face with Morty’s head buried in Summer’s boobs. They’re so big and soft that he gets aroused in spite of himself. Summer feels it, insults him like expected, but tells him just to hurry up and get rid of it by grinding against her thigh so they can start pretending this whole thing never happened sooner.

————

And that’s all I got for now, folks! I know it’s a long list and it’s all over the place but I have so many ideas in my head and the S5 finale just sent my imagination into overdrive.

So please, if you’re a writer, I hope these prompts inspire you. Let me know if you write anything, please!

#rick and morty #rick & morty #rickorty #c 137cest #rickmorty #prompts #summorty #morty x summer #does this have a name?

[whumpinggrounds]

Hide n Seek

sooo this doesn’t have a title but Liam came into my head and would not leave so? here we go? 

lmk if you like it or you hate it or want to see more. or if you have a title or anything to say or for any reason at all :) talk to me!!

CW: failed escape, escape attempt, environmental whump, big whumpee, tiny whumper, female whumper, nonconsensual drug use, drugged whumpee, scrapes and bruises, gaslighting, uhhh i forget what else. nonconsensual touching but it’s also nonsexual

Dark branches tear at Liam’s skin hard enough to draw blood, but he won’t stop running. On either side of him, trees loom up, huge and bristling with needles. The ground tilts sickeningly under his pounding feet, and as he slips and skids over icy ground Liam throws his body from side to side, trying to dodge the obstacles that pop up, seemingly out of nowhere. He’s pulling it off – barely – and then a towering red spruce appears out of nowhere. One of its lower branches, thick around as a lead pipe, catches Liam in the side of the head and sends him reeling.

Liam lands on his knees, breath whooshing from his lungs. The blow to his temple makes his head spin worse than it already was, and his whirling vision isn’t doing any favors for his roiling stomach. An unbearable heaviness in his limbs makes him long to stop, rest, maybe lie back on the frozen, muddy ground and let the blessed chill ease the fever heat in his brow.

As the desperate, exhausted thought crosses his mind, a faraway sound reaches his ears.

“Lavender’s blue…dilly-dilly…lavender’s green…when you are king…dilly-dilly…I’ll be your queen…”

The words are sung in a voice that’s high and light and almost fey. The sound stops Liam’s heart, makes ice water run through his veins. Dashing frightened tears from his eyes, Liam scrambles to his feet, ignoring the bleeding scratches, the ache in his bruised and frozen knees. Behind him, the voice drifts piercing and eerie through the trees, and, driven before it like a sacrificial lamb, Liam picks himself up and crashes onward.

Head reeling, body aching, so sick to his stomach he spends every step fighting not to vomit, Liam runs. He runs until he slips and falls, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of himself, mark bruises on his skin. Then he gets up and runs some more, staggering, faltering, missing steps, head empty of any instinct besides move forward, get away. The headlong sprint through the woods feels like it lasts forever. Snatches of song reach Liam’s ears, distorted and giggly. The forest rears up on every side like so many dark green walls – towering large, endless in every direction. Liam’s ears are ringing, his throat is dry, he can hear his own breath heaving unevenly in his chest. The terror in him is so raw and real that he can almost taste it, salt and iron, blood on his tongue. He’s choking on tears as he staggers onward, but scared as he is, all he can think is what if his sobs are too loud?

When Liam sees light through the trees, he thinks he’s dreaming. Stumbling forward, hardly daring to believe, he feels new hot tears spill down his face. Like a drowning man, he stretches his arms toward salvation, straining as if it’s something he can hold in his hands. Then he’s stumbling again, toppling forward, knees and then hands and then body kissing pavement.

Unable to stop himself, Liam sobs in simple, blessed relief. Pavement. The ground beneath him hard and unforgiving, solid and uniform. Above him, big plate glass windows spill yellowy light into the gathering darkness. The miracle of sidewalk, of concrete, of buzzing phosphorescent light!

Liam is weeping like a baby into his scratched up, icy hands. Now that he’s horizontal and staying there, now that the adrenaline has done just about all it can for his body – now, Liam starts to let go. His body feels both distant and incredibly close. He can feel every individual bit of concrete against his skin, and he can feel himself buzzing against the inside of his skin, and there’s a cloudiness in his head, a big and growing white threatening to envelope him, leave him blissfully out and unaware.

“What in the - ? Son? What the hell is wrong with you, son?”

The voice is gruff, incredulous, more than a little suspicious. Peering up through hazy eyes, Liam sees an older man coalesce into a hazy double-focus, bearded and grizzly as his tone suggests. The flannel-clad bear of a human recoils at the sight of the tears on Liam’s face, lip curling as he takes in Liam’s disheveled appearance.

“H-he-e-elp,” Liam manages, one hand reaching up, wavering and buzzing static in his vision. Even to his own ears, his voice wavers, rises and falls, distorted by hoarseness and God knows what else. “I n…need hel-l-l-p.”

Narrowing his eyes, the man continues to regard Liam with blatant doubt. Liam tries to morph his face into something acceptable, an expression that’s beseeching without being desperate or deranged. His muscles respond slowly, sluggishly. He can’t remember how to manipulate his face. Giving up, Liam leaves his mouth slack and just looks up, inches a little closer, pushing his body over the pavement, ignoring the way the cement rasps against his skin. He doesn’t want to try standing, yet.

Strange things are happening to the man’s face – his cheeks bloat, blow up grotesquely as he talks. His eyebrows, thick dark beetles, worm and writhe over his deep-set eyes, which are more like holes than real eyes. He’s towering over Liam, so tall the man on the ground can’t help but shrink a little bit against the pavement. His mouth is moving and Liam watches it with a dull kind of fascination, forgetting to pay attention to the words that emerge as shapeless sounds from that dark cave of a mouth.

“Help,” Liam tries again, seeing the way the word feels on his tongue. It sounds like it’s coming from very far away. “Huh…help?”

“Boy? What is wrong with you, boy?”

The man is waving his hand around in front of Liam’s face, looking for some kind of a reaction. When Liam just keeps staring hazily up, the man shakes his head. He starts talking, but the words dip and circle around Liam’s head, refusing to find his ears, refusing to find his brain. Every so often a word or two comes through – a revelation.

“…fucking cops…”

“Hellllp,” Liam whispers, turning his head to rest one hot cheek against the concrete. His head is pounding so bad it makes him feel sick. Or maybe he just feels sick. Either way, he’s wrung out, exhausted, ready to be done. Liam is tired. He gives up. He’s ready to be done.

Shutting his eyes to try to block out the loud and angry spinning world, Liam forces words out as best as he can make them. “Pl-l-l-e-e-eease. Please.” In his chest, he feels a little hitch come with the word, a shaky breath that prefaces a whimper. The sound is so small, so utterly pathetic. Liam didn’t know he could make a sound like that. “Ple-ease help me.”

The man squats down now to peer a little closer at Liam, at the young man laid out flat on the ground, not even trying to get up. “…what is…come from…”

The words aren’t landing with any greater frequency, nor are they making much sense, but Liam imagines he hears a grudging warmth in the tone that wasn’t there before. Maybe concern, instead of suspicion. Maybe aid, instead of exasperation. He lets himself slit his eyes open, see the hazy outline of the figure above him, leaning in. He lets himself hope.

Then he hears the gasp from behind him, long and loud, high and flighty and dramatic. Suddenly, Liam can’t breathe. He shuts his eyes again, trying to block the nightmare out, but it’s too late. She’s already here.

She throws herself down beside him, drapes herself on top of him, small hands roaming from his broad shoulders down to his waist, as if checking that he’s still whole. She’s so small. She’s always been so small. Doesn’t make sense that she can be all over him, everywhere at once when she’s so…damn…small.

“Philip!”

She trills it, sweet as any songbird. There are tears in her voice, real tears, and a burbling wet kind of laugh of relief that would tug at the heartstrings of anyone who had a heart. “Oh God, Philip, oh, don’t scare me like that.” She presses a warm kiss to his temple and Liam groans out loud. “Oh, sweetie. Oh Philip. Oh.”

One finger traces down the side of his face. The feeling comes through hideously clear and sharp. If it were a picture, it’d be Technicolor, while the rest of the world scrapes by in staticky black and white. Liam presses his face harder into the concrete, wanting to escape, to sink through, to disappear. She picks up his head and cradles it with one little hand.

“…know this…?”

Liam wishes, more than he’s ever wished for anything before, to understand the words of the man standing over them. Instead, the man remains indistinct, distant, unreachable, while every word she says rings loud and perfect in his ears.

“Philip is my brother,” she explains, voice so sweet it conjures honey on the tongue. “He’s…he’s…well, he’s not right.”

“…see that…”

“Well.” A firm but gentle hand smoothing over his wild hair. “We don’t know what exactly it is that’s…wrong.” Locked inside his head, Liam is screaming. All that emerges from his mouth is a low, indistinct moan. Above him, Delilah chatters on, her voice taking on a tragic tone. “We suppose it could be genetic. Or it could be…well, he was in a bad way with drugs, my brother.” She strokes his back, a long, possessive touch. “It’s not his fault.”

The man above them grunts. His voice is still so distant, coming in and out like radio waves. “…damn fool thing…cold.”

“I try. I really do try. He’s just…he gets away from me sometimes, I guess.”

“…huge motherf…little thing like…”

A laugh, carefully calibrated to sound just a little forced. “Philip is my brother.” Another long, tender caress down his back. Liam pants into the pavement, head spinning. “I love him. Of course I’m going to look after him. I have to.”

“…need help?”

Sprawled out on the ground, Liam heaves a dry sob. Those words, words he wanted to hear so badly just minutes before, now offered to the exact wrong person. The conversation goes on above him, but Liam can’t waste his focus listening to it anymore.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Liam takes stock of his aching body. His knees are bruised and sore, his body scratched all over. He’s exhausted and cold and his muscles feel distant, tingly and out of touch. Even lying on the ground, his head pounds and spins. If there was anything left in his stomach, he’d definitely have thrown it up by now. All he wants is to stay where he is and rest. He wants to feel right again, in control of his body and his mind. He wants to give up, give in, be allowed to sleep and heal and rest. Liam just wants this to be over.

But he can’t just yell surrender and expect Delilah to leave him alone. She’s hopping to her feet now, standing to shake the stranger’s hand. If he has a last chance, this is it, so Liam grits his teeth. Dredging up every last bit of meager strength, he places his palms on the ground beneath him and pushes up. His arms are shaky, and nearly give out, but he manages to slump into a sitting position before his strength fails.

From his place sitting on the pavement, Liam can peer up pitifully at the two people above him. The flannel-wearing man is facing Liam, which means Delilah is facing away from him. He has a window, a precious small amount of time, in which he can just maybe make his escape. Swinging his head to the side, Liam examines the storefront he’s ended up outside of. The vinyl booths, the matching countertops – it’s a diner, all the lights inside aglow. If Liam can just make it inside. If he can just get his story out.

He has to move quickly. Sucking in a quick puff of cold air, Liam leans back and pushes off the ground, flinging himself to his feet. Almost before he’s all the way up, he’s throwing himself into his next step, staggering forward with all the grace and control of a drunken grizzly. Speed is his only chance, and also his greatest enemy. As Liam lunges forward, his body gives out under him. He stumbles, wailing in frustration, stretching his hand out for the door even as he goes down.

Before he can hit the pavement for the second time in ten minutes, the stranger catches Liam. It sounds like it takes a good amount of his strength, because the man grunts as Liam’s chest smacks his shoulder, but he stays where he is, all but holding Liam up.

Even though the guy seems to have decided to take Delilah’s side, gratitude leaves Liam breathless.

“Your brother is heavy,” the man complains, his gruff voice booming through the air right next to Liam’s ear.

“He was a football player,” Delilah explains, and surely anyone could hear that smug, faintly covetous tone in her voice? Surely, this man can see the way she squeezes his bicep as she runs her hand down his arm?

The man throws one of Liam’s arms over his shoulder and drags his unresisting body toward a parking lot. Stumbling along, Liam tries to stay on his feet, though now his hectic vision is starting to fade entirely. On his other side, Deliliah hovers along, her hand so light on his back that he should hardly be able to feel it. Somehow, though, while his entire body is distant, prickling, offline, that handprint burns in his awareness, heavy and hot and stinging like nettles. Liam whines under his breath, trying to make his thick tongue form words.

“Shh,” Delilah soothes, drawing so close he can feel her breath on his arm. “Shh, Philip, honey, it’s gonna be all right.”

Still whining like a kicked dog, Liam is dumped unceremoniously in a foreign backseat. Crawling up next to him, Delilah waits until the man is seated in front of them to perch herself basically in his lap. With greedy, grasping fingers, she tugs his leaden body over so Liam’s head is resting on her shoulder. At first, Liam fights it, but when the car starts up the winding mountain road, he subsides. The curving motion of the road sets his stomach roiling, so he’s too nauseous to do anything but let his head flop back as he tries to open his airway and breathe.

Cooing, Delilah cards her hot little hands through his hair. “Poor Philip,” she murmurs, voice sweet and conciliatory. “Poor honey. Didn’t I tell you no one would believe you?”

#whump #whump writing #big whumpee #tiny whumper #female whumper #environmental whump #hypothermia #escape attempt #failed escape #failed escape attempt #drugged whumpee #bruises #gaslighting #nonconsensual drug use #headache #original characters #original writing #liam #delilah

[writertothemaximum]

Yuta Aoi x Reader

Summary: You and Yuta have been dating for a while and he’s anxious about meeting your parents. Maybe he needs something to help him relax.

Word count: 1.5k

Warning/Content: nsfw/smut (18+), sub!Yuta, dom!reader, Yuta is aged up, handjob, cute wholesome couple goals

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24045316/chapters/63012241

It was only halfway into the afternoon when you noticed how utterly anxious Yuta was. He was pretty good at hiding it, really, considering you had spent the first half of the day with him at his photoshoot. Although, you supposed that was the effect Hinata had on him. They really found their confidence in each other, it was quite sweet.

The problem here is that you and Yuta had been dating for the past two months and it was time to break the bubble. The, “you should meet my parents” bubble, to be more specific. You were supposed to have dinner together that night and Yuta was, well, unprepared mentally, to say the least.

You sat on your couch together, Yuta glued to the armrest away from you. You could feel quiet rumbles in the seat, his body softly shivering from a sheer force of ice-cold stress as deep as the heart could get. He kept skirting his eyes between his phone and your eyes, almost as if he were trying to gauge your expression. Pupils dilating between the light from his hand and the shimmering darkness around you. Well, that’s at least how Yuta saw it.

Lips pursed, small words sputtered out of his mouth.

“Will they like me?”

Yuta was being self-conscious again. You laughed.

“I hope so.”

It didn’t seem to help.

“But what if they like, I don’t know, think I’m weird or something…Will they think it’s weird that I’m an idol? Are they okay with keeping that under wraps? What will Aniki think?” he said, words rambling endlessly, getting ever gradually faster and faster as his tongue refused to stop. He put his hands to his head, pushing his blue headphones down his neck, grasping ever desperately at his mind, as if he could convince his brain to stop thinking if he pushed hard enough. “Oh god, oh god, what if I say something callous and they get all aggravated at me? I don’t want that…”

You put a finger to his lips, pushing into sweet flesh.

“Shh, shh.”

Yuta quieted down. You scooted forward, entering his personal space, placing a hand on his arm. You rubbed up and down, comforting him. Yuta started to breathe, letting the air fill up his lungs until the blood decided it was time to go back to his head. You leaned onto him, placing your free hand on his forehead. It was singing with heat, burning up like dry grass in a wildfire.

“Yuta, you’re getting a bit hot, do you have a fever?”

The shaking paused if only for a second.

“H-Huh? Huh, well um, I don’t feel sick?”

You hummed, getting closer to him.

“Hm, are you just a little embarrassed, then?”

“Y-Yeah, a little,” he said, his voice shrinking away.

“Hm,” you started, humming. “And why would that be?”

Crystalline light shone off of his jade-like eyes as they skirted around the room, avoiding you.

“Well, I, I um…” he sighed, not normally stuttering like this. His shoulders hunched up, he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for not being good enough. You’re just this great producer that everyone relies on and I still feel like some kid…I don’t want to disappoint you when your parents see me.”

Ah, so that’s what it was. It finally all came to you.

He’s anxious because of what he knows. The rejection he knows of a father who disowned him. It was a little sad, in a way. The way everyone saw reflections of themselves in everyone else. Especially Yuta, practically glued to a mirror of himself, forever linked, eternally tied by a sweet, pink string.

“And why would all that make you embarrassed?”

Yuta’s breathing shorted, his throat clenching, his face shredded thin with the feelings of a short cough.

“Well, it’s because I like you,” he muttered through his teeth.

“Oh, it’s because you like me,” you said, reiterating his words.

You let your weight loose on his arm, letting gravity crush him against the sofa cushion, pushing him close to you. Carefully, you slid your hand up his knee, tracing up the soft part of his upper leg, slowly pushing into the pillowy skin of his thigh. You felt the fabric of his shorts puff out at you, thin strands of thread, all sewn together, wrapped so delicately around these two legs.

“I like you and I don’t want you to hate me,” he said, the words sputtering out.

Cupping your hand, you lifted off the leg and wrapped it loosely around his groin. With the pad of your hand, you carefully pushed down on him, adding such gentle pressure. It was so teasing, just barely making any friction, the frustration of almost making it but missing the mark. Kneading into him, you felt his groin push back, dick hardening into your hand.

“Yuta-kun, don’t you think it’s a little indecent to be hard while you confess to your crush?”

Yuta started to wiggle around, like a fish, soaking wet, flung onto dry land.

“I-I confessed to you ages ago. You’re clearly coming onto me, just hurry up already!”

You put a finger to your lips, looking off into space as if you were simply considering the repercussions.

“Hm…Well, we’re going to meet my parents in a couple of hours, it wouldn’t be good if you smell like semen and sweat.” You bent forward and shoved your nose into his shoulder, taking in a big scent, strong, full of sweat—Absolutely Yuta in every meaningful way. “Although it certainly turns me on.”

You could feel it as Yuta’s heart sank deep into his chest. As his hands slid up your body pinning him against the seat. As everything started to slow down and he forgot how to breathe again. He was floating in a sea of ecstasy, frustration, almost there, just so close.

He wasn’t shaking anymore.

“Please…”

Yuta’s eyebrows clenched, teeth fumbling with the edge of his lips, as if considering whether or not to bite them.

“Please what, Yuta?”

His knees puckered out, his feet straining as his hands clenched down on the armrest.

“Please touch me already, I don’t care,” he said, looking down at the cushion. “Please.”

You laughed, “Alright, alright.”

You plucked out a tissue from the box on the coffee table and carefully unbuttoned him, zipping him out. His dick popped out, juicy and frustratingly hard. You slowly wrapped your hand around it, stroking very softly. You felt around, careful to attend to each point of heat, each vein piercing with pressure, leaching out at you, begging to be touched. Yuta writhed slowly in his seat, biting his lip to keep the moans from pouring out.

“Does it feel good, Yuta?”

He looked off to the side before nodding frantically.

Each quiet slosh of precome made such a lovely sound in the room. He was so lost in the pleasure, his hips rocking slowly against you, completely unaware of your rhythm, as if he were humping a seat cushion. His mind was so blank with the feeling of your hands around him, he found himself not caring anymore. Not really thinking about anything he didn’t need to.

“Do you like it when I touch you here?”

You put your free hand above his groin, spreading your fingers spread apart, thin nails brushing ever so delicately against the peach-fuzz hairs on his belly. You pushed, sinking into doughy flesh, pushing deep against his stomach.

“Do you feel the pressure in here?”

“Uh-huh,” he managed to get out.

He started to shake and you knew he was about to blow his load. Yuta, convulsing and twitching, desperately grasped his hands around you, as if guiding you through the last strokes to get him off. Yuta grunted through his damaged lip as he came into your hand and the tissue. Yuta made another small sound as he sank into the corner of the couch, completely spent.

You held the soiled tissue up to your nose and gave a whiff before deciding it was gross and tossing it into the trash.

Yuta smacked your thigh lightly with the back of his hand.

“You know you can’t fix all our problems with sex.”

You turned around and hugged him.

“Yes, but I can fix your confidence with it.”

Yuta blushed hard.

You patted his head.

“I can fix it with this, too,” you said, your fingers running through silky orange hair. “You’re a good boy, Yuta, have more faith in yourself.”

He pouted, the blush still sore against his cheeks.

“I know, but it’s hard sometimes.”

You kept patting his head.

“Good Yuta, good Yuta~”

Embarrassed, he swatted at you with his hand.

“Stop that, we have to get ready, you know.”

You laughed.

“I thought you didn’t want to go see them.”

He stood up quickly, looking down at the ground and quickly swiping his sweater off the coffee table.

“Well, now I know I don’t have to make them proud because you’re already proud of me.”

It took you a second before you realized what he said.

A big smile crossed your face.

You jumped up and gave him a big hug.

“Let’s go find the cutest outfit for you!”

“Wouldn’t something bright and flashy be better?”

“Nah, let’s go for something cute!”

He couldn’t hide the smile through his pout.

“Alright, let’s find something cute.”

#enstars #enstars x reader #Yuta Aoi #Yuta x reader #w2tmfics

[shorkbrian]

We’re on mobile again lads, too tired to commit to getting my laptop out. Shoutout to the anon that taught me how to do the readmore thing on mobile ty.

Anyways, Bakugou and Kirishima being professional Creeps

(Warnings - dead dove, do not eat. NSFW, graphic rape. Disassociation. Vomit mention (no actual vomit), one weird, incesty comment made by Bakugou)

You’re walking down the street, groceries in hand. It’s dark out, but you aren’t worried. You’ve taken this way home so many times before that you could walk it with your eyes closed, today you had just gotten sidetracked by a cute dog while getting your groceries, so it was a bit later than you were used to. But you had your mace in your pocket, your phone in your hand - you’d be able to call for help if something were to happen

You’re pumped to get home - you had bought a new flavor of your favorite brand of ice cream. Something new and exciting, you were going to put on a movie, sit on the couch, and do a little taste test.

You’re passing a side street, the one with the tiny sand which shop on the corner, where you sometimes stop for lunch. Maybe you’ll go there tomorrow, it’s been a while since you’ve had a hefty sandwich.

Where they came from, you don’t know. But one moment your walking along, minding your business, and the next moment your being dragged to the side, a hand over your mouth, muffling your yell of suprise.

There isn’t even time to scream. You hear a car door open, and then you’re being manhandled up and into the back of a van. At least, you think it’s a van.

Hands are all over your body, holding you down, pressing over your mouth, wrenching your arms behind your back, shoving your face into the floor of the van. Far too many hands for one person.

“Rope? Give it here.” A rough voice sounds behind you, and everything’s happening so fast, you’re not even sure what’s happening.

Someone’s looping rope around your arms, tying knots, tightening them until yours arms ache at the uncomfortable stretch, and the rope is biting painfully into your skin.

You struggle briefly, trying to push your head up, shake free of the hand over your mouth, tell them to wait, to stop.

The man behind you is hauling you into his lap, kicking your legs apart and keeping them spread with his own. He has a hand over your mouth - he’s the same one who grabbed you - and his other hand is kneading at your breast. He punches it through your shirt, and you shriek.

“Stay still, don’t wanna cut you sweetie.” There’s a flash of something sharp being waved around in the darkness. It’s so dark inside the van, you can hardly see. There’s a man in front of you.

Two men, one behind, one in front.

The man before you is stocky, big - you can feel his size as he moves between your spread legs, as his hands grab at your clothes.

You hear the snip of scissors, everything’s moving too fast, you can’t think, you can’t breathe.

One moment you’re safe, the next moment you aren’t.

Clothes are being cut off, it feels weird being bare like this, and it’s wrong, and you grab onto that thought. As soon as the scissors stop moving, you thrash in the first man’s hold, but a quick slap to your naked thigh has you spooking like a rabbit, going deathly still.

There’s fight, flight, or freeze.

“Ei, grab the vibe.” The first voice, the rough one, grumbles from behind you.

The large man in front of you, Ei, leans to the side, still wedges between your thighs. He roots around for a second, before straightening, holding something.

There’s a click, then a buzzing sound, and then you’re crying.

He’s holding a vibrator against your cunt, rubbing it up towards your clit, and it feels good but it’s so sudden.

It’s overwhelming, and you don’t know how you ended up like this.

You arch, a whine bubbling out of your throat, muffled by the calloused hand clamped tight against your mouth. It hurts, but it feels good, but it’s too much.

The man, Ei keeps moving it, following your body no matter how you try to shrink away, wiggle to the side, try to buck his hand off. There’s no escape.

You don’t know how long it takes you to cum. Have you been in the van long?

“Hah, I think the little whore liked that.” The man behind you taunts as Ei turns the vibratory off, tossing it to the side. You’re boneless in the rough man’s arms, exhausted by your orgasm.

Still, there’s so much adrenaline and fear coursing through your body that you feel keyed up. But the fear is muted, soft, unreachable. There’s only what’s happening, and you can’t do anything about it.

Everything feels so weird.

“Kat, here.” You’re being handed over to the soft man, Ei, and the man behind you, Kat, shuffles around.

“Her mouth looks so fucking soft... can’t wait.” You can hear Kat’s grin as you’re laid flat on your back, arms trapped painfully behind you.

You try to say something, but your throat’s dry, and your head feels fuzzy, and maybe this is just some twisted, sick dream.

Your upper half is wrenched to the side, shoulders pulled onto Kat’s lap. Something soft and fleshy taps your face, and you cringe away.

“Bite me, and I’ll end your shit.”

“Kats, chill.”

“Awh, shut up softie. I know you’re fucking aching to get inside her little cunt. Look at how hard you are, damn Ei.”

Kat snickers, and you finally make the connection that the velvet tapping roughly against your lips is a cock.

“The plush ones always make you cum in like, two fucking seconds. It’s cause you’re a mommas boy, ain’t it?”

The man easing your thighs open shrugs. “Guess so.”

“Your mom was fucking hot though, makes sense.”

Ei huffs out a laugh, and you feel pressure ashe eases into your cunt. But you can’t focus on that, not when Kat is growling at you to open up.

You get the feeling that if you don’t open your mouth, something bad will happen.

You open your mouth.

The next few minutes, you don’t even really know what’s happening. Ei’s fucking your pussy, hands gripping your waist as he uses you like a living fleshlight. Kat is thrusting into your mouth, groaning and hissing when your throat closes up around him.

You feel like you might throw up.

Ei keeping groping your flesh, slapping at your tits, pinching and stroking and his hands feel so gross. Your skin is tingling, but yet it somehow feels numb. Kat keeps slapping your face around, and you’re choking on his cock, and this all feels too weird to actually be happening.

You can’t stop thinking about your ice cream. Had you dropped the groceries when Kat grabbed you? Hopefully the ice cream hadn’t opened up.

It feels like they take forever, but at the same time, you don’t think any time has really passed. You were outside carrying groceries just a few seconds ago.

Then Kat is pulling out of your mouth, shoving you fully onto your back so he can jack off onto your tits. You don’t feel his cum splatter across your chest, but you feel the wetness as he rubs it into your skin, chuckling darkly.

Ei is still going, and it hurts. He’s big - if you weren’t loose from the orgasm pulled out of you by the vibe, you think he probably would’ve torn you open.

He pulls out, and then there’s warmth striping over your stomach, and Kat’s rubbing that in too.

Both men are a little breathless, and so are you, but you think you actually might be hyperventilating.

“Where’s the wipes?”

A package thumps next to your head, and Kat grabs it, muttering our a “thanks” to his partner-in-crime.

Cool, wet baby wipes swipe over your skin, cleaning up the mess. Your arms are still tied behind your back.

“Kat, where’re the clothes?”

“Underneath the passenger seat, where I always put the damn clothes.”

There’s shuffling, and then the sound of a ziplock bag being undone.

A baby wipe swipes over your pussy, scrubbing. You’re sensitive, and when two fingers enter you, stuffing a wipe against your walls, you whimper.

“Stop being so rough, you aren’t an animal.”

“Shut the hell up, I’m the one making sure we don’t get fuckin’ caught.”

The fingers pull out of your entrance though, taking the wipe with them.

You’re being sat up, a shirt roughly yanked over your head. It’s soft, smells like detergent. Ei’s lifting your legs, tugging sweatpants onto your body. They’re too big, but they’re comfy.

You realize you still have your shoes on.

“All done, let’s get her out.”

“Wait-“ Kat says, and thenyour jaw is being wrenched open, and a hand is shoving a baby wipe into your mouth. You retch, pushing at Kat’s wrist, but the man is stronger than you, holds you still while he rubs at your mouth.

“Kat, she’s gonna throw up.”

“Nah, she’s fine. Besides, even if she does, all the better right? No swab’ll be able to find anything after she blows chunks.”

Ei sighs.

Finally, the hand pulls away, and you cough, doubling over as you splutter. The taste lingers, and you want to throw up.

“All done. Let’s go.”

A hand pats your cheek “Bye bitch, it was fun.” Kat laughs, before climbing towards the front of the van.

Ei pushes you towards the back doors, opens them, helps you get your feet under you.

He doesn’t say anything as he pushes you towards your forgotten grocery bags, your dropped phone.

His hands leave your back, and you hear him shut the van doors, hear him walk around to the drivers side.

The van starts, and then it’s driving away, and you’re all by yourself.

All you can think about is the ice cream.

It’s probably melted by now

#yikes #don’t read this #dead dove #dark bakugou #dark kirishima #they use their first names #well #nicknames #this sucks #dead dove do not eat

[maatryoshkaa]

young god | chapter 16

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 14.3k

warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, domestic & child abuse, sexual abuse of a minor, descriptions of mental illness, death, dark themes and foul language. once again, all information regarding psychiatric conditions or courtroom procedures are to be taken with a grain of salt.

description: Han Jisung wrestles with the demons of his past as Kim Seungmin faces his own dilemma in the present, with one last chilling threat from Prosecutor Kang forcing Seungmin to make a final, crucial decision. The clock is counting down as your last chance wears thin, and one unexpected declaration is all it takes for things to change—forever.

watch the trailer here!

16| the prisoner’s dilemma.

Jisung was still frozen in place long after the heavy doors had swung shut and erased your face from his sight. His own hand felt foreign as he held it against his stinging cheek, the dull throbbing drowned out by the words still ringing in his ears.

Your friends want you to stay alive. Your mother wanted you to stay alive.

I need you to stay alive.

Bang Chan was watching him from the side, the detective’s eyes filled with equal parts amusement and wariness. Finally, he spoke. “You deserved that, you know.”

Jisung was silent, but his mind was already replaying the scene over and over again. Your anxious eyes, your voice trembling with the effort to stay steady. The slap couldn’t compare to the pain that had etched itself into your features every time he had spoken harshly, trying again and again to push you away. I know I did.

Chan sighed. “How are you feeling?”

A soft laugh escaped from Jisung’s dry mouth. “Dizzy,” he deadpanned honestly. The adrenaline was beginning to die down, but instead of leaving him sick in the stomach and with a pounding headache like usual, Jisung felt almost...lightheaded with relief. “Like...like a kid that just got told off?”

The detective chuckled, letting out his low, signature whistle. “What’d I tell you? That’s love, mate.” 

Jisung looked at him now, incredulous. “Getting slapped in the face?”

“No,” Chan smiled, but for once, his eyes were serious. “Someone who cares about you enough to call you out when you’re wrong.”

Not knowing what to say, Jisung turned away, letting the ticking of the clock on the wall fill the strained silence. He could still feel Chan’s gaze on him, but it was no longer the look of a detective trying to dissect a case file. Instead, it held the same strange softness it had when Chan had pulled Jisung aside at the Third Eye, and asked if he was okay.

“I told you once,” Chan began slowly, “that everyone deserves to be loved, and that you’re no different. Of course, things have...changed,” he continued, and Jisung looked down, throat tight as he waited for Chan to finish. “But I still stand by what I said.”

Before Jisung could reply, the intercom crackled overhead. “The court hearing  for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases will be resuming in five minutes. All attorneys, jurors, and participants in the trial, please report to the courtroom immediately—”

“Detective, you should get going,” a security guard spoke lowly to Chan, who sighed and nodded, pulling himself to his feet. As he passed where Jisung was standing, he stopped briefly.

“You’re a good kid, Han Jisung. Even if you don’t believe it yourself...you had better start to.”

“Chan—”

The detective had reached the door when he looked over his shoulder at Jisung. He had the same old mischievous smile on his face again, but his eyes were sad. 

“I hope we can grab another coffee together some time, yeah?”

━━━━━━━━

Seungmin’s head was spinning as he pushed through rooms packed with spectators and reporters until he finally stumbled into an emptier hallway. His eyes gleaned the plaques on the doors, searching for the room number the court clerks had given him after Seungmin had overheard their frantic conversation.

“We can’t just end the case here — the media and people’ll riot.”

“But we’ve lost a witness and the lead prosecutor of the case in one day — how the hell is the trial supposed to continue?”

The clerk wringed his hands. “We need to find out if there were any other prosecutors working with Kang on the case — call them in ASAP—”

And so, here Seungmin was — heart threatening to leap out of his throat, charging headfirst into a case that had been ripped out of his hands months ago. He had stepped into their conversation impulsively, and now a thousand warning bells were going off in his mind. 

Kim Seungmin was not impulsive. Kim Seungmin always calculated his plans perfectly, meticulously. It was one of the reasons why he had always been at the top of his class, graduating a year early with honours. Always praised for being levelheaded and thorough. 

Still, he thought, there had been one person that had seen right through him.

“You’re stressed,” you blurted bluntly, and Seungmin’s coffee cup froze midway to his lips. You were in his office, one of the many meetings you two had arranged in order to keep each other updated with information regarding Jisung’s case. 

“We’re all stressed,” Seungmin replied matter-of-factly, unsure where you were going with this, but you shook your head.

“But you try the hardest out of all of us to hide it. Tell me if I’m crossing a line here, but—” you looked at him, tilting your head. “You seem like the type who’s calm and collected on the outside to...hide the fact that you’re still wrestling with nerves, and insecurities, on the inside. Like a defense mechanism.”

Seungmin fell silent. Instinctively, he felt the urge to laugh it off, but in a fleeting moment, his mind wandered to his coworkers— their condescending gazes at who they thought was just a lucky amateur, a young imposter infringing upon a field with people twice his age. Since his first day at the law firm, Seungmin had felt an unbearable desire to prove himself worthy in their eyes, and the anxious feeling ate away at him every time he touched a case. 

Sensing the sudden change in mood, you quickly stammered, “I-I’m sorry, that was so unnecessary—what I’m trying to say is— it’s okay to be nervous. Don’t psyche yourself out with your own expectations for yourself. U-um—”

You trailed off, mortified, but Seungmin let out a small laugh, shaking his head lightly when your eyes widened in confusion. “No, no, it’s just…” You were smart and capable — anyone could see that — but always seemed to second-guess your own abilities. He found it almost endearing. “You really are a psychology major, Miss l/n.”

Seungmin rounded a corner and nearly slammed into someone that had just walked out of the men’s washrooms. Before he could apologise, Seungmin looked up into the man’s face and his gut twisted unpleasantly.

Prosecutor Kang seized Seungmin by the collar before he could walk away, his face livid. The younger man’s eyes darted down either side of the empty hallway, then back at his former senior. He had heard Kang was to be kept at the courthouse until the end of the trial, in case they needed anything from him. There were guards flanking every entrance and exit, so Kang couldn’t exactly escape, but seeing him walk around unsupervised still made Seungmin uneasy.

“S-sir, you can’t—”

“Do you remember what you said? What you promised?” Kang seethed, eyes wild as they raked Seungmin up and down. “‘I can handle it. I’ll find the culprit, and I’ll convict him. Death penalty, no less.’” 

Hearing his own words coming out of Kang’s mouth made Seungmin wince and shrink back. Kang caught his discomfort, grinning savagely before jerking his head in the direction of the holding cells, where Jisung was. “You’re taking over the case, aren’t you? Your culprit’s right there. Everything’s been laid out for you, it couldn’t be simpler.”

Seungmin let out a shaky breath, fists clenched by his sides. Before he could open his mouth, Kang pulled him in closer, voice dangerously low. 

“I always thought it was fishy, you know — someone your age, already entering the field? So I did my research.” Kang paused, smirking. “You’re a little prodigy, aren’t you? I didn’t know your parents were renowned lawyers, too.”

At that, Seungmin froze, shocked eyes darting up to meet Kang’s. It was true — born into a family of influential law enforcement officials, Seungmin had practically grown up reading about legal matters and judicial affairs. Despite his efforts to keep his parentage discreet as he grew older — hating the way their reputations always preceded his own — the expectations to follow in their footsteps had always remained suffocating. He loved law with all his heart, but his own family had become yet another reason why Seungmin had so much to live up to, and even more to lose.

The older prosecutor chuckled — Seungmin must have looked like a deer in headlights. “You can’t disappoint them, yes? You need to do everything you can to uphold the big family name.” Kang’s voice had a dangerous edge to it, like a blade. “My career might be over, little prosecutor, but I have far more power than you think. I can make sure you never step foot into this profession ever again. You want to prove yourself? To me, to your fellow prosecutors, to your parents? Here’s your chance.”

There was a snakelike glint in Kang’s eyes when he finally let Seungmin go, his words seeping through Seungmin’s mind like poison. 

Prove yourself. Prove yourself. A security guard had appeared at the end of the hallway, and without another word, Kang calmly turned on his heel, letting the guard escort him away. Seungmin watched his silhouette grow fainter, feeling sick to his stomach. 

Just how many cases...no, how many prosecutors had Kang manipulated for his own benefit?

He took a shuddering breath. Time was running out. Forcing his feet to move, Seungmin finally found the room, barely listening when the clerk quickly explained that the rights to the case were being transferred to him last minute. 

“Ten minutes, Prosecutor Kim. You have approximately ten minutes to prepare your case.”

The roomful of law officials were watching him with doubtful eyes — the same doubtful, scornful gazes that had followed him his entire life. Ten minutes. Picking up where Kang had left off would be the smoothest, most reasonable route. Preparing an entirely different argument, however, was suicide.

Seungmin glanced up at the clock, and his heart sank.

━━━━━━━━

The commotion in the courtroom sounded like the buzzing of an agitated beehive, the constant thrumming of hushed conversations and your own erratic heartbeat fueling the tense atmosphere. 

Hyunjin, Felix, Woojin, and you had sprinted straight to the courtroom after a rapid search for Seungmin had turned up futile — the prosecutor was nowhere to be seen, but judging from the murmurs you overheard around you, the case had been transferred into his hands with mere minutes to spare. You bit your lip nervously. This should have been good news, but you all knew that the odds — and time — were still against you. Looking the weariest you’d ever seen him, Bang Chan collapsed into the seat next to you. He tried to give you a reassuring smile, but as he turned away, eyes glued to the scene about to unfold, you saw that his features were strained and pale. 

With a creak that send a hush rippling through the courtroom, the doors swung open to reveal more familiar faces — the judge, the prosecution, the jury. Your eyes instinctively flickered to Jisung, whose expression was as guarded as ever, and instantly felt a pang of guilt in your chest. The rest of the room, however, had fallen silent before the judge had even spoken. All their gazes were trained on the new prosecutor that had entered the room.

Seungmin felt the stares on him before he even looked up, dozens of eyes weighing down on him as if he were a butterfly pinned to a specimen table. He should have gotten used to the stares by now — this was far from his first court hearing — but when he looked out into the faces of the audience, he still felt the same squeamish anxiety he had always tried so desperately to ignore. Their expressions were dubious, condescending, unconvinced — as if all to say, is this a joke? This kid is the new lead prosecutor?

The judge cleared her throat, pushing her half-moon spectacles back onto her nose. “Thank you for your patience. The court hearing for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases is now back in session. You may be seated.” She turned to Seungmin, eyes narrowed. “What is the case the prosecution will be presenting?”

Seungmin’s mind was racing as he turned over the envelope in his hands — the envelope containing Kang’s case file — and slid out the papers with numb fingertips. As he did so, familiar words echoed in his mind — words he had been told since he had first chosen to study law, and words he had forced himself to live by ever since.

“You have a big heart, Kim Seungmin — too big. Learn to control your emotions if you want to make it in this field.”

“You have to be cold, quick, and rational. Kindness is a weakness.”

“There is no room for a wavering heart in prosecution.”

He had always taken the words like bitter medicine, beyond determined to prove to his older coworkers that he wasn’t just the incompetent young prosecutor they always made him out to be. Desperate to prove to his family that he was capable, that he wouldn’t tarnish their names. Every step he had taken had been careful, calculated, all so that Seungmin could win their approval, finally escape their suffocating scrutiny. 

“Your Honour,” Seungmin began, “as a prosecutor, I was taught that my duty is to defend the rule of law to ensure justice is served, no matter how harsh it may be.”

You watched the young prosecutor speak carefully, his grave expression making your gut twist. Kim Seungmin, Chan had told you once in passing, came from a family of established lawyers — a child prodigy with big shoes to fill, and everything to lose. And now, you realised with dread, his words seemed to be an exact echo of Prosecutor Kang’s.

Seungmin’s stomach was fluttering as if it were his first trial again, heart palpitating with each passing moment as he was seized with the sudden urge to run. Taking a deep breath, his gaze flickered up to meet yours in the audience — your blazing eyes, charged with emotion, your heart always written so clearly across your adamant features. You, who stopped at nothing in order to protect what you believed was right.

Prove yourself. Prove to everyone you’re good enough, strong enough.

He closed his eyes, knowing that he would regret what he was about to say.

“But I was also taught that a good prosecutor is one that uses the law to protect the people.” Seungmin swallowed hard, sliding Kang’s papers back into the envelope and dropping it onto the desk behind him. “Thus, the case I am presenting today is not one that intends to prove Han Jisung guilty of first degree murder.”

The entire room erupted in frantic murmurs, the judge hurriedly banging the gavel to maintain order. Seungmin caught a glimpse of Jisung’s expression — the boy was still looking down, but his face had paled in surprise at the prosecutor’s sudden declaration. Just then, the doors burst open, a red-faced clerk with a handful of padded envelopes ducking in and hurrying to Seungmin’s side.

“What you requested, sir,” the clerk explained quietly, handing him the envelopes, and Seungmin recalled the conversation they had had in the conference rooms, just before the trial had recommenced. 

“There are ten minutes remaining until we have to begin,” the clerk informed Seungmin worriedly, seeing the young prosecutor’s tense face. “Is there anything you need from the former prosecution? Since these are special circumstances, I can have them brought to you as soon as possible during the trial.”

Either ten minutes to gather the evidence he needed, Seungmin thought dismally, or ten minutes to build a strong argument from what he—no, Kang—already had. 

“Listen carefully.” Screwing his eyes shut, Seungmin continued, “Please fetch me Han Jisung’s camcorder footage — the memory cards — and Yang Jeongin’s Walkman tapes from Prosecutor Kang’s archives. All of them, immediately.”

The knot of anxiety in Seungmin’s chest finally began to unclench, the envelopes’ contents anchoring him in place with a reassuring weight. He turned to the judge, surprised at the newfound authority in his own voice. “The prosecution maintains that Han Jisung is not guilty of first degree murder. We will be presenting all the evidence Prosecutor Kang excluded, and examining the case from all angles so that the jury may form an accurate judgement and verdict.”

“That’s—an entirely new argument,” Hyunjin whispered incredulously beside you. “How did he come up with a case in ten minutes?”

“He didn’t. He’s building his case on the spot,” Chan realised out loud, a small smile spreading on his lips. He leaned forward with a glint of pride in his eyes. “Now that’s the Kim Seungmin I know.”

You watched as Seungmin called up his first witness, who was none other than Kang’s psychiatric expert. “You introduced yourself as the psychiatrist involved with this case — responsible for analysing the defendant’s mental condition, correct?”

The red-nosed man coughed nervously. “Y-yes, uh, well — the defendant was unwilling to speak during the evaluation, so we were unable to gain much personal testimony—”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Seungmin picked up one the envelopes, handing it to the court clerk and motioning for him to project the contents. “The following is recovered footage from a camcorder the defendant was gifted when he was six years old, and developed a habit of carrying around.” He turned towards the psychiatrist. “It’s raw, untampered footage containing experiences from the defendant’s childhood. I want you to watch it and answer a few questions. There is, however, graphic content, and I advise the spectators to view it with caution.” 

You saw Seungmin cast a worried look towards Jisung, and you knew how the prosecutor was feeling. After nearly thirteen years of Jisung hiding his past from even his closest friends, it was all suddenly being thrust under the harsh light — in front of a roomful of people who wanted to sentence him to death, no less — but you both knew that this was your last chance.

The projector whirred as the clerk inserted the first memory cards into the computer. The memory cards had been confiscated by Kang before you had gotten the chance to watch them yourself — what you did know about the footage came from the bits Chan had recounted for you after several insistent phone calls, and what Jisung himself had told you that fateful night. Uneasiness stirring in your chest, you watched as the screen came to life, blurry colours and pixelated outlines taking shape. 

There was nothing out of the ordinary at first — short clips of chipped action figures on dusty windowsills, or toy cars rolling idly across wooden floors. The footage was shaky, as if the person holding the camcorder could barely support its weight. Jisung had barely been six years old, you remembered, feeling a strange feeling of sadness wash over you. It was as if you were watching a movie you already knew the ending to, and all that was left in your gut was a sinking dread at what was about to come.

As the clerk flipped through the footage, a faint sound pricked at your ears, and you jerked your head up, listening to make sure you had heard right — and sure enough, there it was. Muffled shouting, like it was coming from another room in the house, something heavy shattering on the floor — and judging from the murmurs and faces of the spectators around you, they heard it as well. The camcorder was still pointed at the action figurines, but had frozen stiffly — as if the child holding it was listening, too. 

More scenes began to unfold, one after another. A birthday, six lopsided candles glowing on a small white cake. Jisung humming a familiar tune with a woman you assumed was his mother. And clip after clip where the camcorder was pointed at the ceiling of a dark room — Jisung’s childhood bedroom — as the sounds of arguing and yelling echoed through the walls. Slowly but surely, the scenes began to grow familiar. 

“February 22nd, 2005.”

The day Jisung had stumbled across another woman in his parents’ bed, and his father had terrorized him until he promised not to tell anyone.

“June 3rd, 2006.”

His face-to-face encounter with his father’s mistress, one that left scars in the form of cigarette burns, red-lipped smiles, and tainted touches.

“December 31st, 2009.”

The day everything had gone wrong.

Stomach lurching, you watched as everything Jisung had told you — his rough voice shaking in your darkened apartment, dark eyes holding nightmares of years long past — took the form of grainy camera footage. His father crashing through the doorframe, hands choking the life from the woman beneath him. Even though the camera quality was poor, the woman’s pleading eyes, rolled up towards the tiny crack in the closet where Jisung had been hidden, seemed to pierce directly through you. 

It all seemed to happen in a flash — in the blink of an eye, there were flames licking bloodstained floors clean, the camcorder out of focus as Jisung limped through thick white snow and finally collapsed on top of his mother’s cold body. The gritty screams of anguish and pain seemed to ring in your ears long after Seungmin stopped the footage, and you lifted a shaking gaze to Jisung’s face. His eyes had been cast downwards the entire time, but even from across the room, you could see his violently trembling jaw, the ragged heave of his chest. How many times had he lived through this footage himself — in his nightmares, through half-delirious flashbacks, every time he closed his eyes?

“Thirteen years ago, there was a massive fire on the outskirts of Miroh Heights. The Han house was burned to the ground and left a single boy alive, without any relatives to take custody. Unable to fathom what exactly happened, police filed it away as a gas explosion, and the boy was tossed around foster homes and orphanages until it was eventually forgotten,” Seungmin informed them. He thanked Woojin internally as he spoke — after mentioning several times that Jisung’s past sounded strangely familiar, the police captain had been the one to finally connect the dots between the two cold cases, thirteen years apart.

“There were initial speculations of domestic abuse, but they were never investigated thoroughly. The case was neglected, left cold, and when the statute of limitations expired, it was simply dismissed as another tragedy.” Seungmin nodded at the clerk again, who slid the next memory card in.

This card was filled with what sounded like endless psychological evaluations — disembodied voices introducing themselves as social workers, child psychiatrists, and the like, all mercilessly bombarding Jisung with personal questions. The first half was either entirely black or out of focus, as if Jisung had been holding the camcorder down and clutching it close to his body. They had all given up when the young boy could barely get his answers out, the lingering fear and untreated trauma having locked his voice in his throat. 

“He’s a lost cause.”

“Problem kid.”

“Impossible to treat.”

You clenched your fists every time a social worker left the room, muttering under their breath in annoyance. Then, as the clips grew clearer, a child with round, catlike eyes and a pale expression beginning to appear in several of the frames.

Lee Minho. 

“At the beginning of this decade, we all know that Miroh Heights went through an economic rift — workers were laid off, young children abandoned on the streets. During these times, child abuse and child trafficking cases also skyrocketed.” Seungmin spoke as the screen flashed, the scene now showing what looked like a filthy, unfinished basement floor.

“We witnessed a rise of ‘suicide killers’ — namely, perpetrators who would kidnap and murder their own family members or vulnerable strangers before ending their own lives. Many were acting on their anger and grief through violence; others saw it as a form of revenge.” 

With a wince, you remembered what Minho had told you on the rooftop of the hospital that evening — when he and Jisung had been lured into a man’s home by their own hunger, and woke up to him trying to kill them. The sound of approaching footsteps filled the speakers, the camcorder pointed at an awkward angle and shaking uncontrollably before it clattered to the ground, and the footage cut out.

When the next clip began, it was pointed down at wide-eyed, twelve-year-old Jisung.

“Ah, now this is jus’ perfect. The cops’ll love this, yes they will.” You shivered at the man’s hoarse voice behind the camcorder, flinching as the barrel of a gun was pressed to Jisung’s forehead. “Now, boy — I want you to beg for your life — go on.”

Frozen in your seat, you watched as all hell broke loose — the man pressing the trigger just as Jisung managed to cut the cords free, the camcorder smashing into concrete as Jisung fought for his life. When the lens finally focused again, what you saw made your blood run cold. A twelve-year-old boy kneeling before the mangled corpse of a grown man, cherub-like face drenched with crimson. You heard Minho’s shallow, terrified breathing behind the camcorder as Jisung turned towards him, the look in his eyes sending an icy chill down your spine. It was the exact same look he had given you when you had found him at the diner, screaming out his name as if trying to wake him from a nightmare. 

Emptiness.

Even through the grainy film, you could catch the moment Jisung’s consciousness returned to him, soft brown eyes shifting and focusing into a childlike, dazed expression once again. 

“Minho, can we go home?”

The footage sputtered to a stop. The visceral scene had been exactly as the coroner had described to you on the hospital rooftop, and yet nothing could have prepared you for it. You only realised how badly you had been shaking when Felix gently nudged you, peering at your face worriedly. When you forced yourself to unclench your fists, you winced at the red half-moon weals your nails had left in your palms.

“Both the defendant and coroner Lee Minho were involved in a kidnapping case, and subjected to extreme violence at the ages of twelve and thirteen. The perpetrator died in the incident. There was no culprit to catch. Once again, the case was buried, under the economic turmoil Miroh Heights was experiencing, by neglectful law enforcement.” 

Seungmin turned back to look at the psychiatrist. “Now, I’m no expert in analysing family matters, but I think we can confirm several cases of domestic abuse from this footage alone. Parental neglect. Repeated exposure to violence. Years of sexual harassment. How would you psychoanalyse a patient who has gone through these events?”

The red-faced man was evidently shaken, wiping the sweat from his brow as he stuttered out, “This — this is more than enough to cause severe cases of post-traumatic stress disorder.” His eyes darted around the courtroom nervously, as if the words were refusing to come out of his mouth. 

“He looks like he’s scared,” you murmured. “Like he’s still unwilling to talk.”

“Kang must have made some sort of a deal with him,” Woojin replied under his breath, shaking his head. “But it’s all over now — he’s got nothing more to lose.”

“You swore an oath before the trial began,” Seungmin pressed sternly, not taking his gaze off the nervous man. “‘I do solemnly declare that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’ Tell me the truth, sir.”

Cowering under Seungmin’s hard gaze, the psychiatrist finally caved. “The...the fact that these events took place during the defendant’s childhood is even more significant. Children’s minds are—are molded from a very young age. The majority of your adult behaviour is shaped by what you’ve experienced as a child, you see.”

“Earlier, you mentioned the possibility of sociopathy. You reached this conclusion because of the defendant’s criminal records, and reported behaviour such as —” Seungmin pulled out Kang’s papers, quickly flipping through. “Theft. Pyromanic, destructive, and self-destructive tendencies.” He raised an eyebrow at the boys from the diner attack. “Bordering on multiple personas.”

“U-uh, well — using the information given during the previous trial, those symptoms did correlate strongly with antisocial personality disorder. But with this newfound context —” the psychiatrist lowered his head meekly, “th-the symptoms are actually closer to those of an individual suffering from extreme, untreated, PTSD.”

Exhaling slowly, Seungmin nodded at the judge. “Post-traumatic stress disorder. Let’s re-examine the defendant’s behaviour under this lens, then. How would PTSD explain violent tendencies in a child?”

“They’re a form of an exaggerated startle response — a sudden reaction triggered by something that upsets the patient. It’s a common long-term aftereffect of childhood abuse or trauma. Some patients fall unconscious, some experience panic attacks or seizures. In the case of Han Jisung...it came in the form of repeated violent outbursts.”

You thought back to the man Jisung had attacked, seemingly out of nowhere at the Yellow Wood — the dead man whose girlfriend, Chan had told you, had actually come to the precinct a few days before Jisung’s trial.

“She was crying real bad. I thought she would want him—Jisung—dead, that she would tell us to convict him, no matter what,” Chan had told you, the detective’s face still twisted in confusion. “And she doesn’t want to testify — she’s still dealing with the trauma, and doesn’t want anything to do with the trial. But y/n — the girl was crying for him. For Jisung. Said that the kid stepped in right when her boyfriend was hitting her, and — told her to go home.”

An exaggerated startle response. You remembered it from your classes, a sudden reaction triggered by something that upset the patient. Like domestic abuse. Unsolicited sexual approaches. Or, you shivered, little things — like the colour red. His father, his mistress, his mother, his kidnapper — did Jisung constantly see their faces in the shadows, in strangers that were repeating the same mistakes?

“The witnesses who knew Han Jisung when he was younger,” Seungmin continued, turning to the two injured boys from the diner, “also testified that he often changed expressions ‘like a mask.’ Assuming this is true, why might the defendant exhibit this sort of behaviour?”

“Abused children — or people who have experienced severe trauma — can develop dissociative habits. Disconnecting from past memories, information, or even present experiences as a defense mechanism...which is why the defendant might appear to change moods often, or show drastically different sides of himself in different situations.”

“In other words,” Seungmin said slowly, brow furrowing in concentration, “the defendant experienced so many traumatic events during his childhood, that the untreated aftereffects impaired his emotional development into adulthood. Which would explain why his startle response slowly morphed, on a larger scale, into something extremely violent and dangerous.”

The psychiatrist looked weary and defeated. “Correct.”

Motioning for the man to take a seat — which he did gladly — Seungmin pulled out the next envelope — the coroner’s photos from the Yellow Wood attacks. Wordlessly, he projected them onto the screen, eliciting small gasps of horror and disgust around the room. 

“Earlier, Prosecutor Kang argued that the violent mutilation of the victims was proof that the perpetrator performed these gruesome acts and mutilations out of personal enjoyment and depravity.” Seungmin turned to address the judge, voice firm. 

“Your Honour, under this new context, I would argue that the photos only serve as further visual evidence depicting the defendant’s mental state at the time of the crime.” He flipped through the images. “Multiple wound sites, messy blood spattering, extreme blunt force trauma. And—if the coroner was telling the truth—a stone from the scene of the crime as the murder weapon. All these signs lead us to believe that the defendant’s actions, no, his judgement, was acutely impaired. This response, these attacks, were triggered due to a pre-existing mental condition.”

The room shifted uneasily as his words sunk in, and the judge fixed her stern gaze onto Seungmin. “Does the prosecution have any evidence that directly refutes the previous claim of first degree murder? To prove that the murders were not premeditated, or intentional, beyond a reasonable doubt?”

Think, Seungmin, think. He racked his mind furiously, trying to recall every piece of evidence that you, Chan, and Woojin had gone through with him. Photographs, diagrams, testimony transcripts — Seungmin’s eyes trailed off to the pile of envelopes the clerk had brought, and landed on the packet containing Yang Jeongin’s tapes.

That’s it.

“Yes, Your Honour.” He cleared his throat, mind racing to connect the dots. “As we all know, the living witness of the Yellow Wood attacks, Yang Jeongin, was attacked at around three o’clock in the morning. He worked several late shifts for delivery companies around the town.” Seungmin nodded towards Jeongin. “What we did not know until recently, however, is that the witness had a hobby of recording himself during these shifts on his own Walkman.”

An alarmed murmur rippled through the crowd as Seungmin shook the tapes out from the envelope, handing them to the clerk. After several tense moments, there was a faint crackling, and the recording began to play.

The first tape held a medley of acoustic songs the delivery boy had mixed himself — just as you had remembered it.

The second tape was empty — the one Minho had stolen from the scene of the crime, and you had eventually recovered from his office.

When the clerk popped in the third, the soft sound of breathing and crunching gravel filled the room, and you shivered. This was the tape you had listened to with Seo Changbin — the tape that had turned your entire life upside down.

“I.N. here! It is currently...2:04 A.M.!”

You glanced at the faces around the room — everyone was on edge, and you felt no different. You could still hear Jeongin’s cry of surprise and pain echoing in your ears, the horrible crash as he hit the forest floor. What was Seungmin thinking? How was a recording of the witness being attacked going to prove Jisung’s innocence? If anything, it was incriminating evidence.

Jeongin’s cheery, oblivious voice continued until you heard the woman’s scream in the distance, muffled under the delivery boy’s distracted humming. Then, a man crying out in guttural pain — the man, you knew now, that had been killed by Jisung in the Yellow Wood. The sounds of leaves crunching and branches snapping under the bicycle wheels grew louder, and you knew that this had been the moment Jeongin had entered the Wood — heading closer and closer towards what would later become the scene of the crime. 

“Hello? Is everything okay over there?” There was a small gasp of horror as Jeongin caught sight of the body. “U-um. Is he—do you need help? I can call an ambulance. What hap—” 

It happened before you could flinch to cover your ears. The horribly familiar crunch of stone meeting skull, a cry of pain cut off by a deafening whump as the Walkman had slammed against the ground. The entire courtroom seemed to hold its breath as it listened, and only then did it finally hit you why Seungmin was playing the tapes. As the sound of another boy’s jagged, uneven breathing filled the speakers, you suddenly remembered what came at the end of the recording. The first time you had heard it, it had made your heart plummet straight down into the pit of your stomach, sending your entire world crashing down around you. 

This time, the fluttering in your chest felt almost like hope.

Han Jisung’s voice, choked with raw, horrified sobs, echoed through the room, and you saw everyone freeze.

“Who—why? Why is it you? Why are you here?” 

The crying was muffled by the sound of hands fumbling over Jeongin’s clothing, as if frantically checking for a pulse. Seungmin stopped the tape, turning towards the bewildered jury. “Do those sound like the words of a cold-blooded psychopath?”

The judge waved a hand towards Jeongin. “Can the witness himself attest to this?”

“I...I blacked out pretty quickly,” Jeongin answered slowly, furrowing his brow as if it still hurt to remember. “But the last thing I remembered seeing was...a boy’s crying face over me, trying to make sure if I was okay.”

“Can you identify this boy?”

Nodding, Jeongin pointed to Jisung.

“Furthermore,” Seungmin continued, tapping the cracked silver Walkman, “these tapes were found in Yang Jeongin’s clothing after he was admitted to the hospital. If the defendant had truly attacked Mr. Yang out of cold blood, he wouldn’t have left such incriminating evidence in the boy’s hands. And if Han Jisung had no idea he was being recorded, that rules out the possibility of him faking the recordings as well.”

“Even so,” the judge replied, stern eyes narrowed, “we cannot be sure that Han Jisung did not intend to leave Yang Jeongin to die. There are many murder cases where the perpetrator shows remorse almost immediately, but still attempted to cover up the crime.”

“Of course. However, Your Honour, you may also remember that Yang Jeongin was not found in the Yellow Wood where the attacks had initially taken place...but rather, the doorstep of Glow Cafe.” At this, Hyunjin looked up, eyes narrowed, and Seungmin motioned for the clerk to continue playing the clip. After several moments, you heard the rough sound of cloth scraping against the ground, growing louder and louder — as if something was being lifted and dragged. 

No. You could still hear Jisung’s broken breathing underneath the sound, and the realisation hit you.

Jisung was carrying Jeongin’s body.

You had thought the tape had already ended the first time you’d listened with Seo Changbin in his record shop — after Jisung’s voice had made you shove the Walkman away, not daring to believe what you had just heard. For days, it had sat, neglected in your apartment, until you had brought it into Seungmin’s office for him to look at. The next day, it had already fallen into the hands of Prosecutor Kang, but by some stroke of luck, Seungmin must have already managed to listen to it in its entirety beforehand.

“Yang Jeongin was found at around 4 in the morning, when Hwang Hyunjin, the owner of Glow Cafe, was awoken by the doorbell. The ringer of this doorbell was never identified, because any possible fingerprint evidence was already contaminated and rendered useless by the time Mr. Yang was safely transported to the ICU.”

The sound of dead leaves and dirt crunching under the soles of Jisung’s shoes gave way to hard concrete as he reached the main road. There was a soft thump as Jeongin was lowered onto the ground, Jisung’s laboured breathing filling the still night air.

Then the familiar chime of Glow Cafe’s doorbell pierced through the speakers, and you watched as Hyunjin jolted up, mouth falling open in disbelief.

“Yes. It’s exactly what you’re all thinking.” Seungmin turned to face the stunned spectators as the sound of Jisung’s footsteps grew fainter as he ran away, and the tape ended. “The defendant was the same person who saved him.”

The judge cleared her throat unsteadily, grim eyes flickering between Seungmin and Jisung. “Does the defense have anything to say to this?”

For the first time since the trial had started, Jisung lifted his head. He was met with a roomful of mixed stares — apprehension, curiosity, fear — and he felt his tongue immediately dissolve into dust, the words sticking to his throat like congealed poison.

When Jisung stayed silent, Seungmin spoke carefully, “A fair trial wouldn’t be complete without hearing from the defendant himself. In his own words.” His eyes were almost gentle, fixing a steady look on Jisung’s dark, wary face. “Would you like to testify?”

Your heart was hammering in your throat as the silence grew thicker and thicker. After what felt like an eternity, it was finally broken by the creak of the chair as Jisung pushed it back and stood up. To your utter surprise, he stepped up to the middle of the room, wordlessly turning to face Seungmin. Still, the look on his face held the same blank, guarded expression you had seen so many times when your sessions with him had taken a turn for the worse, and you gripped the edge of your seat uneasily, having no idea what to expect from this turn of events.

If Seungmin was as surprised as you were, he did a better job at hiding it. He muttered something to the clerk, who began to project familiar faces and photos onto the screen. The victims, you realised, and the crime scenes. A slim woman in her thirties, her thin lips a smudge of bright red, next to a photo of charred blood and bone. The prostitute.

“Do you recognise this woman?” Seungmin asked, pointing to her picture.

Jisung frowned, furrowing his brow at the picture. Something seemed to stir in the back of his mind, but there was a dull throbbing in his temples that made it difficult to focus. “I—I’m not sure.” 

Someone in the crowd made an unconvinced sound, and Jisung shrunk back. The pictures went on and on — a corpse mangled with chemical burns, a man’s body swinging from the rooftop, a bashed-in skull on the forest floor. Each image made Jisung’s head pound, the floor beginning to spin as if threatening to split open beneath his feet and swallow him whole. Did he recognise them? Glimpses of their faces flashed in the back of his mind like jumbled jigsaw pieces, but the more he tried to grab onto them, the more they fell apart. His fingertips tingled with the faint, itching memory of a stranger’s blood — strangers who, in a fleeting moment, had taken the shape of a former tormentor. Father. Mistress. Hurt. Pain. 

“I can’t — remember anything,” Jisung choked hoarsely. He remembered blacking out, and waking up. He remembered his nightmares, his flashbacks. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember the faces staring back at him from the screen. 

You sound insane, a voice in the back of his mind hissed. As he met the eyes of the jury, he could almost hear what they were thinking. 

You really are a psychopath. 

Sensing the doubtful whispering beginning around the room, Seungmin hurriedly moved onto the next question. “Let’s — let’s go back to the psychiatrist’s statements, then. Mr. Han, could you tell me what it was like growing up in your family?”

His question was met with silence again, Jisung screwing his eyes shut as the prosecutor’s voice echoed in his head. Family. It was a word that brought ugly memories bubbling to the surface every time, memories made of broken beer bottles and pale, bruised cheeks. His head was aching, a cold sweat forming in his palms as he clenched his fists, stomach churning. No. No. He couldn’t talk about it — wouldn’t talk about it — 

“Can you...tell me about your mother’s eyes?”

The abrupt, familiar question, carried by the prosecutor’s softened voice, was what made Jisung open his eyes again, the trembling in his hands stilling. The room around them was shifting with confused murmurs at the strange question, but Seungmin didn’t break eye contact with the younger boy. 

The prosecutor watched Jisung’s fists slowly unclench, brow furrowing slightly as he recognised the question, and Seungmin thought back to the conversation he had had with you over the phone after you had woken up in the hospital.

“What’s this?”

“A psychiatric analysis — on Jisung,” you explained, referring to the report files you had sent the prosecutor. “I know it’s not — not much, but...”

“For all we know, it might be the only existing verbal testimony that Jisung has,” Seungmin assured you. “From what I’ve heard, he’s never opened up to anyone before. What I meant was, why are you sending it to me?”

You bit your lip. “Chan isn’t allowed to stand trial, and I — I haven’t graduated yet, so my thesis won’t be taken seriously as evidence. I can’t testify as a psychiatric expert, either. But I thought that — I could at least tell you all the questions that lead me to his diagnosis. In case you get to question him at the trial — he’ll know they’re my questions. Maybe...he’ll finally change his mind.”

Seungmin sighed wearily. “I was removed from the case this morning, Miss l/n. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to step foot into the courtroom, let alone question him.”

And so the questions had been left, buried and forgotten in the back of Seungmin’s mind — until this exact moment, when he had remembered them just in time. 

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

Jisung’s vision went black as his senses were flooded with memories, nearly sending him doubling over. His mother’s eyes. The last time he had looked into those eyes, they had already been glazing over, the life in them seeping away as her blood pooled over the broken floorboards of his childhood home. His mother’s eyes. Suddenly, it was as if he was ten years old all over again, shrouded in the shadows of a cramped closet as his father strangled the life out of his mother right in front of him. 

Guilt, he wanted to say. Pain. The kind that never goes away. Blinking feverishly, Jisung’s gaze darted around the room — and when he finally found your face in the audience, he felt his heart stop.

You were looking at him with the exact same eyes his mother had, that day. 

From your first date to this very moment, Jisung never knew why you had always reminded him so much of her — you two looked nothing alike, after all. Wherever he went, he had always been chased by fragments of the nightmares he wanted to forget, demons of his past that had taken the forms of the man at the Yellow Wood, the red-lipped hooker, Na Jangmin, Park Beomsoo. And yet every moment he spent with you, he caught familiar glimpses of her instead — pieces of the only warmth, and happiness, and home he had ever known before it had all been cruelly ripped away.

For years, the only thing he had been able to remember was that day. How his mother’s eyes had been wide and pleading as she bled out on the floor, desperately shaking her head at him before finally falling limp. The flames and endless smoke seemed to eat away at his happier memories until there was nothing left but ashes and tar. 

But you made him remember a time before everything went wrong, when things had been peaceful, when he still had somewhere — someone — to go home to.

For thirteen years, he had been running from the memory, from the feeling, afraid that confronting it would make him relive the pain all over again. But now, for the first time, Han Jisung wondered if he had missed something else among those repressed memories all along.

His mother’s eyes as she shook her head one last time had been warm, not just because they had been filled with pain and tears — but because they had been blazing with one last, unspoken message. The same one he saw reflected in your own eyes now.

When you shook your own head gently, pleading eyes brimming with tears, the message finally rang clear in his mind.

Don’t blame yourself for what happened. Han Jisung, you have to keep on living.

Stunned, he tore his gaze away, only to see Bang Chan watching him with the same expression — then Woojin, Seungmin, Felix, Yang Jeongin. Even Hwang Hyunjin had worry written all over his face — worry for him — and it all suddenly hit Jisung like a punch in the gut.

Why did all these people fight for him?

Why had his mother died for him?

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

“Love,” Jisung breathed, his soft voice filling the empty silence. “Love.” The memories were coming back to him now — not in jagged, gut-wrenching flashes, but slowly. Steadily.

For the first time in his life, Han Jisung was in control.

“Can you tell me about your parents?” Seungmin pressed gently, seeing the tension slowly leave Jisung’s body.

“My parents,” Jisung repeated. His mouth felt like it was trying the words out. He remembered once, when you had asked him the same question, his head had felt like it was on the verge of splitting. Now, the memories felt strangely detached, as if he were telling someone else’s story. “They were happy once, or at least that’s what I’ve heard.” He paused. “My...father...never wanted to get married. They never planned to...have me, but my mother refused an abortion. They — it was a shotgun wedding,” Jisung finished quietly. “And then things got worse from there.”

“What was it like growing up in your family?” Seungmin tried the question again, watching Jisung carefully.

“My old man’s favourite thing to tell me growing up was how I was never wanted,” Jisung gave a weak smile. “I think you can imagine.”

You watched as Seungmin continued asking Jisung your questions, as if slowly coaxing the answers out from the darkness and painting the cold courtroom with the scenes of Jisung’s past.

“My mother was a waitress. The work was tough, but it didn’t pay much. My father convinced her to work more shifts, so that she was around as little as possible. During that time, he…” Jisung swallowed hard. “He had his affairs with other women when she wasn’t home, and beat her bloody when she was. She always tried to hide it from me, too — said the less I knew the better, but I was getting older, and my father’s anger was slowly shifting over to me. And when his...mistresses stayed over, they started noticing me, too.” Jisung fell silent then, and you suddenly thought back to the white burn scars on his arms and legs, the numerous unexplained markings on his stomach bringing tears to your eyes. How many more did he have hidden on his body, painful reminders binding him to a past he tried so hard to forget?

“Your Honour,” Seungmin finally broke the hushed silence, “with all the information taken into consideration, I think we can confirm beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant has witnessed numerous traumatic events during his childhood — and that they more than likely worsened his mental condition as he grew older.” Seungmin turned to Jisung, remembering another question you had written in your report. “How...do you cope with the past?” 

Jisung was silent for several moments before answering, his words echoing your last therapy session. “I...don’t….like to think about it, or remember it. Every time I do, I…” he trailed off unsteadily, and he tried again. “E-every time, I...I…”

His throat was closing up again, the words echoing in his mind as if mocking him. How was he supposed to explain the headaches that never truly went away, the dizziness that hit him like a punch in the gut? Or, worse, the gaps in his memories when he blacked out, making him feel as though he were slowly going insane?

Stay silent, whispered a voice in the back of his head. Who will understand you? Who will believe you? He looked back at the roomful of faces, their cold, wary stares piercing through him like knives. You were never meant to live. You should have died on that day, thirteen years ago— 

“Han Jisung, you are such an idiot.” 

The sudden memory of your voice cut through his thoughts and made him jolt in surprise— but it didn’t stop there, all the things you had once told him slowly growing louder and louder and jarring him awake from his own thoughts.

“You’re not the psychopath they’re making you out to be. I know you.”

He remembered the way you had relaxed and fallen asleep in his arms, even after you had found out they were stained with blood, because you trusted him completely.

“I don’t want you to show me. I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you, in your own words, Jisung.”

He remembered your face every time he had tried to tell you about his past — your soft, patient eyes and gentle voice, the worry and genuine concern on your face that he had always mistaken for repulsion and fear. You had been shaken, definitely, terrified, even — but you had always been willing to listen to him speak, even when Jisung had been too afraid to try.

“I like you, Han Jisung. I. Like. You.”

He met your eyes across the room then, and felt a small, incredulous breath leave his lips. It was you — it was always you, who had the power to make the walls he had built around himself crumble to dust with a single touch; you, pulling him out of the darkness he had always succumbed helplessly to; you, who had finally woken him from the living nightmare he had been trapped in his entire life. 

You reminded him what it was like to live again. You made him want to live again, without fears, without regrets.

“Mr. Han? Could you please describe how these memories make you feel? How you usually deal with them?”

“I don’t know how to,” Jisung breathed out at last. “Every time I try to remember, my...heart starts racing like my chest is about to burst. My head pounds until I can’t see anything, and — it’s like something in there...snaps. And then I...black out completely.” 

Seungmin nodded, glancing back to the nervous, red-faced man. “Do you have...anything to add or deny regarding the psychiatrist’s diagnoses?”

“You were right,” Jisung replied simply, but he wasn’t talking to the psychiatrist. He was looking straight at you, and to his own surprise, a smile tugged at his dry lips. It felt like the simple sentence had somehow set him free. “I have trouble sleeping, because I always end up having the same nightmares. There’s missing blank spots in my memories when I wake up in a place I don’t recognise, with no idea how I got there.”

Jisung watched as your eyes widened, recognising his words — he was echoing the same symptoms you had confronted him about during your last therapy session, the ones he had coldly denied out of panic and fear. “I’ve always been afraid to let people get close to me. But sometimes, there are things that — that remind me of times that I’d rather forget, and before I know it, everything begins to spiral out of control.” He gave a small smile to Seungmin, who had stayed silent, surprised at Jisung’s sudden honesty. “That’s it, then. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

You watched as Jisung’s eyes flickered around the room, face as open and tranquil as a child’s — and that was what nearly broke your heart. Knowing that somewhere, beneath the prison uniform that was too baggy for his lean, tired frame, was the shell of a child the world had failed, a child that had given up asking to be saved.

“No further questions,” Seungmin said quietly, and Jisung walked back to his seat as the young prosecutor turned to face the judge. “Your Honour,” he began slowly, as if momentarily unable to find the words. “I think we have reason to believe that the attacks were provoked — not exactly by the victims themselves, but from past traumas that were never dealt with properly, and triggered again and again until they spiralled out of control.”

Seungmin raised his voice then, for the entire courtroom to hear, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the fluttering nerves in his body. “The scattered killing patterns were never planned. The correlations between the victims and causes of death don’t show a serial killer’s M.O., they show triggers.” He took a shaky breath. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, this isn’t a serial killer case. It isn’t the case of a psychopath on some nonsensical, murderous rampage. This is the aftereffect of a domestic violence case gone cold and swept under the rug over a decade ago — and we can’t afford to let it slip away again.”

The judge fixed Seungmin with a cold, steely look over her glasses. “Prosecutor Kim. Remember that you cannot — should not — let your emotions get in the way in a court of law. You are supposed to assess the case with cold reasoning and logic.”

Seungmin looked down, heart hammering in his throat. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have been ashamed, and apologised immediately. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have thought he was crazy for crossing the line.

He realised, in that moment, that he hated the old Kim Seungmin with a passion.

“Emotions don’t always get in the way,” he found himself saying, eyes flickering to you in the audience, “and they don’t always make you weak.” Seungmin thought of Prosecutor Kang then, and his voice grew stronger. “If anything, they keep you human.”

He looked back up at the judge now, whose face had frozen in surprise. “When did justice become so cold? We’re taught that the law is supposed to protect the vulnerable, not prosecute them.”

The judge looked visibly shaken, mouth opening and closing wordlessly as her eyes darted wildly between Seungmin and Jisung. Finally, with an unfathomable expression on her face, she turned towards the jury, clearing her throat unsteadily. 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that concludes the evidence to be presented on this case. You are now to deliberate, and determine whether or not Han Jisung is guilty of nineteen counts of first-degree murder, assault, and arson. 

“If you believe that this has been proved beyond a reasonable doubt, then you should find the defendant guilty, and eligible for capital punishment.”

Capital punishment, you thought, the words sweeping a breath of cold across the room. The death penalty.

“The court stands adjourned until the verdict of the jury.”

━━━━━━━━

Over an hour had passed since the jury had stepped into the deliberation suite, and each tick of the clock on the wall made you more and more nauseous. You put your head down, hands buried in your hair as if that could calm the anxiety thrumming through your veins. A few times, you had heard shouting and angry, raised voices coming from the room the jury was in. Each passing minute seemed to make the weight of the situation more obvious, the tension in the courtroom thick and suffocating.

Felix was rubbing your back as soothingly as he could. “y/n, hey, look at me — deep breaths, okay? You’re okay—”

He was cut off when you lifted your head to look at him, cursing the tears already welling in your eyes. You hated feeling this way — you felt so weak and powerless, and just imagining how much of a mess you must have looked made it even worse. You promised yourself you would stay calm, but every thought that crossed your mind kept leading to another until you were exhausted and overwhelmed.

“They could walk out any minute, ‘lix,” you told him, voice wavering as the weight of your own words sunk in. “They could walk out any minute, and end his life.”

You couldn’t even say Jisung’s name out loud, let alone look him in the eyes. Felix watched as you wiped furiously at your own tears, the sight of you so distressed rendering him speechless, and he did the only thing he could think of. Grimly, your best friend pulled you into a hug, and his reassuring warmth in the cold courtroom made you want to break down all over again. Around you, you could hear mixed opinions being exchanged.

“That poor boy.”

“Who could have guessed the case would take a turn like this? But do you believe him?”

“A murderer is still a murderer — he’s too dangerous to be left alive, don’t you think?”

You were beginning to wish you had taken Hyunjin and Woojin’s offer to step out of the room for fresh air when the heavy doors swung open, making a hush fall over the room. The jury filed in just as Hyunjin and the police captain returned and took their seats.

“Order in the court,” the clerk called, and the judge cleared her throat.

“Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”

The forewoman nodded grimly. “Yes, Your Honour.”

“Those in favour of sentencing the accused, Han Jisung, to capital punishment, please rise.”

The words sent an icy shock down your spine, the entire room seeming to hold its breath as they watched the jury. You didn’t dare move, as if by doing so, you could prevent the next moments from coming crashing down on you, as if somehow, you could stop the horrible verdict from coming true. It was as if everyone had frozen still, time stopping for what felt like the longest moment of your life.

The ticking of the clock pricked your ears, and you suddenly realised that time hadn’t stopped. 

No one in the jury had moved to stand up.

“The jury returns a verdict of not guilty, despite believing that the accused committed the crimes he is charged with,” the forewoman standing at the front of the jury said, and the members behind her nodded. “This verdict was unanimous.”

“They all agree that Jisung killed those people,” you heard Hyunjin’s stunned voice behind you, “but they’re returning a verdict of not guilty? What does that mean?”

“Jury nullification,” both Chan and Seungmin spoke at the same time, and the room turned to look at the younger prosecutor as he spoke up. 

“The jury has the right to overturn the law, if they believe the law was used incorrectly—”

A reporter behind you blurted out angrily, “Are you suggesting that the murders were delusional, Prosecutor Kim?”

“Or,” Seungmin continued, his voice growing stronger than ever before as he saw the eyes of the judge and his coworkers widen in disbelief. I must be insane, he thought, but he couldn’t stop the words coming from his mouth. “Or, the jury disagrees with the law the prosecution has chosen to charge the defendant under.” He picked up Prosecutor Kang’s case file from the desk, flipping over the papers. “First degree murder.”

The forewoman nodded. “The law Han Jisung is being tried with was immorally and wrongly applied to him in the first place. We believe he caused the killings, without a doubt, but with the circumstances presented, we cannot convict him of serial first degree murder.”

“The previous prosecutor claimed these charges without making any effort to consider Han Jisung’s past,” one man on the jury added, “All the evidence proves a history of abuse and trauma that lead to an unstable mental condition.”

Their words sounded strangely familiar, and your eyes immediately widened when you realised why. “Those — those are the words from my psych report,” you whispered breathlessly to Felix, “Quoted, word for word. They must have all read your articles — we did it, ‘lix, it really worked.”

“But murder is murder. He should be held accountable,” a spectator protested across the room. He was immediately silenced by the bailiff, but not before Seungmin turned to him with a steady stare.

“‘Murder is murder’,” Seungmin echoed, “‘The world of law is cold.’ ‘The law is harsh, but it is the law.’  Those are the phrases you always hear in court. And those are the same beliefs that cost vulnerable people their lives.”

Hyunjin looked at Jeongin, whose gaze were cast to the floor, eyes stormy. 

Seungmin continued, “You lose your empathy, and mark complex cases like these under ‘mass murderer’, or ‘psychopath’ without bothering to truly investigate the gray areas, because you think doing so would be—” his mind flashed to Kang, “a waste of time.” He looked at Jisung now, a boy who had been confined by labels his entire life: problem child, delinquent, murderer, monster. “Han Jisung is worth more than that. There’s more to him than his past, than his abusers, than the mental torment he’s suffered through for years.

“He’s a boy who never got the chance at life he deserved. The system has failed him once, and we cannot — should not — hold his trial like this.” Seungmin turned to the judge one last time, eyes burning with sincerity. “Your Honour. Will you end this vicious cycle of use and abuse, once and for all? Or will you choose, once again, to sweep it back into the shadows?”

She was staring back at him with a look that should have petrified Seungmin on the spot, but he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand his ground. There was a long, weighted silence. Finally, the judge shook her head slowly, and Seungmin swore he saw the smallest of smiles tug at her taut mouth as she turned to face the rest of the courtroom. 

You felt your heart nearly leap out of your throat when the verdict finally fell from the judge’s lips.

“I hereby pronounce Han Jisung...not guilty.”

If you hadn’t been sitting down, you were sure you would have collapsed onto the floor.

The world was spinning around you, the sheer relief washing over you in overwhelming waves and turning your limbs to jelly. In your peripheral vision, you saw Hyunjin’s mouth drop open in astonishment, Felix turning to you with an incredulous smile on his face, Chan and Woojin completely frozen. 

You barely registered the judge’s voice as she continued speaking, the rest of her words passing through you as if you were made of thin air. Pardoned on the death of his father and the arson of his childhood home by reason of self-defense. Regarding the Miroh Heights killings, the defendant was unable to understand the significance of his criminal actions due to a pre-existing mental condition. He is acquitted from the death penalty, and will serve no prison time.

However, he will be transferred to a psychiatric institution and closely monitored for the time being. The suitable amount of time he is to spend there will be prescribed on a later date after the case is properly re-examined...

People were talking around you, one of your friends was calling your name, and you swore you even heard a few people clapping, but you weren’t listening anymore. There was only one other person on your mind.

When your eyes found Jisung’s face, he was looking straight at you — with the same look in his eyes that had given you butterflies the first time you met him, and the same look in his eyes you had seen before you had fallen unconscious, bleeding out in his arms.

He was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

━━━━━━━━

“You had some nerve back there, Prosecutor Kim.”

The courtroom had been emptied out, and Seungmin had been collecting his files and notes when he heard a voice from behind him. At first, he thought he had misheard — people were buzzing outside in the lobby, the commotion so loud it seemed to be humming through the walls — but he turned around, and saw the judge walking up to him.

Bits and pieces of the trial came back to him, and Seungmin cringed inwardly as he met her hard gaze. Just how many lines had he crossed? Years of being careful, meticulous, completely down the drain— 

“You had some nerve back there,” she repeated, and Seungmin lowered his eyes. He heard her sigh deeply. “But you’re a fine prosecutor, Kim.”

Stunned, Seungmin raised his head, and realised with a start that she was smiling at him. “I haven’t seen your kind in a while. It was refreshing, to say the least, and it puts me at ease to know that this field still has people like you.”

She tucked her glasses into her robes, turning to leave.

“Never change, Prosecutor Kim.”

━━━━━━━━

“Prosecutor Kang, look this way!”

Kang was blinded by flashing cameras the moment he stepped out from the holding cell. The older prosecutor’s eyes were dark as he was pushed through the mob of reporters and citizens, the guards flanking him making no effort to be gentle.

“Is it true you hid crucial evidence from your own prosecution?”

“Did you bribe your own witnesses?”

“How many other cases have you tampered with?”

“None!” Kang snarled at the reporter, desperation rising in his throat like bile. “Lies—I’ve never wrongfully convicted a single person. These are all—” 

“You’re the liar.”

The crowd stopped, turning towards the voice that had shouted over them. Yang Jeongin was standing at the end of the hallway, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Just the sight of Kang was enough to make him tremble like a young child again, words stuck momentarily in his throat. This was the same man he had met in court all those years ago, the man who had mercilessly delivered his father’s life sentence with a snakelike smile on his pale lips. Taking a shaky breath, Jeongin mustered up his courage, and ran up to him.

“Please stop this already,” Jeongin pleaded, eyes searching Kang’s bewildered face for signs of guilt, remorse, anything. Kang didn’t seem to recognise him, and the young boy’s voice was breaking as he fought back tears. “Please tell the truth, just this once. I-I don’t know why you’re doing this, but—it doesn’t have to be this way—”

There was a gasp as a few reporters stumbled, and the crowd rippled forward. Kang was knocked off-balance, tumbling to the ground. He cursed, fumbling to get back on his feet — and saw a hand, outstretched towards him from a hoodie sleeve that was clearly too large for its owner. He looked up into the young boy’s face again, his fox-like eyes widened in concern, and finally realised with a jolt who he was talking to.

Nearly a decade ago, Kang thought — an old fool who had picked a fight with high-ranking company officials, no? And then the crackpot had pleaded with Kang, saying something about a son he had to take care of — a young boy— 

Jeongin put his hand on Kang’s arm when the prosecutor didn’t move, and pulled him up. “Mr. Kang, my father—”

Feeling a sudden rage surge through his body, Kang drew his fist back and punched the boy across his jaw. 

Jeongin crumpled to the ground, the side of his face already blooming with red. “You brat,” Kang seethed as cries of horror erupted from the crowd, guards seizing him and trying to pull him away. “What do you understand? Han Jisung, your old man — people like them don’t deserve to walk free.”

You had just stepped out of the courtroom when a commotion in the hallway had made you look over, the scene that had greeted your eyes making you freeze. Jeongin had been clutching Prosecutor Kang’s arm, looking up at the older man imploringly — and his expression had been genuinely kind, almost pitying, his mouth opening and closing frantically as though he were pleading with him. You had shaken your head in disbelief, trying to push through the throng of shocked citizens — only Yang Jeongin’s heart was big enough to look his parents’ tormentor in the eyes, and help him. 

Then Kang had suddenly struck Jeongin, and now the delivery boy was curling up in pain on the ground as the prosecutor screamed at him.

“They were foolish enough — depraved enough  — to violate those laws, and I charged them with what they deserved. It’s as simple as—”

The next thing you knew, you were in front of Kang, palm outstretched, and you had slapped him hard across the face.

The entire crowd fell dead silent, Jeongin looking up at you from the floor in dazed disbelief. Even Kang was speechless as he looked back at you, holding his jaw, eyes about to pop out of their sockets.

“It seems like you know everything about law, Prosecutor Kang,” you said, voice shaking with anger, “but you know nothing about being human.”

Kang opened his mouth, but for once, nothing came out. The hallway was erupting in chaos again as cameras clicked and flashed eagerly. The guards began to drag Kang away before it could get more hectic, your last glimpses of the corrupt prosecutor disappearing behind the reporters’ bobbing heads. As you helped Jeongin up, checking his head worriedly, you felt a hand pull at your own arm. You turned to see Hyunjin, and judging by the look on his face, he had seen everything.

“Is this just going to be a thing now?” The barista asked, side-eyeing you wearily as he held onto Jeongin protectively, “Are you just going to start slapping everyone who crosses you?”

“Maybe,” you muttered mutinously. “It’s faster, and less emotionally draining than negotiating.”

“You’re studying to be a therapist, y/n,” Hyunjin reminded you exasperatedly, and you let out a small laugh, pouting slightly. The barista smiled too, despite himself, and you both looked over at Jeongin. The boy’s eyes were staring over the crowd’s heads, through the lobby doors, and you realised he was watching the officers push Kang into the police cruiser — the man who had ruined his parents’ lives, finally handcuffed and headed where he was supposed to be.  

You turned around, and caught sight of another familiar face further down the hallway, standing perfectly still despite the crowd of people rushing past around him. 

Lee Minho’s face was turned away from you, his catlike eyes staring at something with the same, unfathomable expression you had come to grow so accustomed to. You remembered how you had once been afraid of the coroner and his strange, standoffish manner, but now, as you watched him from afar, you felt a small pang of sympathy. Minho always carried himself like a ghost, you realised — a shadow lingering in the corners of rooms and corridors, unsure if he was ever wanted.

You quickly excused yourself from Hyunjin and Jeongin and you began to push through the crowd towards the coroner. As you followed his gaze to the holding cell doors, they suddenly swung open, and Jisung stepped out into the hallway. Your steps slowed. The two stood facing each other for several long moments — two childhood friends, two lost children who had found their only sense of family — twisted though it had been — in each other. Minho’s face was hesitant, as if about to turn away, but Jisung had already begun walking up to him. You were too far away to hear what they were saying, Jisung’s back turned to you and Minho awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. 

Then Jisung suddenly closed the gap between the two of them, and pulled Minho into a hug.

You watched as the ex-coroner’s mask finally shattered, the older boy’s face scrunching up like a child’s as he buried his head in Jisung’s shoulder. His entire body shook with silent sobs, as if something in him had finally been let go, a burden he had carried his entire life lifted off his chest. 

Eventually, the guards stepped forward, and Minho pulled away. He looked at Jisung with a small smile on his face — the first genuine smile you had ever seen from him — and you managed to catch the words forming on his lips. 

“Goodbye, Han Jisung.”

“He’ll probably need to go through a trial of his own.” Chan’s voice made you jump in surprise. He had come up beside you while you had been distracted, Felix and Woojin close behind him. He nodded at you by way of greeting before turning back to where Jisung was standing. “The coroner, I mean. But he’ll likely get around five years in prison, more or less.”

You watched as Minho was ushered away into another corridor, Jisung staring at the empty spot where he had once stood. Before you could reply, he turned around, eyes landing on yours — and all of a sudden, you forgot about the security guards flanking every doorway, the law officials and reporters brushing briskly past you. For a moment, it was as if it were only you and Jisung in the hallway, the entire world standing still around the two of you.

Since the last time you had spoken to him had ended with you slapping him in the face, you decided that it was only right for you to take the first step towards him. Slowly, feeling as if you were in a dream, you made your way towards him, Jisung walking the rest of the way to meet you in the middle.  

“Hey, you.” Jisung’s voice was soft, nearly inaudible, not taking his hazel eyes off yours.

You heard Chan chuckle behind you, shaking his head as he threw his arms around Felix and Woojin’s shoulders to steer them away and leave you two in private. The hallways had nearly cleared out, and for the first time in what felt like forever — if you ignored the guards watching a little ways off from the holding cells —  you and Jisung were alone together.

There were a thousand things racing through your mind right now, but you couldn’t seem to find the right words to say. 

“Five years,” Jisung tentatively broke the silence again, and when you looked back at him in confusion, he continued, “in the psychiatric institute. They told me five years minimum, on watch. But I heard...it’s a nice place.”

His lopsided, sheepish smile was as infectious as ever, making one tug at your own lips. When Jisung saw you smile, he relaxed just the tiniest amount.

“Y-you’re going to be okay?” You finally asked, feeling your voice waver. 

Jisung’s gaze softened, nodding. “You saved me.”

“No.” You shook your head firmly. You knew he was talking about Seungmin’s arguments, Jeongin’s witness statements, the article you and Felix had published — but it all might have been for nothing, you thought, mind flashing back to the courtroom, if Jisung hadn’t finally stepped up from his chair and faced his lifelong traumas in the form of one last, truthful testimony. “Han Jisung, you saved yourself.”

He fell silent at that, and you saw his hand instinctively move towards yours for a split second before he quickly stopped himself. Jisung’s arms were floating by his sides, as if wanting to pull you close, but he was holding himself back. He was afraid, you finally realised — afraid that you would push him away, afraid to ever hurt you again. And for some, inexplicable reason, the idea of a rift between the two of you that could never be repaired seemed to hurt even more than a switchblade to the heart.

“For some reason, I’ve been thinking back to our first date,” Jisung cleared his throat, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He probably looked like a nervous schoolboy in front of his first love, Jisung thought, cringing at himself as he looked away from your curious gaze. Well, he added as an afterthought, that wouldn’t be too far off.

You were his first love, after all.  

“I...I didn’t know how you felt that day,” Jisung continued, “or even the days after that, to be honest. I didn’t know if I was doing things right, or—”

“You took my breath away,” you cut him off, the honesty in your own words making your cheeks heat up. You thought back to the diner, to the blond boy who had rendered you speechless with a single heart-shaped smile. As an afterthought, you brought a hand to your rib cage, where a switchblade in that same boy’s hands had once punctured through your lungs, and you deadpanned, “literally.”

Eyebrows raising in disbelief, Jisung gave an incredulous laugh, but his gaze was fixed on the site of your wound. You could still see the deep guilt in his eyes, and, taking a deep breath, you reached for his hand, gingerly placing it where the knife had been. His skin was cool against your fingers, palm rough but familiar. “I’m okay, Jisung. It’s okay. But...why bring that up, all of a sudden?”

“I feel like that now,” he admitted softly, “the same feeling, but with a whole new set of butterflies. Always thinking about you, worrying about you. Wondering how you feel about…”

“Us,” you finished for him, and Jisung nodded slowly. Us. The word hung between the two of you for a long moment, and you took a shaky breath. A part of you wanted to reassure him, to pull him into your arms as if nothing had ever changed. But another part of you pushed that feeling away, knowing deep down that it was too late, that too much had already happened between the two of you to just ignore.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully, and you looked down, afraid to see the expression on his face. “I woke up that morning, and you were just...gone. I was so scared for you, I went looking for you...then one thing lead to another, and before we all knew it, the world had turned upside down. I-it might sound selfish, but after all...this, I think I’m going to need some...time.” You finally lifted your eyes up to his face, heart pounding. For a terrifying second, you thought you saw a flash of pain skip across Jisung’s pupils — but before you could be sure, his face broke into a relieved smile. 

“You’ve always been like this, you know?” He sighed, one hand reaching up to gently tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. Then, contrary to what you had expected, Jisung visibly relaxed. “Worrying about other people before taking care of yourself. You’re not being selfish, okay? Don’t...worry about hurting me anymore.”

You stared at him, the genuine warmth in his words suddenly making your throat close up with stunned tears. Jisung’s eyes, you remembered, had always seemed glazed over and unfocused — as if his mind was trapped somewhere else, far, far away. But as he looked back at you now, you were suddenly hit by how...clear they had become. He was here, perfectly focused on you, eyes filled with what you could only describe as pure adoration.

“I need time, too,” Jisung continued quickly, “I have...so many things I need to fix, to work on, and get better at—”

You shook your head furiously then, tears spilling onto your cheeks as you held onto his wrist. “W-want to love every part of you,” you whispered, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Don’t...don’t hide any parts of yourself, ever again. Okay?”

Jisung watched you for a long moment, brow furrowed as he gingerly wiped your tears, and finally gave a small nod. He cradled your face in his hands, eyes trying to memorise your features as though you were the most beautiful thing he would ever see. To someone else, you thought vaguely, you might have looked insane. A killer’s hands, they might have said, bloodstained hands. But as you gazed up at Jisung, all you saw was a boy who had gone through hell and came back smiling, a boy who loved you more than life itself.

You heard footsteps approaching, and looked up to see several security guards making their way towards Jisung. “Mr. Han,” one called gruffly, “it’s time to go.”

The sudden interruption made your mind go blank momentarily as any reasonable words — goodbye, take care — immediately dissolved on your tongue. The guards were getting closer and closer, and Jisung turned back to you, stammering. 

“If you ever want to—to do this whole...love thing again, start over properly, I—I promise I’ll try not to screw it up. I mean, if you’re sure—and only if you’re sure,” he paused then, sounding suddenly flustered, and for a second, he was your tousled-hair, golden boy from the diner again, soft cheeks flushed like windblown peach roses, eyes unsure yet hopeful as a child’s. This was the boy you had fallen in love with, over blueberry pancakes and Chinese takeout, on seemingly endless nights and through the darkest thunderstorms. Ever since you had made that promise, in a children’s playground beneath the setting sun, you knew that somehow, no matter what fate had left in store, you would always find your way back to him. 

Jisung was already being ushered away, the sudden absence of his touch on your skin leaving you feeling empty — but his last words brought a smile to your tearstained face.

“...I’ll be waiting.”

ryu says:

thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who made it to the end of this series; to everyone who came on this long journey with me, you made it possible and amazing every step of the way. at times, as my first ever series and long-term project, it was both daunting and terrifying, but i am beyond happy and honoured i could experience it with you.

i’ll see you in the epilogue.

#han jisung #stray kids #skz #stray kids series #stray kids au #stray kids imagine #bang chan #kim woojin #yang jeongin #lee know #stray kids minho #lee felix #seo changbin #kim seungmin #hwang hyunjin #stray kids boyfriend #stray kids yandere #stray kids angst #stray kids imagines #han jisung au #han jisung angst #han jisung yandere #han jisung boyfriend #serial killer!au #stray kids soft #stray kids fluff #kpop #kpop aus #kpop series #young god

[alch3mic]

Could. Could I request SOFT TM SWAPAROO!BEAST/KING FLUFF??? aa??

The job you had was rather... peculiar one.

It certainly wasn’t the strangest job you’ve ever had in this crazy city, not by a long shot, but it was perhaps the most interesting you've had yet.

You were a personal maid.

That in itself was a pretty ordinary job title, which is why you didn't hesitate to apply for the job when you saw it online one day.

It was described simply as a live-in kind of gig with some rather long hours attached and a rather strange set of requirements, but the pay was way too good for you to pass up.

So you applied.

You were met the very next morning with a very strange phone call from a very callous individual who asked you some very bizarre questions.

The kind of questions you very much never asked for a job interview.

...Which made the whole thing seem very suspicious to you.

Still the money was very tempting so you decided to... very much continue with the job application anyways.

After what felt like more of an interrogation than a proper interview, the voice on the phone had told you to come down to the 'estate' for a face to face, and from there they would decide if you really got the job or not.

At this point you had expected a couple of things.

Like, maybe this was just some kind of prank and you'd show up to an empty lot, or... maybe it was a really elaborate ruse to rope you into some kinda weird pyramid scheme?

Wouldn't have been the first time that kinda stuff happened with all the different jobs you've applied to over the years.

Well, what you hadn't expected was to show up to the most ominous looking mansions you could've ever imagined; complete with deep dark colors, thorny rose bushes and several tacky gothic ornaments that made the whole thing look like it popped straight out of a storybook for a villain.

To top the whole affair off you met the owner of said villainous mansion; one very tall, very intimidating skeleton, who held the same callous tone as the one who spoke to you over the phone.

...A Fell...

And that's when your heart sank.

Seems like your bad feeling was right.

.......Until it wasn't.

The exchange you ended up having with him was actually rather pleasant, and he seemed to warm up to you rather quickly when you made an unexpected friend out of his cat. His sour expression ended up turning.. well.. less sour at the very least, and from there the two of you really seemed to hit it off.

Your job, as he described, would be easy.

Take care of his recluse brother.

......And that was it...?

Alright, you said.

And really, that was it.

You were given a rather cool looking (although also kinda tacky) uniform which completely matched the whole dark and gothic interior of the house, a tour of the place, and a small list of duties you were expected to perform daily along with anything else his brother asked of you.

Anything else, Papyrus took care of.

Cool.

Great.

Stellar, really.

What your new boss failed to mention was how much of a recluse his brother really was.

Like, the guy didn't even leave his room the first few days you were there.

You exchanged very few words with him through a large set of double doors on occasion, and you eventually managed to work out a bit of a schedule where he'd leave his room for a few hours and you'd tidy his space up.

You still ended up never seeing him.

He'd always miraculously disappear before you came in, even the few times you'd shown up just a few minutes early in hopes that'd you catch a glimpse of this guy.

But, no luck.

The whole affair just left you feeling rather curious about who exactly it was you were taking care of. You could tell from picking up his room that he was tall, much like his brother, but also kinda wide.

Built more like a square than a rectangle.

You could also tell he had a variety of interests from the books always messily littering his room. Anything from astronomy to zoology, all of the pages meticulous marked with sticky notes and papers with hastily scribbled notes on them. There was also an assortment of crafty things, like fabrics and chains always hastily thrown together on a desk that he apparently used to make things, such as outfits for himself.

It was cute, in a way.

He even eventually made something for you.

A gold bracelet, decorated with most delicate porcelain red roses who's petals were also trimmed in gold.

A thank you, he said, for taking care of him... and for filling the halls of this home with your singing.

You absolutely adored it, which is why it made you all the more determined to finally meet with him face to face.

Of course though, just like with everything else in your life, none of your plans ever worked out. Every opportunity to catch a peek at him was missed, even on the days where you would slide him things like meals through his door. He was always shadowed by the light in his room, so you could never see his face, and he always closed the door so quickly so your eyes could never adjust.

It was.. a little frustrating but, really it wasn't your place to push why he hid away.

You did happen to ask Papyrus one day when you were helping him tend to the rose bushes, but he all he told you was that his brother was shy around other people.

...Shy your fuckin' ass.

Sure, he was sweet. You could tell that from not only the gift he gave you, but also from the extended conversations you'd have with him on the other side of the door. He was a bit quiet in your first few exchanges but eventually warmed up a lot more to you the more you tried to strike up friendly conversations. He ended up becoming a little more cheeky, and seemed to have a certain skill for making you bust your butt laughing with his otherwise raunchy humor.

Really.. with that kind of smoother talker personality you really had to wonder what he went through to make him so cautious around others.

But.. again it just wasn't your place to ask.

You were here to make a paycheck, not invest yourself into the problems and lives of others... despite how much you enjoyed working for your employers.

Both of the brothers ended up treating you very well.

You were paid handsomely and never felt yourself being overworked. They never asked anything outrageous of you, gave you a rather lovely living quarters all to yourself on the estate grounds and even gave you adequate days off.

The whole thing almost really felt like some kind of fairy tale.

So here you were again, living in a small piece of your own world as you wandered the halls of the estate in the late hour, technically past your shift.

The rain pitter pattered against the window as you traveled with a laundry basket in hand, your last chore for the day. It had taken a while to dry thanks to the damp weather, and even though you were technically due to be off you wanted to have this finished before retiring for the evening.

Just needed to drop it off in front of Sans' room and away you'd g-

"mrow?"

You inhaled quickly at the sound, jumping a bit before turning back to look down the hall at a familiar white cat in the distance.

"Oh stars above, it's just you Doomy," you breathed out, placing a hand to your chest.

The cat meowed again as it trotted closer to you, so you carefully set down the laundry basket to scoop up the white cat in your arms.

"You scared the hell out of me! Didn't Papyrus ever teach you it's bad manners to sneak up on others you silly little cat?" you whispered softly as she purred in your arms.

Oh you could never stay mad at Doomfanger for too long.

She was just too cute, and always liked to keep you company on nights like this when Papyrus had to attend to business in town. Certainly made you feel a lot less lonely, even though you knew someone else was technically in this house too-

CREAK.

You froze again, hearing nothing but silence until the floors creak again underneath someone's footstep.

Then another.

And another.

Closer and closer.

......

Alright well you were armed with nothing but your two fists, some laundry and a cat, but Papyrus had left the whole estate in your care tonight and you would be damned before you disappointed him!

So, you turned confidently to face whoever was stalking these halls before being met with...

"...Sans?"

You're not exactly sure what compelled you to call out his name, considering whoever you were looking at had a blanket covering their shoulders and head, but apparently your guess was right as he froze on the spot.

"...Jeez, both you and Doomfanger are apparently determined to scare me out of my wits tonight," you finally sighed, letting the cat go as she gracefully landed and sauntered her way over to Sans before rubbing up on to his leg.

He still seemed frozen in place, his head tilted ever so slightly in your direction but the blanket he wore over his head still casted him into shadows thanks to the dim lighting of the halls. The only thing you could properly see were a pair of eyelights burrowing into you, one red and one white.

"Is.. everything ok?" you asked, picking up the laundry basket and carefully approaching closer.

Clearly it wasn't considering he was out of his room when you were here but...

"....left.."

"Huh?" you asked, still trying to at least keep some respectable distance between you both but also taking a step in to catch what he was saying.

"i...i-i thought you.. already.. so i......... snack..."

He was fumbling with his words, seeming to shrink in a bit on himself almost in fear or some kind of embarrassment.

"Oh! No, sorry!" you explained with a quick wave of your hand. "I just had this last load to finish but it took forever to dry so I stuck around a little longer to get it done!"

You did your best to smile warmly at him, which you hoped would ease a bit of the tension he was holding, but it didn't.

Instead he became... really...

Red.

Very, very red in fact.

So much so that it actually lit up his face, and for once you could actually see him as he stared back at you, seeming transfixed upon your features. There were harsh cracks and scratches splintered over his face, and just the faintest hint of gold where a tooth would have been.

"...Huh.."

Your words seemed to snap him out of whatever kind of trance he was in and he quickly covered his face with a clawed hand.

"n-no! this...! i.. didn't...! mean to... scare..."

He seemed to be scrambling for words again, but you were still dazzled by what you just saw, unable to keep the sparkle down in your own eyes.

"You've...."

He continued to cover his face with his other hand.

"......got some crumbs on your face."

.............

He carefully peeked at you between his claws, that red eyelight of his slightly enlarged and looking.. incredibly confused.

"Here," you said, tapping your own cheek.

Sans seemed to pause again, carefully removing once of his hands to rather quickly wipe his face.

"Nope, other one!" you giggled, unable to resist the smile climbing over your face once again.

Another attempt and another miss.

You could feel his eyelight bore into you some more when you laughed a bit more loudly this time, shaking your head and setting down the laundry basket once more.

"Oh my gosh, just..! C'mere!" you finally said, taking a few more steps while pulling a handkerchief out of your pocket.

He stared again for a few more moments, hesitating only slightly before carefully bending down to your level and slowly moving his hands from his face.

You lightly placed a hand on one of his rather tense cheeks before gently wiping the other, making note of the kind of crumbs he still had clinging to his face thanks to the red glow that still illuminated his cheekbones.

Slowly you felt the tension he held melt away and soon enough it felt like he was resting his head in the palm of his hand while a gentle rumbling noise made itself present to your ears.

"....Did you eat the last of the cookies?" you asked, glancing back up him only to see him quickly look away from you.

".........maybe," he said softly, letting out a small gruff laugh.

"Ooooh, Papyrus is going to have an absolute fit when he gets back," you snickered.

"...yeah i know..s'fine," he mumbled softly. "..just gonna blame it on you."

"Hey!!"

"...or doomfanger.."

"Oh my stars, do not blame the cat you goober!"

"what? i'm pretty sure you'd both get in less trouble than i would!"

"That's not the point you jerk, haha!"

"..heh.."

Yeah.. this... really was quite the peculiar job, wasn't it?

Strangely though, you liked it.

A lot.

Especially now that you got to see just how cute the skeleton beyond the door really was.

check out my other writings | feel free to drop me a ko-fi!

#why did this become so long? #because i just love setting up a premise and building a world for a story #I CANNOT HELP MYSELF OK #so please take this drabble #of our beastly king and his hard working beauty #he shy ok #beast!sans #underfell #underfell sans #sans x reader #reader insert #drabble #swaparoo!au #alch!writes

[vina-writes]

46 for Drarry please 😊

Oh, beware of what you’ve done!! I’ve gone and made myself very sad with this. Just know that I couldn’t leave it this way so I AM writing a resolution (which I will link eventually). Thank you ever so much for this request! Even if I went and hurt my own feelings it was fun. (These also keep getting progressively longer so I’ve put it under a cut.)

46. A lingering kiss before a long trip apart.

(i)

Draco will never begrudge Harry this— it happens so rarely, after all. The last time was over a year ago, and they were barely dating then, just dinners and long walks and the occasional heated kiss. Even then it was only a couple weeks on a case in Germany, and Harry brought back Printen for him, his first gift. They argued over whether or not it was just fancy gingerbread (it was not), and then they kissed on Draco’s couch even though Harry was technically still concussed, and within minutes Draco almost forgot he’d even been away.

But this— four months is a long time. Four months is longer than Halloween to Christmas, twice as long as summer hols, longer than Draco’s been without Harry since they got together, longer than he thinks can bear. A lot of things can happen to an Auror in four months.

Four months on the other side of the world is longer. Japan seems an eternity away. They won’t even be able to Floo— Harry will need the sleep. It’s all made worse by the fact that Draco loves Tokyo desperately, even the Muggle side. Him and Pansy spent time there one summer, and he made himself sick eating takoyaki, but went out the very next day and had about fifty crepes to make up for it. The thought of Harry seeing the lights, the gardens, the shrines, the fucking vending machines, all without him, makes something bitter and sad coil in Draco’s stomach. Never mind the fact that they saw Paris, Rome, and Barcelona together— Draco wanted to show him Tokyo.

Still, Draco doesn’t complain, because Harry looks so happy while he packs his bags that he can’t bring himself to make a single wayward comment. He knows Harry will miss him, “fucking horribly, Draco, my God, four months?” It should be enough. It isn’t.

“Have you got everything?” Draco finally says when it’s time. It’s unacceptably early— five thirty in the morning, and dark as sin outside. He’s in his pyjamas while Harry shrinks his bags down and slips them in his pockets. “Passport, wallet, keys, wand, pants—”

“Got it all,” Harry says. His grin is bright in the light of their hallway lamp, though it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “Ten pairs, just like you ordered.”

“Hm. Good. You don’t do laundry often enough.”

Harry laughs shakily. He’s jittery pre-travel.

“Well then,” Draco says, because if he keeps talking he thinks he might cry, and that would make a very unattractive picture coupled with his bedhead.

Harry nods. “I’ll be off. Go get some sleep. I’ll see you sooner than you know.”

He leans in then, hand already on the doorknob, and pecks Draco on the mouth. It’s dry and quick, and Draco misses him already. 

Harry turns with a murmured, “Goodbye.” He opens the door. 

It’s still outside. Quiet. There’s a brief sound of cars honking in the distance. 

There’s a lump in Draco’s throat. Something hurts. Harry’s walking out now, jacket wrapped tight around himself, head bent. He’s walking away, and Draco can’t, he can’t, please, he can’t—

“Harry,” he half gasps, half sobs, reaching out for his arm to pull him back. There’s a moment when Draco thinks it’s too late— he’s gone— but then Harry whirls back around and sweeps him up against his his chest. His arms are tight against Draco’s back, one hand already buried in his hair, and then his mouth is there, hot and wet and demanding.

It’s full of desperation, the way Harry kisses him, and Draco never thought he’d want to be kissed this way until Harry. He’s overwhelmed and greedy all at once, his own hands twining in Harry’s tangled hair to pull him closer, closer, until Harry crowds him into the wall and all Draco knows is his smell, his taste, his body. There’s no room for anything else— just the slide of his tongue, the heat of Harry’s hard chest against his, pressing into him so firmly that Draco can barely take a breath. Draco’s drowning in him, sinking into his warmth, his touch, and he never wants to let go. He wants this forever. 

They do eventually part, though it takes several tries, each of them dipping back in before their lips gain an inch of space. Harry lets go of him just to cup his cheeks in his palms, but they’re pressed so tightly against the wall that it doesn’t make much of a difference. Standing like this, Harry’s hands and face so close, Draco feels his world narrow down to nothing but them. 

“I’m going to miss you,” Harry says thickly, pausing to swallow, “so much. So very much.”

Draco nods harshly, biting his bottom lip to stop its trembling. He wants to close his eyes to feel Harry against him, but he doesn’t want to miss a second of seeing him.

“I love you,” Harry says. He tries for a smile and a teasing tone, as if to goad Draco into a good mood, but it’s weak. “I’ll see you soon. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

But he will, oh Merlin he will, and Draco bites down harder, his breath shuddering. Harry seems to realize it’s the wrong thing to say, because he gives up on the smile and just hugs Draco close. They stay that way for long minutes. Harry’s surely going to be late. He needs to go. Draco breathes.

“It’s ok,” he finally says quietly when his voice is under control. He pulls away and pats Harry’s chest. “Have fun. Don’t get killed.” 

“I pinky promise.”

Draco doesn’t pull him back in this time. He keeps breathing deep as he watches him leave. Harry closes the door just a bit too loud, but he always does, and then it’s silent in their flat. Four months.

Don’t get killed.

Oh, Merlin.

Draco presses a fist to his mouth and leans weakly against the wall. 

Don’t get killed.

(i)

Part Two

#asks #drarry #kiss prompts #vina writes #drarry fic

[lostinwildflowers]

Caught Slipping

Levi Ackerman x Reader

Snow crunched under your black rubber boots as you followed Levi toward the ice-covered pond. You were already chilled to the bone, the mittens on your hands and the beanie on your head not doing much to give you any warmth. You glanced at the man in front of you, who was easily making his way through the snow, carrying his skates and yours.

“Hey Levi, maybe this wasn’t a good idea, the ice looks kinda thin from here,” you called to the ebony head in front of you. There wasn’t a response and you huffed under your breath, muttering about how you were going to catch hypothermia. Levi turns and looks at you with a bored look on his face as if to ask, Are you done yet? 

You gaze into his hardened gray eyes and shrink into your coat. Levi had gotten the two of you a weekend off to enjoy yourself this winter, Erwin about had Levi’s head but reluctantly agreed. You would be damned if you messed up this small vacation for Levi. You quickly nod and trudge through the thick snow to catch up with him. You shoot a small glance his way, taking in his sharp jawline, the soft curve of his lips, and the neutral look in his eye.

“I’m really glad we got the weekend together,” you whisper softly through the crunching snow. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a solid month. Just the two of us.” Levi keeps his gaze forward but simply states, “I agree.” You can’t help but feel like you dampened the mood with your uneasiness to ice skate. You didn’t exactly tell Levi you couldn’t skate when he said you were leaving for a mini-vacation.

Both of you arrive at a small dock on the edge of the pond, and Levi sets your skates and a small backpack on the ground. You brush the snow from the bottom of your pants and reach to grab your skates with a shaky mitten. Levi catches a glimpse of this and hides the small smile on his lips. “Remember your laces need to be tight, otherwise you could roll your ankle if they are too loose.”

Your hand pauses as you grab them, a new fear etched into your head at Levi’s warning. You shrug it off and respond, “Oh yeah, I know that.” He rolls his eyes, then sits down and kicks his own black boots off, tugging on his gunmetal gray skates that match his eyes. You follow his movements, kicking off your warm black boots to the frigid around outside. You unconsciously shiver, and grab for your skates but realize you can’t lace them with your mitts on. You curse under your breath, pulling your mittens off and grabbing your skates as quick as you could.

The skates look like the most foreign object to you when you grab them, but you reluctantly pull them on and start to lace them. Your hands are so cold that you are struggling to lace the top, and Levi sees this. His glove-covered fingers appear in your vision as he helps pull your laces tight. You kiss him gently on the cheek as a thank you, and when you pull away his cheek is ever so pink. You couldn’t tell if it was the cold or you.

After you both have your skates on and are gloved up again, Levi helps you down from the dock onto the ice-covered pond. Looking out across the small body of water, gorgeous snow-engulfed pine trees encircle the round pond, while small bushes are totally covered, making them look like little snowmen. 

Regaining your attention, you notice Levi has already made his way out to the middle and is skating over the ice so gracefully. You try to keep this memory in your head forever, the image of Levi with a beanie on, scarf trailing behind him, a small puff of air leaving his lips to freeze on the air in front of him.

You take your first step onto the ice and immediately start to regret it as your feet slip out from under you, but you regain your balance, arms flailing at your sides. Levi watches you with a genuine smile, one you rarely get to see. In his eyes, you looked like a small fawn trying to stand up for the first time.

“How’s it going, love?”, Levi chimes as he skids to a stop beside you. Your panicked eyes meet his and you see his gaze soften. “You can’t skate,” Levi states as if he knew it all along. You try to retaliate but when you open your mouth to defend yourself, your right skate turns a little and starts to slide away from you. You find yourself flailing again, but not for long. Levi grabs your hand and skates right in front of you, grabbing both of your hands and putting them around his neck.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath before murmuring, “I didn’t want to tell you because I thought it would ruin our trip. You looked so excited to come skating so I agreed.” You open your (colored) eyes to gaze directly into his silver orbs. He is scanning over your face, taking in your beauty.

Levi reaches up to your face with a gloved hand and says, “Thank you. But there are many other things we could have done together. But since we are here, you are learning to skate.” You groan while he lets out a gentle chuckle, the quiet noise sounding like heaven amidst the sounds of a small breeze and birds chirping.

Levi pulls on your waist, skating backward as if it were the most natural thing to him. Your skates wobble as your hands clasp around his scarf-clad neck, and you try your best to not lock your knees. “There you go,” Levi chides, “You’ve got this.” You swallow shakily, “Only because you have a hold of me.” He tugs you closer as he turns to head back across the expanse of the pond. “I’ll never let you go”, Levi murmurs to you, guiding you back over to the dock. 

You both decide to take a little break, chatting about how Erwin is losing his mind, yelling at new cadets to pick up chores since two of his best officers were gone. “How long do you think it’ll take until Erwin locks himself in his room to be alone?”, you ask Levi, popping a piece of a granola bar into your mouth. Levi pauses for a second, “Give him until at least this afternoon.” You both look at each other and start to chuckle, picturing Erwin about to combust with all his duties.

Once you both have gotten a snack and some water, Levi pulls you up to your feet. “Alright, it’s all you now. You gotta show me you can do it all alone.” Your eyes widen and you start to shake your head. “No way I can do it alone! You were guiding me the whole time!” Levi replies, “I’ll be right next to you the whole time. You’ll be fine.”

Except you wouldn’t be fine. You managed to skate about a fourth of the pond by taking small steps, and Levi was pushing himself backward around you, making you dizzy with all the circles he did around you. Eyebrows narrowing, fists clenching, you decide you are going to prove to Levi that you could do it. You start to push off, and you are doing well. Your skates are gliding smoothly across the ice, and you feel pride swell in your chest.

*clink* 

You feel your right skate catch on a small chip in the ice, and the ground starts looming closer toward you. Levi has made it to the other side of the lake, and can’t get there in time to catch you. You start to wail, “FFFFFFFFUUUUUUuuuuuu-” and then you crack into the ice. The air inside your lungs bursts out through your mouth, and suddenly you can’t breathe.

Levi calls you, “Y/N!!! Are you okay?!”, as he races toward you, ice flakes kicking up behind him from the power in his strides. You groan as you feel shocks reverberating up and down your arms and legs. A soft cough leaves your pink lips, and then, “I- I... I think so?” Levi’s face is full of worry as he rolls you onto your back. “That was quite the fall there, love. I was certain you had it under control.” You wince as you sit up, groaning out, “Yeah I thought I did too.”

Levi’s hand flies to your back to support you, and then his gaze drops to the ice under you, scanning for any cracks. “Fuck my head hurts,” you moan softly as a mitten goes up to your forehead. Levi grabs a hold of your face, scanning it over and then stopping on your left cheek. “Shit y/n, you cut your cheek. Let’s get you off the ice.” 

He pulls you up slowly, careful to make sure you wouldn’t slip or faint. You grab onto his jacket tightly, letting him guide you to the dock where his pack was waiting. You sit on the edge of the dock while Levi pulls the strings off of his skates and then yours, changing your shoes back into the warmer and more comfortable black boots. He grabs your uninjured cheek gently and then dabs at the cut on the left side of your face gently with a small cloth from his pack.

You numbly sit there and let him take care of you, body aching and head throbbing. Levi finishes packing up your skates, tying them to his backpack so he can help you walk back to the cabin at the top of the pond. You stumble a few times up the hill, but Levi is ever so patient with you, catching you before you can fall again, then letting you rest when you got winded.

When you both make it up to the cabin, Levi stops you, and has you knock the snow off of your boots so you don’t trudge it inside. You grumble about how your head aches and you could care less if the water will ruin the seal on the floor, but you reluctantly agree. Levi lets you walk in first before locking the cabin door behind you two. Your eyes looked at the locked door and you cock an eyebrow. “Really? Way out here and you still lock the door?” Levi shrugs, “You can never be too sure.”

He hangs your skates in front of the now-lit fireplace to dry, and then sets his bag on the love seat before disappearing into the master bedroom. He returns with a pair of your leggings and socks, along with a soft grey sweatshirt of his that he rarely let you steal. “Get changed and I’ll heat you up some hot chocolate.”

“Thanks Levi,” you murmur as you grab the clothes from his hands, starting to pull off your wet snow pants. Once changed, you grab the hood of the sweatshirt and pull it over your head, taking a deep breath of what smells just like your handsome boyfriend in the kitchen.

He suddenly appears in your vision, a cup of hot chocolate in one hand, a cup of tea in the other. “Skootch over there love, yeah that’s it,” he says softly as he hands you your mug. You turn to face him, gazing at the strange way he drinks his tea.

“I love you,” you say after a minute or two of soft drinking sounds. He turns to face you with a confused look in his eye. “Why are you getting all mushy? I just dragged your sorry ass back up here before we both fell into that pond.” Your eyes fall to your hands, instantly guilty that you were a burden on his shoulders.

“You just always take care of me and then I’m always here ruining everything. It’s not fair to you.” Your heart feels heavy as you will the tears in your eyes to go away. Levi sets his cup of tea down before grabbing yours and doing the same. “Y/n,” he calls but you don’t look at him. “Y/n, I love you for who you are, and I love what we have together. Sure I have to clean up after you sometimes but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You turn your eyes to his silver ones and you see the love on his hardened features. “I love what we have too,” you whisper, brushing a stray tear away from your cheek. Levi opens up his arms, inviting you in for a hug. Your arms reach around around his neck, and his hands find their place on your back and in your hair. Both of you sit their for a minute, enjoying each other’s presence.

When you pull away you press a loving kiss against he lips, and he kisses you back with just as much passion and love. You pull away and you open your (colored) orbs to see Levi looks at you intensely, suddenly serious. His gaze follows your left cheek to the cut that sits there and then he says, “Next time we go on a vacation, lets go somewhere that doesn’t have ice everywhere.”

#fic #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #aot #attack on titan #my second fic #OOF THIS CUTE #i hope #ima simp for fluff #and im a HUGE CLUTZ #iceskating #hes so graceful

[morihaus]

Dawn

The loss of Aldmeris came swiftly and without warning. The whole of the land shook beneath the Aldmer, interrupting the comfortable routine of their lives and forelives, snapping the spirit-mer out of their reverie and rememberance of the dawn.

Bolts of light punctured holes in the bright golden sky, leaving dark voids in their wake. The nobles, the most divine and wise of them all, made calls to all their kin to flock to the harbors, to crowd onto the great ships, to be safe with their pilots and protectorate sorcerers.

The decision was rapidly reached, though not made lightly: they must flee their homeland, Old Ehlnofey is lost to the earth-splitting storm and the swell of the ocean. And the people wept, for not all could board in time; and the people wept, for they had lost their home; and the people wept, for they were afraid, who could say what fate awaited them beyond their waters?

Trinimac, Knight-Champion of Auri-El, stands aboard one of the greatest ships of Aldmeris, beside its pilot, beside the High King, and beside at least a hundred scared Aldmer, huddled together and cowering behind the protective barriers of the spellcasters. His footing is unsure on the deck, for he has never been fond of the sea, and if ever a sea were to take him under and swallow him hole, it would be the roiling dark waves which the vessel now navigated.

A terrified family are within his grasp, a couple and their two children under one arm, his other wrapped around the thick pillar of the mast to keep them righted. Kneeling in the space between the god and the mast is King Aurthelel, divine son of Auri-El, who trembles and clings to his knight protector, his face pale and uncertain, his composure broken for the first time in several centuries.

He looks to the pilot and sees her arms trembling as she keeps hold of the wheel, knuckles white as the rains whip around her and the waves crash against her ship. Two more mer are helping her keep steady, heeding her as she barks orders and assisting in righting the wheel. The ship hits a large wave and for a moment seems to soar over the water- Trinimac tightens his grip on the mast and holds the frightened elves closer to his breastplate as he feels his feet leave the floor, hearing cries of panic all around him- before crashing back down with a massive splash, dousing everyone on deck with frigid ocean water and knocking many of them to the floor. Trinimac holds fast, gritting his teeth and bending down to keep the wailing children dry. Their father whispers assurances over and over between prayers to Auri-El, weeping and holding them close with their mother. The embodiment of the golden god is shivering and hacking up a lung full of saltwater. He offers nothing to the family. It's unclear they even know who they stand beside.

People are pounding at the doors to be allowed below deck, but the lower decks are full to burst with both passengers and crew, trying to mend cracks in the hull and huddling together in fear. It feels scarcely better to be below than above.

The pilot's haggard voice cries out: "UP AHEAD, LOOK!!! SWING PORT, SWING PORT!" Eyes gritting for lack of a helm, Trinimac casts his gaze in front of the ship. What appears to be a massive cyclone stands before them, a towering spiral of wind and water, lightning crackling at its head. His body tenses as he spots what looks like an eye, then another, then another, until the head of the cyclone is lit by a hundred tiny circles of light. He feels the ship rolling beneath him, fighting the waves to try and turn away, but they only seem to raise higher now as they're being pulled to the foot of this storm- this entity.

A massive limb of rippling magic shoots forward from the cyclone, crashing down towards the ship as a hand swats a fly.

The pilot screams again. "BRACE YOURSELVES!"

The ship, almost by chance, rolls to one side, but the near-miss takes affect as it crackles through the water, sending the ocean bright blue and surging a massive wave forth, hitting the ship with such ferocity as to turn it completely on its side.

The pilot and her assistants are able to right it just so in midair, a combination of the turning of rudders and powerful force spells. But they scarcely have time to be thankful, even after the ship lands once again- another wave of cold water soaking everyone aboard the deck- Trinimac looks and sees the eyes of the cyclone turn to face the ship, now doing its best to roll and rock along a path away from the storm. It retracts its limb of light and then raises it again.

"Hold on to the mast." Trinimac quickly says to the family, as well as his liege, and at once he turns and runs to the stern. His gleaming silver boots thud against the wooden floor, and as the ship rolls unpredictably, he almost trips in his haste. But he leaps, almost glides, to stand behind the pilot, who cannot spare the time to look over her shoulder at him. He levels his blade, Penitent, and his shield, and glares up at the limb of the many-eyed giant. "COME THEN!" He yells, his divine voice cutting higher than everything else. "MATCH BLADES WITH ME IF YOU DARE!!!"

The limb descends with greater haste, provoked by his demand. He reels back his sword arm and, with such strength as had never been needed in Aldmeris, cleaves straight through the massive hand, lopping it off at the wrist.

A horrible howl emits, more than just the wind of a storm, and a huge pulse of energy sends the ship skimming forward at a much greater pace. Trinimac is blown clear over the pilot by the force of impact, thudding against the deck below.

As the ship continues on its path, the storm subsides. The sky and sea settle, the clouds part to make way for the golden sky again- but it is not golden, as it always has been on Aldmeris, but deep red, and the great light hangs lower than any Aldmer could ever remember seeing it.

"What- what has happened to the sky..." A young boy asks.

None could answer him, they had no knowledge of this. None but Trinimac, stood again, offering aid to the wounded passengers.

He looks down to the child, who shrinks away at the bare face of the knight, sharp tusked and horned, yet radiant with a light that now seems a dim requiem for their home. "The sun sets here." He wears a frown as he scans the horizon. Nothing but a dull blue sea. Yet he knows where they must be. "We are in Mundus."

Gasps ring out from the few not still in shock. Many cannot bring themselves to believe it. "We... we are in the trap?" One woman asks. "The lie of the doom drum?" Many huddle closer to their loved ones, scandalized by the words she dared utter.

Trinimac only nods.

Silence overtakes the mer on board. The red sky slowly darkens, and again, the Aldmer are scared. None of them have ever lived in a changing world, a world where light fades, where summers set. Little dots of light give them some peace, they slowly fill the sky as the sun made way for them, a procession of sorts. Many distracted themselves by trying to count them all.

This is interrupted by the arrival of more objects in the sky. A girl looks up, eyes wide, and screams.

Everyone quickly looks to see, and now there is only stunned silence.

Many shake and tremble at the terrible sight in the heavens, others begin to sob, some scowl and curse the doom drum and all his wicked works, for it is he who delivers this revolting vision of horror and fear.

Trinimac feels bile in his throat. He turns, for he cannot bear to see the moons.

The Dawn is forever lost. The sky is full of corpses.

#tesfest21 #mori writing #trinimac

[dcbutinamrev]

Lams, “i’d take our relationship back in a heartbeat," but John is dead and Alexander is talking to him. They can both be talking or just him, whatever, artistic freedom. :)

Sorry this is so late!!! I've been focusing my attention on Yrs Forever!! (As it is almost done) But your wish is my command! Modern au but with their historical apperances! I was gonna post this ficlet request on August 27 (cause...you know...) but like I also don't have the paitence to wait that long. So yeah. That's a thing-

~~~

Alexander Hamilton closes his eyes as soon as he steps into his apartment, hsi back pressed against the door and his jaw unusually tight. He breathes in slowly, holding his breath for a few seconds before slowly reopening his eyess. He hopes his boyfriend, his dear Laurens, would be before him but instead only to reveal before him an empty staircase. He groans miserbaly, and swallows the lump down his throat, grimacing as he does so--as though it had hurt him to do so.

It's been a month since he died. A whole entire month since his Jack left him, since he'd broken the promise he made to him. The promise he'd never leave him.

Hamilton shakes his head and climbs up the steps to his bedroom. He stares at the wooden door, his beautiful indigo-violet eyes ticking down towards the doorhandle. He smiles at the memory of when they had their first kiss, from at a party at Laurens's old friend's Tench Tilghman's place, Laurens counting Hamilton's freckles with a black sharpie, thinking he found Orion before leaning in to capture his lips. He remembers the first time they had sex, remembers clearly of Laurens slamming his back onto this very door, pinning him place as he kisses Hamilton roughly, quickly, heatedly, moving his lips down the side of Hamilton's neck, under his jaw.

Hamilton sighs long and slow before shaking his head at the memory, trying to learn to move on. But for some reason, he can't. He can't seem to let his John go.

Hamilton let's out another shaky breath before twisting the doorknob and gently pushing the door open. He hasn't stepped foot into this room for over a month, not after since Laurens's death. Always too frightened. But today, on August 27, the very same day in which he--Hamilton clears his throat, blinking his misty eyes. Well, anyways.

But today, he's feeling rather bold in doing so. Any other time, he'd be working down in the dining room table with his older foster brother, Lafayette, and parents around him--along with his friends, Richard Kidder Meade, Tench Tilghman, James McHenry, Robert Hanson Harrison, and David Humphreys of course. Or he'd be in one of the offices up here on the second floor, working in peace. Or hiding up in the attic, rummaging through old boxes of him and Laurens, watching old video tapes Laurens had made for each special moment. Hamilton stays where he stands currently in front of the entranceway, his eyes unfazed and misty. It feels like forever since he's been in this room.

Hamilton let's his bookbag slump onto the floor beside his door, taking a moment to let his new surroundings sink in. He sees his bed, the very same bed where he'd had Laurens beside him, beautiful sky eyes half-opened, honey blonde hair fallen loose and framing his angular face like a golden halo. Laurens's bare body exposed before him under the sheets. Hamilton encourages himself to take a leap forward and closes the door behind him.

It's quiet in his room. Dark and cold. He wraps his arms around his small, wasp-waisted frame as he shivers, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand suddenly up. He feels like he's missing something.

And he is.

Hamilton swallows hard, his jaw clenched once more, as he moves around the room, letting his hand trace over the soft silk of his bedsheets before him, stopping where Laurens's foot would be. He stares at the sheets, linen white before ticking his eyes up to where the moutain of pillows lays before him and up to the wooden headboard. He can faintly see the ghostly outline of Laurens and himself sleeping together in this very bed. He presses his lips together and forces himself to look away, letting out a shuddering breath before finally having the courage to head toward his desk.

His hands rest on the back of the chair as he stares down. He ticks his eyes up to find a framed photograph of him and Laurens sharing a kiss, both of them smiling against the other's lips. Despite the ache he feels, the twisting of his stomach, he can feel the corners of his lips being quirked up.

He reaches for a framed photograph of his beautiful Laurens on the other side, just of him--a simple portrait, Hamilton's dashing soilder. He sighs as turns, the photorgaph still clutched in his hands, before he flops himself down on the edge of the bed, a few dark red curls fall loose and bounce on his forehead.

"Oh, Jack..." Hamilton whispers, his voice raw, choking. He lets his thumb trace over the side of Laurens's face, near his ear, over his hairline. "You know...I'd take our relationship back in a heartbeat."

A pause. Followed by endless silence. He sighs again before flopping down onto the bed, tilting his head to one shoulder as he eyes the portrait before him.

"I um...I um....How've you been? John?" he says to himself. He pauses, waits for a moment, before letting out a dry laugh, followed by a sniff. "College has been okay...rough obviously but okay. Gil had already gone back to France for his own college education and me stuck here in Manhattan and you? Who knows where you could be. But...I do hope...wherever you are...Jack...I...I do hope you now have peace."

Hamilton presses his lips together tightly once more, in hopes it would hold back the small whimper in which escapes him. He clenches his teeth as he narrows his eyes at Laurens before him, the small grin on his face, the twinkle in his sky-blue eyes--blue, a rich, vibrant blue, clear as the sky on a summer's day. He shakes his head, anger replacing the grief.

"You promised me..." he whispers sharply, his voice hissing like a snake, his chest heaving. "You...you....you promised me you wouldn't leave me...you said so yourself those very words." He swallows hard as he blinks his eyes fast, a tight scowl on his face. "You lying bastard!"

With a frustrated grunt, he tosses the framed photograph across the room, wincing as it smashes against the wall, watching it fall to the floor with a clatter, making himself jump back with surprise. Surprisingly, the glass doesn't shatter. Hamilton sniffs and wraps his arms around himself again, feeling himself shrink--feeling small, vulnerable, and weak. And he hates feeling weak and vulnerable.

"How could you?" he whimpers at the framed photograph now on the floor instead of his hands. "How could you, John? You know how I am when I get too attached to people. You knew what I would do, what I would feel if I had lost another person in my life. " He feels something wet trickle down his freckled cheeks. He ignores it. "You know of my past, a past which I would rather keep tucked away in a small closet inside the back of my head."

Silence.

"Please, John..." he whispers, licking his dry, chapped lips--dry from the lack of kisses. "Please...come back to me...I can't...not you too..."

Another pause.

"I know, I know I haven't fully accepted the fact that you're...you're gone...but..." Hamilton shakes his head as he collapses onto his knees, leaning forward and with one arm reaches out for the frame. "They told me you were sick. You were sick and you went out there anyways. You knew...didn't you?"

Nothing.

"What about the letter? The letter I sent you? I sent it around the fifteenth. Did you get it? Did you even read it? Did it get miscarried?"

Hamilton freezes in place, his face paling and his eye widen with realization. He stands shakily, his hands trembling as his mind whirls and his stomach spins, making him double over slightly and clutch his stomach with one arm as he leans against the edge of the bed.

"The 15th..." he whispers shakily, glancing back down at Laurens's portrait in his trembly hands. "The 15th...you...it takes about a couple days to a week for corrospondences to be delievered...you...you may not have even recieved it on the 27th..."

Hamilton feels himself queasy, his vision blurring as his head spins, a loud ringing in his ears.

"Oh God!" he wails, bringing a shaky hand up to his parted lips to hide the chocked sob. "John...Oh, John...please..."

He falls to his knees again, gently placing the portrait onto the bed. He blinks his eyes fast, his whole body trembling as he clasps his hands together and presses his forehead agaisnt his knuckles.

"John...please...if you can hear me...just please...show me..." He sucks in a shaky breath. "Show me the way...please...I...I miss you, my love...I...I can't even..." He squeezes his eyes tighter as more tears manage to escape. "I can't even...I love you...I love you...I just...I just want to kiss you..." He glances up from his knuckles and up at the ceiling. "I want to see you...I...I want to hear my name from your lips...see your smile...hear your laugh...I want...I want to kiss you, Jack. I mean as I say. I'd take our relationship back in a heartbeat. I...I...want to kiss you. Just one last time..."

Hamilton waits. He waits for a few minutes, for anything. But all he hears is silence.

He breaks, the glass inside him shatters. He screams, wails with desperation and anger before he folds his arms over each other and rests his forehead on top of them, still on his knees, sobbing as quietly as he can, sniffling occasionally, mumbling Laurens's name under his breath like a chant.

After a few minutes, he wails again, tears streaming freely like a waterfall down his red, puffy freckled cheeks and his bedroom door slams open at the sound of his pleading cry. He feels arms wrap around him, one arcross his chest and one around his back, the person's hand up to his dark russet curls. The person, who Hamilron happens to discover is Lafayette himself, pulls him close until his forehead is now pressed against his chest.

"Please..." Hamilton whimpers, clutching onto Lafayette's shirt.

Lafayette sighs heavily and presses a soft kiss to his temple before resting his cheek on top of his head, shushing him occasionally.

"I'm sorry..." Hamiton whispers. "I'm so sorry....I...What did I do wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong, mon petit frere," Lafayette assures him with a warm smile as he lifs Hamilton's chin up, brushing back a few loose curls.

Hamilton wipes his red, puffy cheeks frustratingly, embarrassed of himself. "There must have...I must have done something wrong, Gil...he deployed...he promised me he'd come home to me...that he wouldn't leave me..."

"Alex..." Lafayette whispers, his own heart cracking at the sight of Hamilton before him, who he loves more than anything.

"They said he was sick," Hamilton chokes, slowly glancing up at Lafayette. "Malaria, they said...Malaria..."

"Alexander..."

"Yet he went to battle anyways..." He chokes. "He knew...he knew..."

"Shh..." Lafayette whispers, helping Hamilton stand once more and guiding him towards the bed. "Sleep Alex. You need let yourself rest."

Hamilton shakes his head. "I can't sleep. It's a waste of time..." He shivers at the word. "There's other things...essays to be complete....exams..."

"Shh," Lafayette insists, forcing him to lie down on the bed. "You must rest, mon ami. Your body is telling you it does. You've overworked yourself again, didn't you?"

Hamilton lets himself collapse onto the pillow with a thump, covering his eyes with his hands.

"Get some rest, mon ami," Lafayette whispers, tucking a lose strand of red hair behind his ear as soon as he lowers his hand.

Hamilton nods and watches Lafayette walk towards his bedroom door. He's about to swing it open, when Hamilton stops him.

"Gil?" Hamilton calls, causing Lafayette to stop in his tracks.

He turns to Hamilton over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. "Yes?"

Hamilton smiles in what Lafayette must think have been forever. "Thank you."

Lafayette chuckles, feeling the corners of his lips quirk up. "Of course, Alex. That's what brothers are for."

After the door clicks shut behind Lafayette, Hamilton lets his eyes shut and for the first time in many days-

He smiles in his sleep.

#lams #historical lams #ficlet #requested #oneshot #amrev #read more #IT'S FINALLY FINISHED #SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT!!! #WOO LOOK AT ME FINISHING A FICLET BEFORE 11:30 AT NIGHT!!! #sorry yall #angst #alexander hamilton #john laurens #marquis de lafayette #long post #i think i'm missing an aide- #ava!