#i had assumed the pictures were taken at time of memory. maybe i was wrong about this.

[rd0265667]

Kazuha X Reader: If there was an afterlife

TW!: Dead Reader, Suicide

A/N: There will be stuff in chinese at the end since I kinda based this off a quote that you guys will see later, so I know it's not true in real life, but for this story, let's assume Kazuha knows Chinese

Kazuha walked out from her room, stretching as she yawned. She was still stuck in her half asleep stupor, walking mindlessly towards her members at the dining table as Sakura was handing out breakfast, Eunchae and Yunjin heading to the TV.

As she mindlessly listened to Chaewon and Sakura discussing some of their usual shenanigans, suddenly, something on the TV caught her attention.

"Eunchae-ah, could you change the channel back again?" Kazuha asked, moving towards the TV hastily, Eunchae a little confused at the question but doing as she was told

On the TV, a solemn looking news reporter and a picture of a person Kazuha had not seen in a long time

"We are saddened to announce that Celebrity Y/N L/N, known for the 2025 film "Espionage" has sadly passed. Sources reporting that after a long battle against depression and anxiety, they committed suicide."

All eyes in the room fell to Kazuha, who sat stunned, staring at the TV

Whispers and murmurs filled the room, slowly suffocating Kazuha, who ran to her room, slamming it shut behind her.

"Is she going to be okay?" Yunjin looked worriedly, glancing at Chaewon to see what could be done.

"Just give her some space for now girls. I think we all know what Y/N meant to Kazuha" Chaewon whispered, as the girls nodded in agreement, all feeling a little distraught at the news too. In a way, they felt they were indebted to you.

Kazuha curled into a ball in the corner in her shared room with Sakura. Were you really gone? Just like that? As she buried her head into her arms, there was a timid knock on the door, and a voice Kazuha recognised to be Sakura's rang out

"Zuha, there's someone here for you"

Without an answer, Sakura quickly opened the door, fearing something had happened to Kazuha, only calming down when she saw Kazuha.

Beside Sakura was an older, maybe middle aged man, someone Kazuha didn't recognise

As Sakura beckoned Kazuha to step out, Kazuha obliged, dragging her feet as she sat at the table, opposite to the middle aged man.

"Good Afternoon, Miss Nakamura. My name is Pak Hyun Shik. I'm the executor of Y/N L/N's will. I'm sorry for your loss, but I'm here with you to handle an affair. Y/N has granted you 25% of their properties to give it to a charity of your choice, also, this." He slowly set an object on the table

"I understand Mr Pak. I will get back to you soon." Kazuha bowed, grabbing the object and quickly scurrying to her room, setting the object on her bed

On Kazuha's bed laid a box all too familiar to the idol, for it was hers, a long time ago.

A beautiful maroon blue box, designed like an ancient chest rested on the idol's bed, as she reached forward, tracing the ornate design on the box, slowly opening it to see 7 items, 6 familiar to her, one she wished was not, as well as a scroll above them.

Kazuha chuckled softly to herself, you always loved these fancy scrolls, it made you feel royal, you always claimed.

Taking a deep breath, Kazuha undid the bow over the scroll, unravelling it to reveal a letter.

我最爱的和羽：

如果你正在读这封信，那就意味着我已经选择了去胆小鬼的出路了。很抱歉，我现在要向您发送这些东西，我知道这可能是垃圾，您甚至都不记得了。

My Dear Zuha:

If you're reading this letter, it means that I've taken the coward's way out. I'm sorry that I'm sending you these things now, I understand it's probably junk that you don't even remember anymore.

"Wrong" Kazuha thought to herself, the things in the chest were things she still had vivid memories of.

The Test Paper.

Kazuha slowly pulled out a dusty exam paper, a Chinese test that she still recalled taking. her tidy handwriting and a 100% score adorning the top right hand of her paper still made her feel a little proud.

Kazuha was always horrible at Chinese. She wondered why she took the damn language as her third language in the first place when she already was fluent in English aside from Japanese and Dutch. But she didn't really have a choice, groaning as she repeatedly banged her head on the table, her materials not free from the full frontal assault. Suddenly, she felt her forehead collide, not with cold metal, but a warm hand. Looking up in shock, she turned to see your concerned face looking at her, confused. "Are you okay?" You asked, as Kazuha turned her head in confusion, muttering some nonsense about looking like an idiot. "May I?" You asked, giggling as you gestured to the chair opposite Kazuha. She quickly nodded, as you took the seat opposite her. "So, what troubles you?" Kazuha groaned and passed you the document in her hand. You looked it and stifled a chuckle, Kazuha puffing her cheeks up in mild displeasure at your reaction, before shooting you one of her "judgemental face", though she claims it's just her normal face "Don't be offended, I'm not looking down on your score, I'm just laughing because I've found another fool who chose to take Chinese as their third language. I got lucky since my mom's Chinese, guess you don't have that fortune do you?" Kazuha shook her head in despair, before crashing her head onto her hand again.

"Tell you what, how about I tutor you? I've been told I'm a great tutor." You offered, as Kazuha looked at you in disbelief. "You would do that?" You quickly nodded, as Kazuha quickly turned to skepticism "Why are you doing this? Are you usually this nice to everyone?" She asked, to which you only shot back a goofy grin. "Nope, only to pretty girls." Kazuha couldn't help but blush, looking downward to hide her rosy cheeks, mumbling "flirt" under her breath Regardless, she took you up on your offer, and thus began a friendship that would not last too long. Every week, before class started, you two would meet up, studying and hanging out, and as time went by, Kazuha found her chinese improving, and her feelings growing.

One of those days, Kazuha could recall you being extra nervous, something that didn't escape her notice. A little prying from her revealed that you intended to ask her out on a date, to which she replied snarkily, "If I can ace a test, which I can promise you won't happen, sure!" She would soon eat her words, as you hosted a day long intensive revision session that somehow, someway, got Kazuha full marks on her test.

The look on your face when Kazuha handed you her paper, priceless. She still remembered it to this day. "Guess I owe you a date. Don't disappoint me and there may be more." She said teasingly, before leaving you in a state of shock

The Movie Tickets.

Kazuha pulled out two ticket stubs from the box, the afternoon showing for "Infinity War" at the theatre near where the two of you used to study. She never understood the hype around those silly Marvel Movies, but you insisted that it would be a good film to watch, even for someone who had never watched any of the Marvel movies before. She was inclined to agree, though the company was better than the film

Kazuha stood outside the movie theatre, holding two tubs of popcorn and a drink, looking around impatiently for you, who had disappeared a minute ago to locate a toilet. As quickly as you disappeared, you reappeared and relieved Kazuha of the popcorn in her hand, entering the theatre together with her as the two of you hurriedly found your seats in the darkness. As the movie went on, despite not knowing any of the characters, Kazuha found herself tensing up whenever any of the main characters were in danger, squirming in her seat, before she found an effective way to curb the nervousness. As the Red Robot with a glowing stone in his head got impaled through the back, Kazuha jumped in her seat, her right hand moving out and finding it's unintended location. Your left hand. Drawing your attention away from the movie, you looked at Kazuha, who was trying to nonchalantly act like nothing happened, and you smiled, lightly squeezing her hand in reassurance, an action that did not go unappreciated, as the light of red witch's magic illuminated Kazuha's beautiful smile.

As the movie went on, you suddenly heard a light shuffle toward your left, as Kazuha lifted the arm rest back, instead opting to move closer to you, leaning her head slightly in front your shoulder, an action you reciprocated by putting your arm around her shoulder and pulling her close, feeling her get comfortable against you.

The movie went on as the two of you held each other, Kazuha still remembers how you had to comfort her because the insect guy turned to dust. After the movie, Kazuha took you by the hand, an action she had previously deemed, only for people in serious relationships. You two never really said anything, but this was the end of your friendship, and the beginning of your relationship.

The Membership card

Kazuha pulled out a small card from the box, a faint inscription on it showing a laundromat. Your parent's laundromat, that is. Your parents ran a small laundromat, nothing too big or fancy, but good enough to help them live comfortably and get a child through the education system.

Kazuha still recalls how weird she initially found it when you handed her a membership card to your parent's laundromat card. Kazuha would hang out with you there, helping out when necessary, but mostly the two of you would be seating around, just chatting and joking around, regulars at the laundromat calling you two a lovey dovey couple, an allegation you wore like a bag of honour while Kazuha loved it, but was still shy about it. There was once when your parents were away for a gathering with some old friends, leaving the running of the laundromat to both you and Kazuha. Surprisingly, the two of you were efficient and great at it, you even joked that if both your dreams failed, the two of you could run the laundromat together (You guys can kinda see where this one is going can't you)

The Letters

From the box, emerged another, this one sloppier and less intricate then the bigger box, filled with small pieces of paper. Paper with words that had since faded, but words that remained etched in Kazuha's mind

Kazuha had missed you. Dearly. She wanted nothing more than to call you, her beloved, but her phone was off limits, only available on the weekends, at least according to the trainer for HYBE. Few months prior, Kazuha had passed an audition to become a Kpop trainee. What she did not anticipate was how tough it would be, especially since you wouldn't be able to frequently contact her or meet up with her. To counteract this, you came up with a brilliant scheme, as you loved to call it. The day before Kazuha went to become an official trainee, the two of you went for dinner together, where you handed her a small box. Inside the box was treasures beyond Kazuha's greatest and wildest imagination. She still chuckles as she reminisces about it now. You were always such a dramatic. What was in those boxes, were letters, handwritten letters that you had wrote for Kazuha, 20 to be exact. Letters for Kazuha to read in any situation. Her personal favourite? "Read this when you miss me."

In that letter was you writing about how she could "not miss you as much", ideas like hugging the jacket that you had given her, looking at your pictures together, and contained sweet nothings about how Kazuha was the greatest and was the love of your life. Kazuha read that letter so many times she could basically recite it from heart.

The letters for Kazuha helped her through the tough times of being a trainee, and it would keep her sane enough till the weekends, where she was given one free day to go out, a day she would often spend with you, you being sure to clear your weekends up too, a task made difficult by trying to make it big in the film industry, but you made it work, for her. When Kazuha debuted, she handed the letter back to you, along with another small stack of hers.

A single red rose

From the depths of the box, Kazuha pulled out a rose, plastic to stand the test of time, but well made it enough that it could be passed as a legitimate rose.

Kazuha recalls finding it in her bag at her debut performance at music bank, realising that you must have snuck it into her bag the last time you snuck into the LeSserafim dorm. The other members knew of you of course, Chaewon initially disapproving knowing the repercussions if the two of you got caught, but ultimately supported the relationship, as long as you two didn't get caught. She wanted Kazuha to be happy, after all. The night before the debut performance, Kazuha found herself cuddling into your arms, shaking with nervousness at her debut performance, filled with terror on what would happen if she messed up. Nothing that couldn't be solved by your love and affection of course. Kazuha smiles as she remembers the pride on your face when you claimed that your kisses were magic, a kiss from you scaring away any bad thoughts that dared invade your beloved's mind. As she slowly vented to you, you were sure to comfort her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear to calm her down, something that proved effective as she slowly fell asleep in your arms, you carrying her to her bed being the last thing she remembered. What she would only find out at a later year was that as you left the room, you were intercepted by Chaewon and Sakura, both with worried expressions on their faces. Their manager was growing suspicious of your relationship, and you would have to be more careful. Before heading out for her dance, Kazuha quickly took her phone out, recording a short message thanking you for the cute gift. She didn't know it, but that message got you through some tough times, even after the incident. She also gave you the rose, as she insisted it served as great decoration in your room

A Bracelet

A small bracelet, it's magnet long grown rusty, rests in the box as Kazuha picked it up, an identical pair lying in her bedside drawer. She couldn't bear to throw it away

This was the gift you had gotten Kazuha for your second anniversary. While it seems pretty underwhelming, you had actually made the bracelets yourself, spending hours on it in your free time. Kazuha loved it, she was never one for expensive gifts, preferring gifts that hit her close to the heart. Kazuha loved that bracelet, wearing it almost everywhere except for MV or commercial shoots, always keeping it on her person. You also always wore it, incorporating the bracelet into the outfit of whichever character you were playing at the time. It all went well, so you thought. As the days went by, Kazuha's manager grew more suspicious, then one day, she spotted the bracelet that she always saw Kazuha wearing, on your wrist. This prompted her to confront Kazuha. Kazuha cringed, that night was horrible. After much probing and Kazuha trying to deny, Kazuha finally admitted to dating you, something that did not bode well with her manager. The company had a strict no dating policy, and after the manager reported it to HYBE, an ultimatum was delivered and Kazuha had a week to decide

The 4 leaf clover

The final object emerged from the box. The object that reminded Kazuha of the worse night of her life.

You had successfully snuck into LeSserafim's dorm once again, clutching in your hand a small trinket. As you entered your girlfriend's room, you were surprised to see her with a frown on her face, as opposed to the smile she always had plastered on when she saw you. You didn't pay it much heed at that point though. As you climbed into the room, you set the trinket onto the table, a 4 leaf clover, you wanted to gift Kazuha a good luck charm, as Kazuha beckoned for you to sit next to you. She had thought of every possible outcome, bargaining with management, quitting to be together with you, anything, but there was only one way this could ever really go. "Management wants me to break up with you, and cease all contact with you." She quickly spat out, shutting her eyes tightly, unwilling to look you in the eye

You sat there stunned, unsure of how to respond to that. "They've threatened my members, Y/N. If I don't do what they want, they're going to disband the whole group, something about group image. I'm sorry Y/N." She muttered out, tears dripping from her eyes "So we're done? And you're not going to fight for us?" You lightly scoffed, still in disbelief at what was going on. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I can't sacrifice my group member's dreams, or my own, just for you." Kazuha mumbled through her tears, as you slowly got up, grabbing the clover and shoving it into your pocket. "I guess I'm just not worth it then..." You whispered spitefully. You knew this had to be done, of course. If you were given this scenario, break up with Kazuha or her and her members would suffer, you knew that you were the right choice to let go. But that didn't make it hurt less. It wasn't easy for Kazuha either, and you could see that, your comment making her break down even further. " I guess you were right all those years ago, 童话里都是骗人的( Fairytales are a lie)" You said, moving to leave through the window. "Y/N, I still l-" Kazuha could barely spit out, before you interrupted her. "I hope this is worth it. Goodbye." You said, turning to look at her one last time, tears streaming down her face and your face too. Closing your eyes, you muttered out a last, "I love you.", before climbing out of the window and heading back to your dorm. Kazuha was inconsolable that night, crying in Sakura's arm through the night, as the rest of the members heard what had happened from outside the door, powerless to do anything about it.

Finally looking through the items in the box, tears coming back to Kazuha's eyes, memories she had buried 3 years ago now bursting to the surface. Through her tears, she continued reading the scroll

随着岁月的流逝，我非常高兴地看着你的事业蒸蒸日上，我真的为你感到高兴。我想你可以说我的职业生涯也相对顺利。我能够让我的父母退休，过上舒适的生活。但我很抱歉你不得不这样看待我。我希望你知道，即使到最后，我都在努力战斗，为明天而战，为迎接明天的决心而战，但我已经筋疲力尽了，和羽。媒体每天都以他们可以编造的任何理由抨击我，我不能走出家门而不受到不喜欢我的粉丝的威胁，仅仅因为我不是他们的最爱。我累了, 和羽，太累了。我好希望你能现在在这里和我在一起。你不知道这些年我有多么想念你，多么想靠在你的肩膀上哭泣，多么想在累了的时候靠在你的身上，多么想有一个人来疼爱我。我要说的话，请你理解，我说出来，是不想因我没告诉你而后悔。 虽然我们两个的事业很成功，尽管你那天打破了我的心，我想告诉你，如果有来生，我还是会选择和你在一起，报税，开我父母的洗衣店。我很希望我们能做到，但现在已经太晚了。虽然我现在要走了，我希望你会永远自得。你拥有了我的心，我是会永远爱你的。 您的最爱，Y/N

(As the years have gone by, I've watched with great joy as your career prospered, and I'm really happy for you. I guess you could say my career has gone relatively well too. I was able to retire my parents, and live comfortably. But I'm sorry you have to see me in this light. I hope you know that even till the end, I tried to fight, fight for the next day, for the resolve to face the next day, but I'm exhausted, Zuha. The media blasts me everyday for any reason they can concoct, I can't step outside my house without being threatened by fans who dislike me simply because I'm not their favourite. I'm done, Zuha. I wish you were here to be with me. You don't know how much I've missed you these past years, how much I've wanted to cry on your shoulder, lean on you when I felt tired, or have someone to love me. What I'm about to say, please understand that I say it as I do not wish to regret you not knowing my feelings. Though we both have successful careers, and even though you broke my heart that day, in another life, I would have loved to spend it with you, paying taxes and running my parent's laundromat. I always wished we could do that, but it's too late now. Though I'm gone, I hope you will always remember, that my heart is yours,  and that I love you. Forever, and always)

Your love, Y/N"

Kazuha couldn't hold it anymore, breaking down into a sobbing mess as Sakura, hearing the commotion, barged into the room, running to hold Kazuha, her other members following close behind

"It's not fair! It's not fair! I miss Y/N! I want them back now! Please! Please!" Kazuha could only scream in her desperation, tears streaming down her cheeks as punched her bed, Sakura and Yunjin holding Kazuha tightly as they tried their best to console her, the other members trying what they could to calm the heart broken girl down.

Truth is, she wanted it too. If she could go back. She would have loved it too. She would have loved just running your parent's laundromat with you, doing taxes with you, growing old with you.

You would have loved her, and she would have loved you.

#angst #rd0265667 #kazuha #kazuha x reader #nakamura kazuha x reader #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim kazuha #kazuha fanfic #nakamura kazuha fanfic #le sserafim kazuha fanfic

[simmysunset]

Whoever Loves Her Next - 07

wordpress version

Throughout the next few weeks after I told my parents, the name of the game was avoidance. I was avoiding everything possible when it came to even thinking about Harry, but the world made this harder on me than I ever would have thought.

I should have known before ever getting on the plane to Florida that I would be caught by paparazzi there. It hardly took 24 hours for the pictures to spread all over social media, along with the presumptions from both fans and magazines. Most of them were correct in assuming I was pregnant, but neither Harry or I had taken to the press to confirm anything. I know he wouldn’t want to say something to anyone without my permission. As for me, I refuse to step back into the spotlight before I’m ready.

It takes a couple days and one post in particular for me to decide to log out of all my social medias for the time being. It was a short video clip from the night of the concert before we lost Michael, one that I had been refusing to see ever since it started spreading.

It shows Harry’s face the very moment he saw Alex offstage, signaling him to come off despite them being in the midst of a song. He didn’t hesitate. He nearly dropped his guitar and sprinted off the stage, knowing just by a glance that something was wrong. The video ends abruptly as everyone in the audience realized that something was happening. I held my phone against my chest and fought back the tears at the memories rushing through my mind.

From that moment, I knew I couldn’t handle anymore bombardment from the fans and press. I didn’t even announce my departure from my accounts, I just logged out without a word to anyone. If anyone I knew needed to contact me, they’d have to do it through a text or phone call.

The avoidance came in other ways, too. My coworkers had been asking about my trip, but I brushed it aside every time they brought it up. Occasionally, I would hear two of the younger staff members whispering when I would step into the break room for a drink. I knew it was about me, and yet, I still did my best to ignore it.

On top of that, I had put off making an appointment with my OBGYN almost every day. My annual exam wasn’t for another few months, so she would know something was up the moment I called. I hadn’t even worked up the courage to search for the office’s phone number yet. The closest I got was sitting on my bed in near tears, clinging onto the pregnancy test with one hand as the other wiped at my eyes.

I knew one of the hardest parts of being pregnant again would be telling my friends. I could hardly even admit it to myself, so saying it to another person felt like mission impossible. One of my closest friends, Clarissa, was the first one I told and was completely out of the blue.

She insisted on taking me shopping to get me out of the house, as she knew how depressed I was, but not the reason why. Her intentions were good, but all I could think about as she sifted through the racks of clothes was that soon, I’d be outgrowing all of mine due to the little person in my stomach.

“What you really need is a new dress,” Clarissa insisted. “A night out on the town with me and some hot guys is the perfect way to make yourself feel alive again.”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled as we went to the next rack, this one being full of short, glittery dresses. “I don’t really need new party clothes.”

“Well, then what part of the store do you want to go to?” She asked.

My stomach started twisting into a knot as I spoke. “Maybe the maternity section?”

The moment the words fall out of my mouth, I can feel her eyes on me. Her lips are parted not only in surprise, but worry. She knows how terrifying pregnancy is for me now, but I can tell that she is so shocked she doesn’t know what to say. I do it for her as the tears begin welling up in my eyes.

“I didn’t go on vacation. I went to Harry.” My voice wavers when I speak his name, and she reaches out to rest a hand on my shoulder while I wipe at my eyes to stop them from overflowing.

“He’s just so different from who he was,” I tell her. “And I know I’m different, too, it’s just…”

“Scary?” Clarissa assumes correctly, and I nod in response. “Are you scared that you’re too different to get back together?”

I huff in frustration when a tear manages to escape. I quickly wipe it away as I reply. “I’m scared of that; I’m scared of losing the baby. I’m scared of everything. To move too much or breathe too hard. I’m scared I could fuck it all up again and make him fall back into the pit he was in a few months ago.”

“You didn’t fuck anything up, babe.” She pulls me by my shoulder to enter a hug. This only makes me want to cry more. “And you can’t bend over backwards for him to try keeping him away from the pit. You have to focus on staying away from it yourself.”

A sob erupts from the back of my throat, and I squeeze her tightly. “I don’t know how to stay away when every day, I seem to be a little closer to the edge.”

“That’s what you have me for,” she assures me. “I’ll always be here to bring you back, okay?”

I sniffle as I rest my head against her. “Okay.”

beginning | previous | next

#sorry it's been a while #my motivation for this story dropped to 0 #but i'm slowly getting back into it #anyways i love clarissa #*whoever loves her next #sims 4 story #sims 4 storytelling

[aroaceconfessions]

I'm not sure if what I want to confess is more about a-spectrum or neurodivergent maybe but it's about feeling things in a different way than the rest of your surroundings - so maybe some other Aro and Aces would relate?

My memories of reacting "different than normal" begin early:

- as a preschool kid when I was told that I "look pretty" - my reaction was: cry. Maybe I was just a bashfull child not knowing how to deal with a compliment but my mom always thought it was unusual.

- in my primaly school whenever I've been called "brave" after having a shot, vaccine or blood sample taken - my reaction was: feeling confused and kind of humiliated. It got to be clear: the feeling was not caused by having injection itself - but by those words that were meant to be a compliment. Why? At that time I was one of the very few children never crying of fear before vaccination but I thought that everyone else was reacting stupidly (what was the point of crying? they could not avoid the vaccine anyway!). But in my head it was them who were weird, I was normal, obviously: a mature and reasonable little person among those unrationally behaving kids. And now adults talking down to me and making a fuss over my "bravery" when I was just being normal - felt like rejecting my rationality and maturity! By them I was assumed to be just another unreasonable child who only exceptionally behaved the right way. Also if I was told "it won't hurt at all" before injection - it felt wrong as well: I took really a lot of shots (treating my otitis as 3 yo) and I've been perfectly aware of that it DOES hurt but in bearable way - so why must you lie to me?! Just do what you have to and let me go, don't treat me like an idiot!

- years later, in my early 20's - when I noticed my peers getting excited about hot stuff and sex topic I felt the same as with injections: I am that rare reasonable, grown up and seriously behaving person surrounded by overreacting immature youth. I got interested in sexual stuff myself too,  but unlike others - I felt like it's nothing to joke at and like nothing I ever wanted to talk about with anyone. My interest in sex gradually became some kind of passion - but it was strictly theoretical and never attached to any particular person around me. Now I already studied scientific stuff about it as well as movies and pictures for years - and whenever I hear anyone using a word "virgin" or insinuations that someone who never had sex therefore is naive and unexperienced - I get that feeling of being humilated: like rejecting my knowledge and maturity all over again! Just because I never done it myself doesn't mean others know more about it than me!

- I know I'm aro-ace cause I never enjoyed anyone touching me in the sexual way or using too much diminutives when talking to me. Just thinking about it makes me feel confused again - as if I was mistaken for somebody else. Sorry, I am independent adult person, not to be used as a sex toy nor be treated like a child - talk to me, treat my body serious, don't underestimate me!

- I feel less uncomfortable thinking about pain. Like when I use electric depilator to remove my legs hairs - it feels satisfying and almost pleasurous. When I went to the spa once with my friend - I could not force myself to take a massage (I hate being tickled so much I might reflexively hit someone in defence). Yet I enjoyed having a body peeling very much. I guess I'd rather like to be scratched than caressed. I sometimes wonder if maybe I would potentially enjoy BDSM instead of sex?

Is anyone else of you Aro and Ace people feeling so confused about others misinterpreting your attitude? Like about diminishing your actions as exeptional and not treating you, your words and your knowledge seriously enough?

Submitted May 3, 2023

#aromantic #asexual #aroace #aspec #aro #ace #arospec #acespec #arose #neurodivergent #sensory issues #overstimulation #impostor syndrome

[shiningwonderland]

Camus (All Star) Memorial

Translator: Mimi (twitter: _mimisaurora)

Friend End Memorial - How to Quickly Heal Burns

“Huh? What’s that?”

I didn't understand what he was saying at first.

“Camus sounded like he was worried. Please don’t make me repeat myself, Ranmaru.”

He gave me a glance looking pretty annoyed, speaking pretty indifferently.

It was November.

We were in the studio together so I could record the bass for one of Ai’s songs.

It was when we were taking a break that the subject came up.

“I must admit, I was a little taken aback myself. I didn't suspect that even Camus could panic.”

“I remember him being pissed when there was a hidden camera in the dressing room.”

“Oh, yes, I do recall that happening.”

It was part of the show's plan, but Camus must have been pissed because he was putting on a character for work, and it would have hurt his career to have his true personality broadcast.

“He looks pretty collected, but he's prone to getting worked up, isn't he?”

I sometimes hear stories about how he sometimes breaks his stupid little butler character in the middle of a job.

I'm almost impressed how nobody outside the agency has figured out how he really is.

“But this… it’s different from that incident.”

“Huh?”

“He mentioned there was a burn and wanted to know what to do to make it heal faster.”

“That guy burned himself?”

“No, not Camus. It was someone he knew.”

I see.

“I then asked him why he didn’t take them to the hospital, but he clarified that the person who’d burn themselves insisted they were fine, and that it would be difficult to take them anyway.”

“Then, you should just drop it.”

If this person says they were fine, it doesn’t give everyone else the right to start babbling about it.

“Alright…”

Ai’s brows furrow as he thought, clearly not convinced of something.

“Is it common human behavior to worry and fret over others as if it were happening to you?”

…What was that all of a sudden?

“It’s not?”

“Well… Maybe.”

“That in itself is fascinating to me, but I never considered Camus to be capable of such feelings, so this is taking me a bit of time to process.”

“...Right.”

“I always considered Camus to be rather irregular.”

“Then, your impression was wrong.”

“Well… That may be true. What about you?”

“Me?”

“Do you ever get so consumed with worry over other people?”

“Not at all.”

I just wanna be done with this nonsense.

When I tried to reach for the bass guitar, the corners of his lips lifted a little.

“Of course, because you’re a “lone rockstar”.”

“You brat… are you looking for a fight?”

“No way. I wouldn't waste my time like that.”

Finally, the conversation ended.

Or so I thought.

“I assumed Camus was someone who didn't care much for others, but I guess he can sound panicked too... “

Ai was still going on and mumbling to himself, as if he still had something on his mind.

“I don’t understand.”

“Is it possible for a person's nature to change along the way?”

“What could trigger such a thing?”

“Camus lies so much to begin with that it's difficult to choose which pieces of data are reliable.”

“And speaking of unknowns, I wonder what is causing the occasional drop in temperatures observed in the surrounding area.”

…This guy was a complete mystery too.

“Don’t know. Now stop wasting your breath and let’s have a go at this one more time.”

I could still hear him mumbling, but I didn't care, I got up as quickly as I could.

... although I say that.

Thinking back on it afterwards, I really couldn't picture Camus panicking for anyone else.

I remember my earlier conversation with Ai on the way back home from the studio.

He's the kind of guy who considers everyone but himself and his queen to be pests. The sight of him worrying about others is beyond the limits of my imagination.

It's much easier to picture something else. 

Like an alpaca standing on its head.

Or a hamster eating ramen noodles.

Who is he even worried about, anyway?

Camus probably doesn't owe Shining a thing, and it’s not like he gets along with his junior.

“I never… hear anything about his family.”

If this “earl” thing is true and not a farce, then it probably means he ain’t got much family left, since the title is something that’s inherited. 

Could it be a pet, then?

Doesn’t he have one? A cat, or dog…

Horse?

But how the hell would a horse get burned?

“Is it… that woman?”

Then it hit me. 

The composer who always stuck around the guy.

He mentioned they were together on the day we had dinner at his place.

I didn’t buy it because it smelled fishy.

But thinking about it now, that day, when I had spilled oolong tea on myself and we started talking, Camus flipped his lid.

“....”

He’s always in a pissy mood, but he’s been in an especially sour one whenever we talk to her….

“...Is the Earl is jealous? Camus is seriously in love with her.”

If I told Reiji and the others, they’d eat this up.

But I won’t because that would get too annoying.

But holy shit, I can’t believe it.

Camus?

I mean, I’ve come across plenty of composers, and I have to admit that woman has some talent.

She may even be a decent person compared to some of the other women out there.

But she’s so average.

She does not seem at all like the kind of woman Camus would be into.

In fact, why are they even living together?

How did this come to happen between the two of them?

The only thing in common between them is that they're partners.

I guess he prefers modest types like her? 

It doesn't suit him.

“This… is stupid. What am I even thinking about?”

Once I'd collected myself, my stomach rumbled.

“That reminds me… I’m starved.”

I guess it's no good being hungry, because when you are, all you can think about is stupid things.

“I’m… going to go eat.”

I lightly scratched my head and turned my feet toward my apartment.

I don't care about other people. 

As long as it doesn't affect my work.

I'm just going to sing my own song.

#utapri #all star #all star camus #camus utapri #camus memorial

[duckduckhjonk]

I am once again infodumping about the Mayhem/my headcanons about them. It's late and I think about them a lot.

A lot of these are random headcanons.

-Ok first off this is maybe me projecting but Zoot absolutely has sensory issues. I think mainly about textures and clothing. He's almost always wearing loose and soft fabrics, I think he just doesn't like tight clothes or certain types of fabric.

-The rest of the band probably get most of his clothes custom made. They get it.

-I also think that has something to do with his bracelets. Sure he got them post original Muppet show but they've stuck around. Again, projecting here, but I have bracelets and they're mostly a sensory thing for me. I like the weight of them on my wrists and feel wrong without them.

-Lips has 0 people permanence. If he doesn't see you, he will assume you're dead.

-Sometime after the band started touring, Animal had to have the cone of shame put on(reasons unknown)... It was some of the most traumatizing years of the band.

-Janice has like- photographical memory of everyone's food taste and allergies. She will use those allergies against you though. Watch out.

-Floyd has really bad dandruff. Uhh don't ask me why, he just does.

-there was a few years on the road they kept a cat with them in the van. They took good care of it. It's name was Xylophone.

-One night it just... Wasn't in the van anymore, the band looked everywhere for it but to no success. Lips assumed it died and everyone kinda just spent a few nights mourning it.

-it didn't actually die, it just got taken by some child who took it's collar off and essentially kidnapped it.(<- the band never found out about this. The cat's still alive, they don't know though.)

-Not even the band has seen Zoot take his sunglasses off.

-Dr. Teeth sleeps shirtless. Again, don't ask me why.

-Most of the band take turns sharing the wheel. While Teeth is there most of the time, Lips, Janice, and Floyd also take turns driving.

-Animal and Zoot are banned for obvious reasons.

-One time in New York City, Zoot found a pigeon named Frank. He tied a picture to it and sent it to someone.

-No one knows who received the picture.

-If Animal doesn't have a hammock to sleep on, he sleeps directly on top of Floyd. Nothing Floyd has tried prevents this. It makes it hard to sleep at night because Animal is a lot heavier than you think.

-Lips has the most normal family out of anyone in the band. He loves his parents, his parents love him.

-He raised chickens as a kid. They were kept in a coop in his backyard.

-50% of Animal's stomach contents is wood from eating drumsticks. It's not healthy.

-Dr. Teeth has never bitten anyone. Ever.

-Lips likes catching bugs.

-if a bug gets into the van, Janice and Lips make a combined effort to catch and release it before Animal is able to eat it.

That's all for now!

#muppets #headcanons #Hjonk's headcanons #the muppets mayhem #the electric mayhem #lips muppet #zoot #floyd pepper #janice muppets #dr teeth

[lesbianlovelanguage]

Thunder in Our Hearts

my contribution to the flood of fix-it fics <3 read it on AO3 here!

Part Two

-----

Billy woke up the first time in who knows how long. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to know how much time he had been in this hellscape, where the only thing he could do was replay his memories like a horror movie made specifically to torture him. There were only so many times he could watch his mom leave, the disappointment on his father’s face morph into violent anger, Max crying over his dying body. 

There were only so many times, and he was terrified when he realized he wasn’t sure what he would do when he finally snapped. He’d hurt so many people already, had been hurt so many times before. What new hell would he unleash unto the world? He was afraid, and tired and a million other things he couldn’t process, so he had slept.

Except he wasn’t asleep anymore and he wasn’t sure why.

He opened his eyes to find that he was in the same world he had been in since he died, a twisted version of Hawkins covered in vines and ash. Though he wasn’t sure why or where he was going, he found himself walking through downtown Hawkins. He knew it was the Shadow Monster’s will, and there was no point in fighting it anymore. Max was safe. Her nerdy friends were safe. He couldn’t hurt anyone anymore. Not here, trapped in what he could only assume was hell.

He passively watched the world go by as the Shadow Monster directed his body, trying to empty his mind again before the memories could start. It wasn’t very long before his body stopped and he tried to look around some. Most of this place looked the same, especially the further you got into the woods. The oppressive blue light, the vines that slitered like snakes. The only variation was what appeared to be decaying tombstones, all crumbled marble and obscured names. This was a new one for him. The Shadow Monster had never taken him to the graveyard before. 

Dear Billy, she started. I don’t even know if you can hear this. 

He could, but why? What was she doing here? It had to have been another sick game for the Shadow Monster to play, trying to break Billy’s already broken soul.

He and my mom started getting into fights. Bad fights. 

Fuck. Now he knew it was a hallucination. He knew Neil loved Susan. As much as his father could love someone. He certainly valued their picture perfect family too much to jepordize it. This was just the Shadow Monster trying to fuck with him. Still, he couldn’t help but send out a useless thank you to the universe that Max had gotten away from him.

And sometimes I imagine myself running to you, pulling you away. I imagine that if I had, you would still be here.

Billy wanted to cover his ears and scream, but he couldn’t make his arms move. He wanted the Shadow Monster to quit with this bullshit. Hadn’t he suffered enough? Why couldn’t it let him drift away?

I imagine that we could’ve become friends. Good friends. Like a real brother and sister. And I know that’s stupid. You hated me. I hated you. But I thought that maybe we could try again.

No. It wasn’t stupid. He wanted that too. He hadn’t known how to be a brother, how to open himself up and use his words rather than fists, but god he wanted to try again. Try to be better, for her. Try to be someone she would want to call brother.

But I think that maybe a part of me died that day too.

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

Something snapped deep inside his chest at Max’s apologies. This may have been an attempt to shatter him, but the Shadow Monster had taken a wrong turn with that one. Instead of hiding his wounded pride, he did what he’d always done. He fought like a wild animal, teeth bared as he desperately tried to regain control over his own body. He wanted to run, to scream, to cry. He wanted to be free, to have control again. He wanted to find Max and tell her not to cry over him. He wasn’t worth it.

And then a fog began to roll in, and through the haze he could see the outline of a figure begin to flicker into existence. No. No. He’d died to save her. Why the fuck was she here now? Fucking brat can’t stay out of fucking trouble.

No, it had to be fake. Just like all of the other memories. But why did this one feel so much more real?

He felt the Shadow Monster begin to drag his body forward and a new force push him to start speaking.

“Max. I’ve been waiting to hear those words Max. Waiting so very long,” the Shadow Monster lied. Billy had never wanted to see his little shitbird sister again. At least then he would have known she was safe. But instead, she was here and he couldn’t tell if she was real or just a nightmare.

“But it wasn’t the full truth, was it Max?” The Shadow Monster had finally pulled him close enough that he could see her face through the fog, and it felt like a punch to the gut. Seeing her eyes puffy from crying, fear clouding her face. It was an expression he was all too familiar with, having been the cause of it himself over the years they’d known each other. But this time it wasn’t just himself. This time it was some other thing, something Billy could have protected her from. Had died trying to protect her from.

He ached to reach out and touch her. Surprisingly, the Shadow Monster allowed him this, moving his arm to touch her face more gently than he had ever managed to in his life. She felt so real. Could this really be something other than a trick?

“You know, I think there’s a part of you, buried somewhere deep, that wanted me to die that day.” He was forced to admit his deepest fear, to watch Max’s face twist down in guilt, to feel his cold dead heart ache. He couldn’t blame her though.

“That was maybe even relieved.” Of course she would be. He was her monster, her shadow in the closet. Her Neil. God, he wanted to puke. Instead, he redoubled his fight against the Shadow Monster’s control, if only so he could just run away. “Happy.”

Max said something in response, but it fell on deaf ears as Billy poured his concentration into getting something, any part of his body back in control. He felt the Shadow Monster responding, but it was all a blur. Until…

“And why, late at night, you have sometimes wished to follow me.” Something cracked deep inside of him, inside the part that had laid dormant ever since the kids had locked him in the sauna. He sobbed in pain, and it must have been strong enough to do something as he felt a single tear drip down his face. Maybe he could do it. Break free from this neverending nightmare. 

The Shadow Monster must have felt the crack too though, as it spit out some threat that tasted like bile in the back of his throat, because as soon as it finished using his voice to intimidate Max, he felt himself be violently ripped away from her, from the graveyard. The last thing he saw as he began to pass out was a true monster, something that looked like it had been ripped out of a horror comic, leered over Max as she tumbled over the raised edge of the grave. 

He hadn’t fought to stay conscious since the battle in the mall, but he felt himself strain as hard as he could until nothingness consumed him once again.

-----

s/o to @ihni and @hrngrvlv for being amazing cheerleaders! Thank you guys so much

#it has to get worse before it gets better #but I'm working on a part 2 already i promise! #also yes i know the title is insanely unoriginal but I've been listening to the song on a loop for 48 hours #tw dissociation #billy's not doing too hot in this one #billy hargrove #max mayfield #season 4 fix-it #tay writes

[writeious-hand]

Senior Year

This is a Kids on Brooms fic, based upon my home game, not Dimension 20. I will probably post about it whenever I write a new one.

Fic is below the tag. I don't think I need to have any trigger warnings for this one. I will warn you I don't have a Beta reader. The current game takes place when the main characters of this fic are freshmen, and now they are seniors.

For context - Nimble Rings is a fictional sport. Kallipso, Larch, Tracy and Peightyn are 2 grades above Isidore and Octavious.

The cool September breeze fluttered Isidore’s checked skirt. The Blue Harvest Dance was once again around the corner, and based upon her most recent vision and Peightyn continuing to interfere in Academy politics post-graduation, she knew Octavious would be Harvest King again this year, as much as he would dread it.

Isidore’s soft smile hid her memories of her first year at Greta the Great’s Dedicatory Academy. This time 3 years ago, they were frantically campaigning for Peightyn to be Blue Harvest Queen, aiding in defending the school from the Wraith Radicals, and scrambling to get to class on time after nights in the woods. She still could see the shock on his face as Kallipso was crowned Harvest King alongside Peightyn. They had all assumed it would be their nimble rings Captain, Larch Pine, but the respect each student had for the one that had helped open their eyes past the fear of superstition overcame Larch’s newfound popularity. Kallipso won by a landslide.

The opening dance between the two had a stuttering start, but once Peightyn forcibly calmed Kallipso’s nerves they made quite the striking pair. Definitely one to fear, both on and off the nimble rings slate.

The year after they graduated had been rough. Larch, Kallipso, Tracy and Peightyn all were gone. Enola was gone, which was a great weight from Isidore’s shoulders. But the two underclassmen were finally upperclassmen, and dealt with more of the social struggles than before. Isidore’s parents finally… finalized the devorce. She lived mainly alone, not being close with either of her parents and given an allowance and home by both, in order to be closer to the school as both her parents started their own social lives once again. They found it was beneficial for their teenage daughter to not be in the house during this time.

She and Octavious had their first fight that year. Calls to their respective mentors and confidants, and an entire week without speaking, the longest they had gone since their first meeting, when she saved him from a hawk while he was a squirrel. It ended when he came to see her at what was dubbed “their '' study table in the library and admitted that seeing her bonding through Head Girl responsibilities with Salem Fredrickson made him have doubts of their friendship when everyone else was gone. Was their friendship only possible because of being forced together freshman year? It was a glaringly wrong statement, and applying the simplest logic showed just how strong their friendship actually was.

That's not to say their friendships with the upperclassmen had ended now that they were not at the Academy. Their group chat was constantly active, between Peightyn’s coffee pictures and Kallipso’s fae garden updates on what had bloomed that day, Larch’s post-workout pics that showed off his now scarless upper chest, and Tracy’s frantic reactions to all of the events, the witch twins never felt left behind by their adult friend group. They could update them on new classes and skills (and Peightyn and Tracy had to know about who had taken their spots as ‘baddest bitches' at the Academy, not that these upstarts had tried to challenge Isidore or Octavius…Well maybe they had tried, but Peightyn didn’t need to know that).

Isidore was broken from her musings as she felt a hand slide into hers. She didn’t have to fear others' touch anymore, now that her own curse was broken. Looking to her left, she could see Octavious looking as she had been, out over the cliffs, off to wear the mountains meet the sea. A now slightly older, exceptionally smart, young boy had asked them to figure out how it could be possible, and so they were planning on heading over that way to see a bit closer the mountainside that touched the sea’s edge without a beach at all between the two.

“Do you ever think about what life would have been like, had we never met?”

“Well. I think you would have died unknown. As a squirrel.”

Octavious gave her a pointed look.

“If Enola hadn’t taken my cabin, I imagine someone else would have needed to sit with me. I would have been left to find a group on the first day, and if you and Kallipso hadn’t picked me up at that point, I would have sat with Tracy at the gate. And if she hadn’t introduced me to Peightyn afterwards, it would have been a miracle. Or we would have still been in the same house and met that way, because I still wouldn’t have joined Hydrania because of my cousin. Even then, we had at least one class every day together.” Isidore paused and spent a moment in thought. .

“I don’t think there is any universe where we weren’t friends”.

Another moment passed. “That’s good.”

Octavious turned back toward the sea, his scarf wrapped around his throat, concealing the faint scars. Isidore knew it was more for her and the chill on the breeze than Octavious’ own feelings on the matter, but it didn’t stop her guilt from lingering. It was years ago, but she could still taste his blood on her tongue.

The sound of Octvaious’ clockwork familiar giving a clicking chirp broke her once agin from her memories.

“It is time for us to get back inside, the potion should be ready for the next step.” Octavius turned to leave, guiding her behind him by the hand. She took a few quick steps to catch up with the long legs that had surprised her over the summer between their freshman and sophomore years. Luckily, she had grown a bit too from the scrawny 13-year-old she once was. She could still hear Peightyn’s complaints about her lack of figure when they went shopping, but she was in her mother’s words “willowy”as if that was much kinder.

“Have I mentioned how much I love that I can’t understand your familiar?”

“Talking with animals is supposed to be looked at as a talent and skill.”

“Tell me that again after you hear the mice in the walls wishing to eat your dead corpse.”

“…Maybe you have a point”

The potions’ labs were well lit, ventilated spaces with shining clean metal tables. This was their third attempt at making a potion for one of their new underclassmen companions, to help reduce the effects of his “blessing” given by a veela ancestor. It made him give off an aura of allure whenever the moon was new, and caused many issues with hormonal teeangers to the point he had to have a room to himself and leave class for 2 days before and after. They both felt for their new friend and having some experience breaking curses, decided to try their hands at giving some solution to the more or less natural ability.

The first one was based off of a love potion cure, which would end the effects of enchantment potions or magic. This new potion only made Calistar lose his own romantic attraction for others for several hours. Not the intended effect and caused some issues with his attempts at blossoming a romance with a young drow girl, Dresilda.

The second wasn’t much better, and turned the allure to disgust and made all people decidedly un-attracted to Calistar. Again, a wrench in his actual attempts at a love life, as everyone avoided him like the plague for 2 days. He almost didn’t get to ask Driselda to the Blue Harvest Dance entirely, not that she would have accepted with him being under the effects of the potion. By the end of that adventure, Calistar and Dresilda were at the “talking” stage, constantly messaging and sitting together, but not yet official. With those two disasters out of the way, they were hoping this try would get it somewhere in the center. Reducing the allure without effecting the boy’s own emotions.

As was their nature, Isidore and Octavious worked seamlessly together, the quiet was not awkward or unsettling to the two, just the peace of being with each other and the occasional word or question as they worked off the recipe they had devised the day prior. When they were done, the potion would need to be reduced for several hours before they could add the final ingredients and bottle the syrup-like potion to reduce the veela appeal.

“What does the effect feels like… the allure?” Octavius posed the question as they were washing up the used cutting boards and other kitchen-like utensils.

“I don’t know.”

“Haven’t you been around Calistar during the new moon?”

“I have, but I never got what the other girls described to me. They said it was like an invisible tether. Like they had to be close to him, and they wanted to be. There is a rosey haze in the mind and they forget their worries… I was always concerned, trying to either help Cally escape or get the interested parties away from him. What about you, I know it can work on men as well as women.”

“Only men who are interested in other men in any way. Just like it doesn’t affect women who only like women…” Octavious looked at her, curiously.

“I’m not gay. I don’t know why it didn’t work on me. Maybe it is because I’m part vampire, and vampires have their own natural appeal.” They both paused in their washing.

“I had forgotten about Stephen.” Octavius shuttered. Isidore got a dour look on her face as well.

“Enola was raised much more closely with my paternal grandmother. Just like Calistar’s family, they are a bit… old fashioned. Veelas, from what I understand, used to have a similar companion like the classic vampire thrall.”

The mood lightened as Isidore let out a slight giggle. “You know, when I first met Peightyn, I thought she was part Veela.”

Octavious looked at her incredulously, “Really?”

Isidore’s smile relaxed, “Really. Everyone loved her though she treated them harshly, and I knew she wasn't a vampire, so I looked into what other humanoids could enchant others naturally. She just had so much confidence, I thought it impossible for a pure human.”

Octavious grinned back, leaning on the sink for a moment, “In the end, it turns out Kallipso is the more likely to be part veela, with his ties to the Feywild.”

“Same confidence, entirely different appearance.”

“Exactly! We should give them a call once we finish up.”

Isidore grabbed the sponge once again, “Only as long as you don’t bring up that I thought Peightyn was part veela. She has enough to hang over my head.”

Octavious dried with the already damp towel. “I’m well aware. Between your first conversation with Larch… crying about accidentally shouting at her when she definitely deserved it after spreading rumors about you--” “I didn’t know that back then!” “--And of course who could forget our first Nimble Rings match as a team?”

Isidore’s face had that pale blush. “I told you I tripped. That was my first time rollerblading!”

“But you still ended up getting stuck in our own Herbology trap! Tracy freaked out when she realized you hit into the cow plant.”

Isidore flicked droplets of water into his face from the soapy sink. A few blinks showed his shock at the action. She began to get nervous from his lack of reaction or response.

“I’m sorry! I just --” The short lived apology died on her lips as a little shriek escaped instead.

“Don’t start what you’re not going to finish.”

Isidore’s eye glittered with the proposed challenge as Octavious realized he provoked one of the best Hydrokinesis casters in the school into a water fight.

The battle would have been one told at the school for generations to come, if anyone had been there to witness it. Both careful of the still boiling cauldron in the corner, every other inch of the room was doused and drenched as the pipes strained under the force of the water coming out of them. Tendrils snapped just as fiercely as did the towel Octavious had been using for drying dishes.

By the end, both seniors were soaked, the floor was covered in an inch of water and they were both giggling uncontrollably sitting on the ground, backs to the closed cabinets with heads leaned against each other. Taking deep breaths, they finally calmed down. Octavious’ bangs were plastered to his forehead, cheeks pink and his scarf had been lost halfway through their epic battle. Isidore’s glasses were fogging up, so she took them off to try and clean them with the bottom of her oversized sweater, this one stolen last year from Kal when they visited the garden during the winter break. Her eyes were a bright violet as they glanced up at him through pale lashes. Her palest of pink lips were parted as she breathed deeply in a vain attempt to control the last of her giggles.

It was at this point, they both were certain. No matter what universe they were in; as friends, as lovers, as siblings or as parents. They knew that they would find their way to each other. Through countless lifetimes and parallel universes. They were soulmates, plain and simple because there was no one who understood them like the one that sat beside them. Their pride, their fear, and doubt, and their view of the world. Through every hardship and the times of smooth sailing, they could count on each other. It has been almost instant, from the moment they were in the same space. The pair existed on a different wavelength than everyone else, and finally, they found someone who matched.

For Isidore, she had never had someone see her like he did. She never had anyone who shared her interests, or encouraged her pursuits. Someone just as interested in reading, or creating. Someone who had similar social problems.Someone who would listen to her when she spoke. Who dared her to branch out but knew and respected her limits. The person who encouraged her after years of silence to stand up for herself, because she was worth it.

For Octavius, he had someone his whole life who knew what he was thinking, who he was almost never without. Then suddenly, she was gone and he was alone for the first time. Isidore finding him on the train he realized later, for that moment, part of the hole in his chest was filled. No one could replace his twin, but Isidore had always given him part of that feeling of connection he had lost. She spoke to him without pity but with an understanding of a lifetime of pain and an outreaching hand to help him up, when he was ready.

New students, acquaintances in other houses and even their families had assumed they were dating. And maybe one day they would. But for now, they were two lonely kids, who found the world a little brighter by facing it together. And that was all they needed to be.

#kids on brooms #fanfic #my writing #my oc writing #OC #fiction #ttrpg #healthy relationships #fluff

[leeryeels]

depressed teenagers

#i had assumed the pictures were taken at time of memory. maybe i was wrong about this. #one of the various wips i didn't think was worth finshing but since sequel is imminent why not lol #i was too lazy to add the dirt so please imagine it

[seijorhi]

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too. 

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it. 

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo. 

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away. 

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy. 

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences. 

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife. 

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would. 

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.” 

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you. 

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication. 

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder. 

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign. 

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you. 

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in. 

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is. 

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever. 

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe. 

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you. 

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin. 

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place. 

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her. 

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign. 

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator. 

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening. 

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him. 

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold. 

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law. 

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally. 

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide. 

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite. 

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit. 

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites. 

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with. 

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you. 

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same. 

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him. 

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick. 

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is. 

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind. 

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you. 

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second. 

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind. 

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him. 

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland. 

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance. 

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere osamu miya #yandere osamu x reader #yandere osamu #yandere osamu miya x reader #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: infidelity #angst #drunk reader #manipulation and gaslighting ahead y'all #dilf osamu

[bxckybarness]

What I Missed - Loki Laufeyson

summary: while in custody at the TVA, loki realizes what he misses from the future, only to be surprised by what he gets in the present

word count: 2100+

warnings: a little angsty, a little emotional, mention of loki’s death, episode 1 spoilers

Today was certainly not Loki’s day.

Over the course of a few hours (or more, or less, this is the TVA, afterall) he had been in the custody of the Avengers, had happened upon the Tesseract and escaped from New York. It seemed too good to be true, and it was. Just when he thought he had truly outsmarted the Earthly heroes again, he was imprisoned and taken again.

Now here he was, under the supervision of the Time Variance Authority and one, Mobius, a bizarre administrator in charge of tracking down the most dangerous of variants. It all seemed like madness to Loki. He was used to silly games and grandiose tricks but this story of timelines and space lizards seemed beyond even his own trickery. It seemed downright absurd. And annoying.

He had been subject to what he would call an interrogation. Mobius, however, called it a simple conversation. A slideshow of his life, his “greatest hits” as Mobius had called it and a relentless fire of questions, the memory of which continued to burn in his memory:

Should you return, what are you going to do?

King of Midgard? Then what, happily ever after?

King of Space?

Why does someone with so much capability just want to rule?

Do you enjoy hurting people?

That one had burned most of all. Did he enjoy hurting people? Hardly. And it was upsetting to him that anyone would think that. But he also understood what he appeared to be to every other living creature. He had just relived the moment in which he killed that daft agent and his mother. His mother. He refused to believe he was at fault for that. Frigga was the only person who truly saw him and whom Loki cared for deeply. But it seemed so clear in the moving picture, he had led them right to her.

It was in that moment, with tears and rage in his eyes, he knew he needed to get out of the disastrous time circus. He no longer cared to be a monkey in this ring. If he could find the tesseract, he could escape and be free once again.

That plan had gone almost perfectly. The only thing that went wrong - there is no magic in the TVA. No matter how many times he held the tesseract in his hands, wishing it to take him back to Midgard or Asgard, he was met with nothing but the bland walls in this TVA Time Theater. There was no hope in escaping.

Feeling exhausted, Loki slowly moves toward the table in the center of the room. He sits down and admires the machine in front of him. As grim as the stories it held could be, it was still quite fascinating that it could replay the highlights from his life - in a weird way, at least. He reaches out and turns the knob, searching for the moment his mother dies. He finds it and watches in silence for a while, tears beginning to fall down his face.

He turns the knob again.

He sees a future version of himself sitting next to his father and Thor. He watches as his father declares his love for his sons. Sons, plural. Both Thor and him. A small smile graces Loki’s face before Odin disappears, leaving the two men behind. Loki holds back a sob as tears continue to flood from his eyes. His father did love him, did see purpose for him. He wasn’t just the mischievous son. He’s sad that it took this long to understand that, and sad that he never got to experience this himself, even if a future version of him did.

Another turn of the knob.

This scene immediately feels different. He sees a garden, full of life, beautiful flowers blooming in every direction. He sees himself, sitting under a tree smiling next to a young woman. As the scene progresses he realizes this version of him is smiling at you. He lets out a small gasp when he watches the pair share a kiss and wipes the quickly falling tears from his cheeks. He had always loved you, but had never gotten the chance to tell you. The two of you had met through Thor, when he brought both you and Jane to Asgard. He had taken to you quickly, enjoying your similar sarcasm and humor - something that was scarce within his home realm. You, like his mother, had always seen the good in him and had understood his struggle. It was something he would never understand, you being of Midgard. You knew what he had done and had been there to see the destruction, but still saw him not as the God of Mischief or Earth Enemy #1, only Loki. He aches for the fact that he never got to feel the happiness his future self did, especially when it was happiness with you.

Turn the knob.

Loki and Thor stand in a room together. Loki lets out a small laugh in the midst of his tears, wondering how his oaf of a brother managed to lose an eye. Maybe a dumb bet between the two of them, maybe there was a battle amongst the nine realms. He’s quickly pulled from his thoughts as he hears Thor speak.

“Maybe you’re not so bad after all, brother.”

“Maybe not,” the future Loki responds.

“Thank you,” Thor replies, “If you were here, I might even give you a hug.”

“I’m here.”

Loki smiles and nods to himself. From where he’s sitting now, it’s a wonder that he and his brother ever made up. He realizes now that the fighting and the sibling rivalry may have all been in his head. He, again, curses himself for leaving New York and allowing himself to miss these moments that he’s been waiting his whole life for.

Fast-forward.

He and you lay in a room, seemingly on the same ship as the previous scene. You lay snug against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you. You hum softly before speaking up.

“I love you, you know.”

By the look on both of your faces, it’s the first time this has been said out loud. There’s nervous tension in the room, Loki can feel it through this screen. He somehow knows the words his future self is going to say before he hears them.

“I love you too, darling. You bring out the best in me.”

You snuggle closer to him, if that’s even possible, and there’s a comfortable silence for a few seconds. Loki takes a moment to admire this picture. It was something he had wanted since he had first met you on Asgard. You had stuck out like a sore thumb, dressed in your casual Midgardian clothes. He couldn’t have missed you even if he tried, nobody could have. And boy was he glad about that now.

“Promise me something,” he watches himself say.

“Anything,” you whisper. “Anything for you, Loki.”

“Promise me, no matter what, you’ll always help me see the good in myself. I’ve too long suffered at the hands of those who desperately wish for me to see the bad.”

You let out a laugh and the Loki stuck in time laughs with you, “Oh, Loki. I wish you could see yourself as I see you. But I promise.”

“Thank you, my love.”

“You, Loki, may be a God, but you will always just be the man I fell in love with. The good, kind, and honorable man I call mine.”

Turn, again.

Loki sees himself kneeling and before he can question why, he watches as his future self moves to attack someone in front of him. When Loki realizes it's Thanos, he’s quickly on his feet, moving closer to the screen. The tears are gone now, and a silent rage burns behind his eyes. There was nothing from Loki but hate for the purple titan. He watches in horror as Thanos picks Loki up from the floor, a death grip on his neck. Loki wonders to himself how he would get himself out of this scenario had he been there. He assumes an illusion would do the trick. However, he notices your distraught figure behind the mad titan. He can hear your screams as you kneel next to Thor, who is imprisoned in cuffs. He hears you call out to him and he knows this will not end well. His suspicions are right when he watches his death. A shocked gasp comes from his throat as the tape in front of him runs out, nothing left to show.

Loki quickly sits back down and closes his eyes, trying his hardest to process the vision he saw. To one version of him, these would have been experiences and now memories. To him, though, these were all subtle tastes of a life he lost. He lost a touching moment with his father and a long awaited declaration of love from him. He lost the reconciliation with his brother and the confession that they had been more partners than rivals. Even though to him it had not yet happened, he missed it all, and it upset him deeply.

What hurt Loki the most was the idea that he lost his chance to feel his love reciprocated. Loki had never had much luck with romance. He was often seen as the sly younger brother and was usually too occupied to try and compete with Thor for the maidens at court. When he met you, he thought he had a chance. You were the first woman who saw him as his own person and not just as Thor’s brother. The relationship between the two of you had blossomed quickly and he found himself always sneaking away from his princely duties to see you. He had shown you his favorite places in Asgard and had opened up to you in ways he had never done before. He loved you and wanted you to be his. His one regret was not initiating a relationship before you had left for Midgard. And he thought his chances had been ruined by his actions in New York. Oh, how wrong he was.

Before Loki can dwell on his future more, Mobius comes bursting into the room.

“Ah Loki, glad you made your way back here. I have something for you,” he says.

“If this is another one of your tricks, I’m not currently in the mood,” Loki responds coolly.

“Just trust me on this one.”

Mobius shouts over his shoulder for someone to “bring her in.” Loki eyes the guards who walk in suspiciously until he notices who they bring with them. He can hardly believe his eyes. The gods in all the realms must be smiling down on him today, after all, because there you stand. He takes in your hideous red and white space suit, emblazoned with the Avengers logo, and he’s at least thankful he missed whatever battle this suit was required for.

He quickly stands and rushes over to you, a smile quickly gracing his face. You meet his gaze with a smile that is just as big and tears begin to flow from your eyes.

“Loki,’ you start. “Is that really you?”

He nods and speaks, although his words are barely audible, “It’s me, my love.”

“God, I thought I lost you forever. That’s why I went back in time to find you.”

Loki nods, now, unable to believe what he’s hearing, “You went back to find me?”

“Yes, but look what good that did me,” you say with a smirk. Loki’s heart pulls and he feels he could fall over right there. Norns, he missed you and your witty humor.

“Well,” he says, reciprocating your sly attitude, “You found me did you not? I might not be the same Loki as you knew, but I am still Loki.”

“The good, kind, and honorable Loki that I call mine.”

Loki smiles and you move forward to give him a hug. You’re cautious, though, because you aren’t exactly sure what part of the timeline this Loki came from. Maybe you had already been dating, maybe not. That was something to figure out another time though.

“Alright then,” Mobius says from behind you, “Let’s get you two caught up on what you missed with each other.”

Today was certainly not Loki’s day. And he had cursed all that was good that he had ended up at the TVA, taken from the life he knew. But now? He didn’t mind. He knew the relationships that were broken with his brother and father had been mended, he knew that one version of him had sacrificed himself for good and he had you, not only in memory but in the flesh. And sure, you had lots to rediscover within your relationship, but you would do that together.

#loki imagine #loki oneshot #loki x reader #loki laufeyson imagine #loki laufeyson oneshot #loki laufeyson x reader #loki series #marvel imagine #marvel oneshot #marvel x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x you #loki x y/n

[koqabear]

hit me with your killshot, baby (C.YJ)

Summary:

It was a small, quiet town you had decided to move into. One that you could help with any healing or magical needs. What you didn’t expect, however, was to face a demon too powerful for your own good. The worst part? Seems like he’s gotten attached.

Yeonjun x reader/ demon!yeonjun x witch!reader

Genre: fantasy, enemies to ?? thriller(?), angst if you squint me thinks

Word count: 3.0K

Warnings: general physical fighting/violence, mentions of scars, burns, bones breaking, knives, blood, fire, descriptions of pain (let me know if I should add anything!)

a/n: This might get another part if it gets a good response <3 Writing fantasy is rlly fun for me as well, I’m so glad that this is the story that got me out of my writers block lmao

comments and reblogs are always welcome and much appreciated, hope you guys enjoy! <3

Disclaimer!! Absolutely nothing about this story is accurate or real, anything and everything that mc the witch does is made up!

It was about three in the morning when you got the call.

“Hello?” You said, eyes squinted as you had just been woken up from your sleep. The line remained silent for a moment, leaving you to wonder if this was a scam caller. You spoke again, only to hear hasty footsteps becoming louder, presumably running towards the phone.

“Hello?!” The voice called out, the loud exclamation causing you to jolt awake. “Oh my god, oh my god!” Their exasperated voice rang through your line, and you stood to get properly dressed, already anticipating their request.

“Where do you live?” You asked sharply, grabbing the keys to your car and waiting for their answer. They stuttered out their address, the sounds of the rain coming into your ear. They were now outside.

“Please come quick, this spirit has been bothering me for weeks now, I could have sworn they were harmless-“ they cried into the phone, only to get cut off by your stern command.

“Leave your home. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

They agreed, their voice quiet and shaky, and you hung up, beginning to drive to your new task.

It was no secret your town had a problem with the supernatural. That was the whole reason you lived here.

‘The town witch’ was what they called you. You remember moving to this small town the moment you turned eighteen, the rumors of the paranormal town beckoning you to help. With potions and incantations by your side, you were the best damn thing this place had ever gotten. But that was six years ago, and you were young and naive. The scars and burns that riddled your body only served to prove your progress, marking your place in this town permanently.

You sighed, your grip on your steering wheel weak. You were, after all, the only help these people had. Late night calls like this were beginning to become much too common recently, leading you to wonder if something, or someone, new was beginning to pester this poor town.

You arrived at the house, the thunderstorm only helping to provide a stereotypical atmosphere for you to work in. You got out your car, pulling your coat tightly against your body, the wind around you strong enough to hinder your footsteps.

The two story home before you rattled in protest, the front door swinging open the moment you got close enough. You felt your heart begin to race, beginning to question if this was truly worth it. It seems that whatever had been pestering the homeowner was no small ghost. Walking inside, you were met with the dark and empty home, the hardwood floor beneath you creaking in protest as you carefully walked around, the house seemingly calming the moment you entered.

You breathed in slowly, attempting to steady your mind as you surveyed the house, recalling what the homeowner told you before hanging up. This had been going on for a while, but it seems that it only recently became too much for them. Whatever was in this home really liked the attention.

Before you were able to take another step forward, you were thrown off your feet, slamming into the wall to your left, the many picture frames and decorations falling before you with a loud crash. The door slammed shut, and you covered your head, bracing yourself as you felt the glass shards begin to be directed towards you.

It’s here, and it’s angry.

Just as the chaos around you finally dulled down, you were met with the sight of the trophy shelf in front of you beginning to shake, your eyes widening as you began to run. You muttered a quick incantation to help shield you, the dull sounds of impact that began to pound against your shield only serving to make you run faster.

The hallway in front of you suddenly seemed never-ending, it’s violet wallpaper becoming harder to see the more you ran. Was the house layout always like this? The hallway suddenly ended, leading you to an open room, quickly recognizing it as the living room. The lights suddenly flickered on, disturbing your concentration as you noticed a shadow walk past one of the doorways.

Seemingly knowing you perfectly, the spirit took this small wavering to throw a book in your direction, narrowly missing your face as you ducked to the side, only to get knocked to your knees as you felt a kick to your back, your disturbed concentration causing your spell to be broken.

You turned around in a haste, summoning your shield once more as you unsheathed the knife you had in your coat pockets.

“Show yourself!” You barked out, standing up as you surveyed the room. “I know you’re here.”

Silence.

The howling wind outside stopped, the flickering lights suddenly still at the sound of your voice. You gripped the handle of the knife harder, trying to not let the exhaustion seep into you. The lights began to slowly dim, a lit ember flickering in front of you, only to be followed by many more, swirling into a raging fire directly in front of you. You jumped back at the heat, the familiar sight making you frown in anticipation.

“You look tired,” the voice said, as smooth and elegant as you first remembered it, “Maybe I could fix that.”

Standing in front of you was no other than Yeonjun. Clad in black, his dark eyes stared into yours as he towered over you, his platform boots shining underneath the dull lights, his hair slicked back and pushed away from his face save for a few strands that hung to frame his face.

“Yeonjun.” You said, a feeling of anger stirring inside you the longer you stared at him

“It’s so nice to hear my name come from you again,” he sighed, taking a step toward you, only for you to step back in retaliation.

Yeonjun was none other than the first demon you tried to expel when you first came here. You had fought with every single potion and spell you spent years perfecting, only to leave hospitalized and unsure that he would return. However, as the years passed and no sign of him appeared, you had assumed that you had succeeded in your battle against him, any signs of hauntings or poltergeists disappearing after that day.

“You,” you snapped, everything finally piecing everything together. “You’re behind everything that’s been happening recently, aren’t you?” You took another step back as he began to laugh, throwing his head back as if you had just told him the funniest thing in the world. Slowly, he calmed himself down, his eyes playful as he took his sweet time responding to you.

“Maybe, why?” He said, beginning to walk towards you slowly. You held your ground, concentrating on keeping your shield steady, they grip on your knife tightening. He stopped centimeters away from it, the aura of the shield humming as his clothes grazed the perimeter, shocks emitting on impact.

“I missed you, you know,” He muttered, head leaning towards you teasingly as he stood just far enough to not be blasted away from your shield. “It wasn’t fun hopping from town to town, trying to mess with other witches that resided there. They were just too…”

“Weak.”

You were barely given a moment before the sight of Yeonjun’s bright eyes filled your vision, the feeling of a scorching heat overtaking your senses.

Yeonjun had trapped you in a ring of fire.

A pretty small one, too.

Slightly panicked, you looked around for any place you could escape, the memories of the last time you got so close to Yeonjun warning you to get as far from him as you could, only to find that it was just you and him, trapped in a space that wouldn’t even allow you to shift backwards.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice taunting as he waited for your next move, “Claustrophobic?”

The weapon in your hand began to heat up, your mind working its hardest to form a plan that would work and let you come out alive. You already knew what this fire around you would do; It wasn’t a simple flame, and the scar on your chest that throbbed painfully in this demonic presence was enough proof of that.

The moment you had healed from your first encounter with Yeonjun, you had put all of the knowledge you had acquired from experience and older, more experienced witches into putting a weapon that would help you with violent demonic problems like him. It had taken you weeks of pure isolation and meditation to engrave the correct energy into the weapon, afraid to make any mistake that could lead to something drastic. By the time you were finished putting the last few touches on the weapon, (a protective incation; the words engraving themselves in fine print letter by letter as you poured the last of your energy into it,) you could barely stand, landing yourself at the house of a medic that specialized with witches.

“You’re lucky that you managed to come out of this with just drained energy,” He had told you one day, standing next to your cot and handing you a homemade medicine; its taste was horrendous, but it did the job.

“I’ve dealt with witches, succeeding or not, that had come out in a much worse condition. You’re very powerful, that much I can tell.” He confessed, his face sobering as he remembered why it was that you were there, “Whatever it is that you’re dealing with, I wish you luck.”

And now here you stand, the results of all your hard work and patience vibrating the more you concentrate on defeating the demon in front of you.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to try and hurt me with that,” Yeonjun laughed, watching the way your grip tightened the moment he landed his eyes on it, your knuckles turning white with the force, “You know your little knife can’t hurt me, right?”

While it was true that regular knives were nothing more but toys to him, you knew that what you were holding was not a regular knife.

But he didn’t.

You remained silent as you stared at him, quirking a brow to silently challenge him. He scoffed, rolling his eyes at your demeanor.

“Giving me the silent treatment now?” He said, pausing for a moment before looking back at you, “Fine. You think you can hurt me with that little kitchen knife?” With a single movement of his hands, the fire dwindled, going down until it was no more,

“Go ahead. Give it your best shot.”

You suppressed a smile.

Yeonjun was a lot of things. Strong, powerful, smart, hell, he was a bit attractive too.

But above all, he was cocky.

Slowly, and as subtly as you could, you adjusted your stance, your eyes never leaving his, ready to let your shield down to attack him.

“No games?”

His lips quirked up, his hands coming up to his sides to show you his full vulnerability.

“Fair and square. Here, I’ll even let you make the first move.” His pitch black eyes twinkled with his signature playfulness, his thoughts displaying to you loud and clear;

I thought you were smarter than this.

You fought the urge to scoff, and instead surveyed him for a moment, stepping back to give yourself a bit more room. He watched intently, his body language open and relaxed, clearly not threatened by you.

You lunged forward.

Before Yeonjun could move away, you swung your knife towards him, your stomach sinking as you missed your target, his neck, and sliced at his face instead. His head turned to the side, a hiss emitting from him as he turned back to you, the slash on his cheek burning into his skin, going deeper into his face as he began to bleed.

Except that wasn’t blood that came out of his face.

A thin liquid, pure black and mixed with the poison of your blade, trickled down his face. Slowly, he brought up a hand to his cheek, touching tentatively at his wound, observing the black substance that poured out of him, before turning back to you.

“Come on, you little vixen,” he groaned, the nickname that he called you from your first meeting rolling off his tongue smoothly, “Not the face!”

Cocky bastard.

But now that your first move was over, Yeonjun took a minute to crack his neck, the black liquid trailing down to his neck as he slowly rolled his head back, pausing for a second before straightening up, smiling at you sweetly.

“My turn.”

Right as you were going to activate your shield once more, Yeonjun ran to you, landing a solid punch to your stomach, sending you flying to the wall behind you, the wind being knocked out of you on impact as you crumbled to the floor. Looking up, you saw him lunge at you once more, mumbling your incantation for your shield, successfully knocking him back at the last second. Tumbling backward, Yeonjun layed on the floor as you slowly got back up, using the wall behind you as support, the wild and unhinged sound of Yeonjun’s laugh echoing off the walls.

“Oh, my little vixen,” he began, sitting up as he watched you regain your composure. “I missed this. I must admit, you have gotten stronger.” Standing back up slowly, you felt the room slowly heat up. You shifted, knowing what it was that he was about to do next.

“It’s exciting.”

Running towards him, you did your best to avoid the trail of fire that was now after you, ready to swing your knife at him as you got closer. Just as you were close enough to him, you swung towards his neck once more, the predictable movement allowing Yeonjun to step aside, only to get a kick to his chest, successfully knocking him down and allowing you to dive down, the fire that was about to pierce the center of your back flying instead to the wall in front of you, the loud boom barely covering Yeonjun’s scream as you dug your knife into his shoulder.

“Fuck!”

You towered over him, straddling his waist and putting as much weight as you could to keep him down. His hands immediately reached up to clasp over yours, attempting to pull the weapon out, only to have you retaliate by digging it into his skin more, his cursing filling up your ears as he struggled against you.

Your jaw clenched and you felt yourself begin to sweat, the same ring of fire from before beginning to enclose around you slowly with no signs of stopping. Your hands began to burn underneath Yeonjun’s touch, obviously his doing as he seemed to concentrate on attempting to scare you off with the same fire that landed you on the brink of death from your first encounter.

But you refused.

You refused to allow the demon to live any longer, to continue to terrorize innocent and defenseless people in your town, or in this world at all. And now that you had him under your grip, your hands struggling to successfully behead him, you weren’t going to let a little bit of pain scare you away.

Your hands began to numb under the heat of his skin, popping noises emitting from under his iron grip. He was attempting to break your hands, to render them useless, but with the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you pushed on, biting back your own groans of pain and trying to concentrate on your current task, and nothing else.

“Come on my vixen, give it up,” he said, his voice laced with pain and false confidence that he attempted to use in order to make you believe that he remained unaffected. But as your knife inched towards his neck, piercing through his skin and emitting a loud sizzling sound, you knew that it was all a bluff by the way he winced, a low grunt of pain escaping him.

“I really don’t want to hurt you, you know,” he confessed, the ring of fire snapping angrily at your legs, the heat making you want to faint from overexertion. But you continued to push on, much to Yeonjun’s annoyance. “Fine, you asked for it.”

He screwed his eyes shut, the ring of fire slightly calming down, along with his iron grip on your hands. Just as you were about to take this chance and behead him, you felt something coming.

You turned around.

A ball of pitch black fire, resembling a pure void, flew towards you.

It all happened so fast. Throwing you off of him, Yeonjun staggered away from you, watching silently as the void of black washed over you, your screams of agony causing him to look away, the slightest bit of pity washing over him.

This was it, wasn’t it?

You couldn’t move as this void of fire washed over you, a feeling as though every bone in your body was being broken and you were being turned inside out coarsed through your system, your screams ripping through your throat, the wish for death appearing in your heart.

But right as you felt as though you were going to black out, it stopped.

And Yeonjun stood over you.

He watched as you lay there, completely paralyzed with pain. It took a bit before you began to breathe again, your chest barely rising, the air flowing into you causing you pain. Slowly, you opened your eyes, Yeonjun’s face inches from yours, the dark liquid from his wounds dripping onto you.

“I almost feel sorry,” he whispered, his lips grazing yours. You tried to hold on, to finish your job, but the very effort of having to breathe exhausted you beyond belief. Slowly, he pressed his lips to yours, the kiss more of a half hearted apology as he lingered there for a second, his lips still against yours. His mind reeled at the feeling, and he pulled away, a soft smile on his face as he slowly brought his hand down, hesitating before caressing your exhausted face slowly, spreading his own blood on your face.

He grinned.

“I look forward to our next battle.”

And he was gone.

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you collapsed.

#txt fanfic #txt imagines #txt ff #txt fanfiction #tomorrow x together #yeonjun fanfic #yeonjun imagines #txt reader #txt x reader #txt x you #txt x y/n #yeonjun ff #yeonjun x you #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun x y/n #fanfic #reader insert #txt oneshots #yeonjun oneshot

[words-writ-in-starlight]

day 1: "bound"

Essek cannot, in honesty, say that he is paying attentiong to anything being said right now. He should be—this is his trial, after all, his death sentence, the axe finally starting to fall—but he isn’t. He’s made his confession, did all he could to exonerate anyone who might be caught in the crossfire, offered the names of his co-conspirators. There is no defense to offer that the Bright Queen would consider worth hearing.

Indeed, laying it all out again has reminded Essek that I am a selfish and overcurious man, and thought nothing of it is not exactly an exculpatory defense, even if she did hear it.

So, Essek feels that his involvement here is complete, is the truth. All he has left to do at this trial is still be sitting bound and compliant in the accused’s seat when they sentence him to die, and he can do that without listening.

On a strictly professional level, he finds that he’s impressed with the efficiency of his arrest. He estimates that it’s probably no later than five hours past noon. He was called to an emergency meeting at the palace perhaps six hours ago. In that time, he has been accused of treason, thoroughly countered in an escape attempt, stripped of all spell components or possible weapons, and brought to the throne room to face the Bright Queen’s justice. Quana Kryn, the Dusk Captain of so many lifetimes, is no fool—she did all her work in secret, and only arranged for his arrest when she was sure that her case was beyond reproach.

She did her work well, Essek is obliged to admit, if only in the privacy of his own thoughts. And anything that she didn’t already know, he told them himself, under the strongest truth magic the clerics of the Luxon could muster. He had worked alone, after all. His confession meant that Verin, that the Nein, could walk free, and he freely admitted as much when his willingness to talk became the subject of question.

The Bright Queen had given him a look of cool, weary disappointment, and remarked that it was a shame he had come to loyalty so late. He had said frankly that he agreed, and that was the last they had asked of him.

And since then, he hasn’t been listening.

Instead, he is thinking. Not about magic, nor even really about saving himself. Essek has been living on borrowed time since the moment he walked out with a Beacon in hand, and he’s known it. He wants to live, but this feels—inevitable. This feels like it’s already over, and Essek is only dreaming this trial, these chains, and this sentence. So his mind wanders, and he’s surprised to find that there are more fond places in his memory than others, these days.

He’s thinking about the new cat that Caleb recently adopted, a scrawny gray-and-black kitten that Caleb coaxed with scraps for a week until it trusted him enough to be touched and taken inside off the street.

He’s thinking about how Caleb promised Luc that he could name it, next time the Brenattos visited Rexxentrum.

He’s thinking about Fjord and Jester making port in Nicodranas in a month, and Beau breaking into their study to sit on Caleb’s desk with Urana, the dainty black cat Essek brought Caleb two years ago, in her lap, just to tell them that they were going to teleport everyone to the Chateau for dinner.

He’s thinking about sunlight, strangely, and the way it glows on Caleb’s hair, makes the freckles on his eternally windburned cheeks bright on his skin, turns his blue eyes piercing and warm. Sunlight speaks with a Zemnian accent, in Essek’s life, and he might be the first drow in a long time to wish he was going to see it again before he dies.

Essek is so absorbed in his own thoughts, in refusing to listen to the voices deciding on the method of his death in favor of the memories of other voices, full of joy and exasperation and playful outrage and affection, that at first he assumes he’s imagining the words in his ear.

“Heeeeeeey, Essek, it’s me,” Jester chirps, and he can picture her sitting on the rail of the ship, kicking her feet and making Fjord count for her. “Just wanted to say hi, ummmm, we saw a whale yesterday that could have swallowed us whole! Let me know how—”

Essek almost curses himself aloud for not having thought of this.

Jester doesn’t Send to him every day, not all the time. Maybe one in three, on average. Sometimes she’ll go a week without Sending at all, and other times—usually when they’re becalmed somewhere and she’s bored—he’ll get three messages a day. She’s charmingly blasé about relative times, between the Lucidian and their landbound homes, or at least, Essek reminds himself that it’s charming when she wakes him up from a deep sleep. He had no way of knowing that she would Send to him here, now, and now she has, and he has no idea what to do.

Essek needs to answer her, though.

The reality of his situation—it doesn’t set in, all at once, abruptly. He’s been well aware of the reality of his situation for some time now. But the reality of this aspect, this unforeseen complication, comes home immediately.

If Essek doesn’t answer her, Jester will assume something is wrong. If she assumes something is wrong, she will either hammer him with Sendings until he responds, or, more likely, go directly to Caleb and demand his help in reaching Essek. He loves his friends desperately, but they have never encountered the idea of a half-measure, and he doubts the feeble protection offered by his confession will keep them from being apprehended as traitors if they actually come and try to rescue him.

If Essek had more time to think, he might take a moment to bask in the warmth of being a person whose friends might try to rescue him. But he doesn’t have time, and he doesn’t have the luxury of letting this slide.

He can’t risk them.

Essek raises both his bound hands and scratches at his brow, hiding his mouth.

“I’m sorry, Jester, I’m in a meeting,” he murmurs, so quietly he can barely hear himself. He keeps his voice as calm and matter-of-fact as possible, just like the times when she really has interrupted a council meeting or the like. “I may be quite busy for a week or so. I will Send to you when I can.”

There’s a pause, and then her voice comes back, dramatically forlorn.

“But Essek, we miss youuuuu,” she whines, and then bursts into giggles. “We really do! Send when you have time, and stay out of trouble! Love you!” She pauses again, and then hums tunelessly until the spell runs out.

“Essek Thelyss,” the Bright Queen says, her voice ringing across the throne room like struck crystal. “Rise, and receive your judgement.”

“I will,” Essek whispers, and then lowers his hands, and stands to face his sentence.

#whumptober 2021 #no. 1 #bound #critical role #mighty nein #fic #essek thelyss #this one has multiple parts! #stay tuned for later updates further into october! #i am trying to like...not think myself into a corner too much about these #please do not worry about my handwaved plot it is there exclusively for my convenience #anyway i like this because the bindings in question are both literal and figurative and i love that for essek #anyway i don't understand how whumptober works so i'm just straight up not titling them except with 'day 1' etc #and the with the prompt i used #they will get titles later when i collate them into an ao3 collection after the event #i do NOT anticipate getting to every single one of these by the way. so reserve your expectations to a healthful level.

[inriospocket]

Your fics are so amazing!!

Could you maybe do one where

Rio and Reader have split up and Rio had to go away so they hadn't seen each other for a while but when he comes back he wants to get back together but he sees reader on a date with someone else & assumes she has moved on N Rio is all sad but then eventually they run into each other and rio is still a sad boi until he finds out that she didn't want to go on the date and is still in love with Rio.

Thank you so so much for everything you've given us so far!

Thank you angel 🥰

word count ♡ 818

summary ♡ Rio and reader split after he had to leave but he comes back in hopes of rekindling their relationship.

situation ♡ fluffy

warnings ♡ none -

You knew only of the surface area of who he was, or merely what he showed you. You’d give anything to peel him layer by layer to see what was underneath but you never got the chance.

“Will I see you again?” You asked, searching his eyes for an answer.

You didn’t need him to speak; the way he scanned your face showed you how much he tried to capture you in his memory.

You didn’t know where he was going, what he did, when he’d be back.

No.

If.

You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t shady but you never cared because the chemistry was true. Knowing Rio for such a brief time, you shouldn’t have looked for him in everyone like you did. You were in over your head is what you always told yourself.

You tilted your glass slowly, your mind elsewhere as you stared at the swirling red. You looked up once you heard your date clear his throat. He looked at you with concern but you didn’t have the heart to tell him how boring he was.

He started to ramble again once he caught your attention and you wished you had an excuse to leave. You stared blankly, your thoughts racing over this picture-perfect man.

Handsome? Yes. Financially stable? Yes. Someone that would make your parents proud? Sure.

Safe? Absolutely.

There was nothing wrong with him, really. He just wasn’t Rio.

Something caught your attention through the window and for a brief moment, you could have sworn that you saw him but you figured you had just a bit too much wine.

You did have too much wine but you weren’t seeing things.

Rio had business to attend to downtown and he just so happened to catch you in the window with your date while he was walking back to his car.

You were his first thought coming back but once he saw you being wined and dined, he thought that maybe it was best to move on.

He probably would never admit it but it stung seeing you with someone else. As much as he tried to focus on the money or Marcus, or anything else important; you shared some of it.

Being with you made him feel less lonely, a feeling he thought he’d never be able to get rid of. That’s when he knew he was in love with you.

“Rio?” you called, only seeing the back of his head but you could spot him anywhere.

He took his attention away from watching Marcus play with his friends on the playground. He turned to you, the sting washing over him again for a moment.

“You’re back.” You smiled, taken aback that he was in front of you again.

You both didn’t know what to do. Shake hands? No, that’s weird.

As if standing awkwardly wasn’t weird either. “Can I hug you?” You asked, making the first move.

He nodded and gave you that infamous smirk but his eyes gave away the vulnerability he didn’t like to show. You didn’t waste any time, falling into his embrace.

His cologne was still the same but his heart thumped faster than you remembered.

“It’s good to see you, mama.” He said after you both let go of each other.

“Yeah, we should catch up. Unless you’re busy?” you said, noticing that he was here because of Marcus.

He peered in his direction and chuckled. “Nah, he’s got about 10 more laps around the playground.” He said.

You both sat on the bench, and you noticed the space in between you. A space only vacant for friends.

You both caught up as if there was never any time lost and that's all anyone could ever ask for. Someone to connect with regardless of time passed spent apart.

“You know, I think I thought you up. I swore I saw you yesterday.” You laughed it off. He pursed his lips with the thought of someone else’s hands on you.

“You did. I was taking care of something and I saw you. Lucky guy.” He said, sarcastically.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “It was just a date.”

“Yeah?” He said with a not so convinced tone. You smiled slightly at his uneasiness with you being with another man.

“Yeah. He’s a good guy, and I’m sure he’ll make someone happy. Just not me.” You said, looking down when you felt the heat rise in your cheeks.

Rio felt like a weight was lifted, knowing he still had somewhat of a chance. He lifted your head again to meet his gaze.

“I could do better.” He said, running his thumb over your chin softly.

As lovely as it sounded know the chemistry was still there, you were still scared it wasn’t going to last.

“Are you going to leave again?” you asked, searching his eyes again. This time, it was hopeful.

“Not without you.”

#rio x reader #rio good girls #manny montana #good girls rio #gg fic #fluff

[ragingbookdragon]

I’m Only A Crack In This Castle Of Glass (Hardly Anything Else I Need To Be) PT. 6

Batfamily x Batsis Story

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst Tags!: @itsnottilly @cloudyskylines @starflyer-104 @iwillstaywiththemforever @justine-en @weirdgirlfromtx @notsostraightweeb @candlestudy @willowoo @peterxwade24 @the-atlantic-french-fry @bad-bouquet-of-emotions @vvipgot7be @pure-princess-97 @atomicsoulhumanspy @foreverthefloor @natatawa-ako (I discounted the names of those whose blogs I couldn't tag! Y'all gotta get that figured out on your end!)

Author's Note: And here we are with the long awaited PT. 6 after like...five days of hiatus. FLASHBACK TIME. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

The silver doors closed in his face and Wally couldn’t find it in himself to turn around and face the family behind. She wasn’t wrong for being upset and hostile, but something deep down inside naively assumed there would’ve been a teary reunion at the end of the night.

He hung his head and sighed heavily, turning around to pay the piper. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I thought…I thought I could—”

“How could you keep this from us!” Dick interrupted, angrily thrusting the letter towards Bruce. “We could’ve done more to find her! Released some statement about this! Told her earlier that she was wrong!”

Bruce’s face still held that indomitable impassivity as he responded calmly, “Dick, it would’ve caused more problems for us all if we’d released something pertaining to the information on the letter.”

“And making up some bullshit about (Y/N) fucking off to Europe was the betteroption?” Jason retorted, pointing at his father as he accused, “All those letters and pictures she supposedly sent were bullshit too, weren’t they?” He scoffed. “Of course they were. She’s been living here for the last three years.”

Tim, who’d been silent as his brothers delivered their harsh criticisms, murmured, “Bruce has a point guys.”

“Seriously?” Jason replied, eyes wide in shock. “You’re defending this?”

“Putting out the information in the letter would’ve made it seem like Bruce was irresponsible and inattentive to us.”

“But we—”

“Jason, Child Services would’ve conducted investigations into the manor.” Tim leveled him with a serious expression. “They could’ve taken me and Damian if they found things not to their likings.”

Jason went silent in agreement, but his pursed lips told Tim that he didn’t like it, and the rest of them matched the stillness.

Wally collapsed into the seat beside Dick. “I’m sorry, Dick,” he murmured remorsefully. “I thought I could help fix things.”

Dick was silent for a long time, then he sighed and shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Wally. You did the best you could.” He turned his blue eyes onto the speedster. “If anything, it was ours for cornering her.” He rubbed his temples. “I should’ve listened to you the first time when you told me to meet in Central instead of doing…this. She might’ve felt less threatened if we hadn’t ganged up on her.”

Wally looked away, the memory of (Y/N)’s disappearance still fresh in his mind and replaying as if it was still happening.

***

He could count on one hand how many times things had actually unnerved him to his core, and this one by far topped every instance of dread filled panic. And it certainly wasn’t the ecstatic atmosphere of Wayne-Family-Pizza-Fridays that was drilling him so hard—it was the confession that kept slipping onto his tongue, forcing him to swallow it down to avoid ruining everything.

“Wally, you good?”

His eyes darted to Jason’s, who were uncharacteristically concerned, and he gave a tight smile. “Yeah man, just chilling.”

Jason snorted. “You look like you’ve got a stick up your a—your butt,” he finished when Alfred’s glare hit him.

“Sorry, just thinking about some things.” He took a piece of pizza from one of the boxes, handing it to Cass who silently held her plate out, then proceeded to get himself one. “Don’t let me stop the story,” he quipped, and Jason shook his head, but went back into some story about kicking Two-Face’s ass the other night.

Maybe he should tell Dick later? Wouldn’t that be better than telling the whole family? A frown etched onto his face as he chewed, but it all tasted bitter. (Y/N) didn’t want to be found and she seemed pretty adamant about it as well. Maybe she was right? Maybe they did ignore her a lot. Bruce doesn’t exactly have the best track record of keeping up with all his kids, I mean look at Jason. And then everybody else gets sidetracked in their own lives and things just get forgotten along the way. Was she one of those things? Their own sister? No, they couldn’t—

Laughter exploded across the table, Cass pressing her face into Tim’s arm to stifle her giggles, Stephanie cackling at Tim for snorting soda out of his nose, and that just set everyone off again. Dick and Damian pointing at Tim while their faces turned red from laughing so hard, Jason was crying at that point, and surprisingly, Barbara and Bruce had their heads in their hands. The only one not laughing was Wally.

“I know where (Y/N) is.” He blurted and the table went dead quiet as everyone stared at him.

For a full minute, no one said a word.

“What did you just say?” Dick asked and Wally swallowed, looking at him.

“I…I know where (Y/N) is.” He looked at Bruce and that weighted stare made the words fall right out of his mouth. “She’s been living in Central under the alias Melisandre Hale. Has been for the last three years.”

“What,” Dick started, but shook his head like he couldn’t comprehend. “What are you talking about, Wally? (Y/N)’s in Italy.”

Wally shook his head. “No, Dick, she’s not. And she never was. She left three years ago and has been living a completely different life up until now.”

“Until now?” Jason repeated. “What do you mean until now?”

“Dick and the other Titans came to hang out in Central two months ago and Melisan—(Y/N)mentioned herself. Rather curiously I might add.” He shrugged. “Now that I think about it, that was her way of dipping a toe into the water to see the ripples. To see where she was in the grand scheme of things.”

His eyes drifted to Dick’s. “When I showed you her picture you offhandedly commented on how similar they looked to one another and that night—”

“You went to confront her,” Dick finished, eyes flashing, and Wally wasn’t sure if it was from anger or sadness or some other heavy emotion the eldest brother was feeling about his baby sister. “…How’d she react when you did?”

Wally sighed, slouching in the hardwood chair. “Not in the positive, Dick.” He glanced at Bruce. “She doesn’t want to be found. And she certainly doesn’t want to be met by anyone. Especially…especially anyone here.”

“(Y/N)’s our sister,” Tim retorted. “What do you mean she doesn’t want to meet us?” he was already rising from his seat and that seemed to spark every brother to do so.

Wally’s hand shot out, wrapping around Dick’s wrist. “Dick, I’m being serious. Don’t corner her. Let me handle this.”

Dick tried to pull away, but he held tight. “You will handle this. We’ll all handle it together.”

“You don’t understand, Dick. If you want this to play out the way you’re planning, you need to come to Central alone with me.” He gazed at the others. “We need Dick to do this himself and then we can see about bringing her back here.”

Jason scowled. “With all due respect Wally, she’s our sister. Not yours.”

And with that, Dick pulled away firmly and Wally watched as the lot headed for the cave, the young women and Bruce still seated at the dinner table. He groaned and put his head in his hands, knowing this was going to come back to bite him in the ass.

“Wally,” someone said quietly. “Is she okay?”

He looked up, meeting Bruce’s eyes. His mouth opened, ready to lie, but he sighed and shook his head. “No,” he answered honestly. “(Y/N) isn’t the shy girl I remember. Especially when I confronted her. She was…cold and indifferent.” His mouth drew into a taut line and he stared at Bruce. “This isn’t going to end well, isn’t it?”

Bruce wiped his mouth on the napkin in his lap then stood from his seat, pushing in the chair behind him. “No, Wally. No, it’s not.”

***

He shook the memory away and instead of looking at any of the brothers, he looked at Bruce. “So, what do we do now?”

“We go find her and bring her back to Gotham, that’s what we do,” Jason griped, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No,” Bruce said firmly. “If (Y/N) wants to stay here, then we’ll let her.”

“WHAT?!” all three of the boys around him shouted in unison, their eyes practically bulging out of their heads.

He merely looked on. “We’ll wait for her to meet us halfway.”

“And what if she tries to leave again?” Dick questioned angrily and Bruce turned his slate gray eyes to him.

“We’ll know.”

“How?” Tim asked. “If she left the first time, what’s stopping her from leaving again?”

Wally cleared his throat and if he were a lesser man, he would’ve cowered under their withering glares as he admitted, “Actually, I tagged (Y/N) with a bug.”

“You did what?” Jason questioned, brows furrowing.

“I tagged a pocket in her purse with a bug when she wasn’t paying attention earlier in the car.”

“And you’re sure she won’t just throw that purse away? She left the house with money and a suitcase of necessities. A purse doesn’t seem that way.”

Wally snorted and crossed his arms. “(Y/N)’s purse is a Givenchy black bag that she found at a thrift store for thirty dollars. She might be a different person after living on minimum wage, but deep down she’s still a billionaire’s daughter who can’t help but love expensive things.” He grinned rather cockily. “She’s not going to get rid of a two-thousand-dollar purse she found for thirty. Even if she throws away everything else she’s got.”

He shifted his gaze to Bruce. “I think waiting for her is a good option, but you might want to do something more.”

“Like what?” Tim asked.

Wally shrugged. “Write her personal letters. The semester ends in three months and she won’t leave before it does, or she’ll have to pay those classes off.” He stared them down. “You’ve got three months to wear her down into staying on grid before she goes off again.” His eyes hardened. “And you know as well as I that if she goes off…we won’t find her ever again.”

#batfamily x reader #batfamily x reader imagines #batfamily x reader imagine #batfamily imagines #batfamily imagine #batfamily #batsis x batfam #batsis x batfamily #batsis x batfamily imagines #batsis x batfamily imagine #batsis imagine #batsis #bruce wayne #batman #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #tim drake #red robin #wally west #the flash #flash #dc comics #dc imagines #dc imagine #dc

[silv3rswirls]

Their s/o tries to carry them to bed

Anon asks: hiiii, can you do a BTS reaction where their s/o sees them sleeping on the couch so she tries to carry them to bed...but in the end, fails? I loved this idea when I first saw a reaction on it and when I tried to find more, there were noneee! ;-; so please help satisfy my feels 😭💜

Note: Thanks for the request! It's a super cute idea.

Walking into the living room to find your boyfriend asleep on the sofa was nothing new. Oftentimes he would doze off after a long day or simply prefer a nap there. But now it was late, nearing midnight as you got ready to head to the bedroom. Smiling fondly you check on him. He’s fast asleep, snuggled into himself with a peaceful expression. It made your heart swell and suddenly you felt the need to wake him up and get them to the bedroom, where he would surely be more comfortable. But before you could go through with shaking him awake you decided you didn’t want to ruin their peace. So, you decided to carry them to bed yourself, like that had done for you many nights before.

♡Seokjin♡

Something about the way Jin looked so soft and cozy laying there made you feel like you could definitely lift and carry him to the bedroom. So you wiggled your arms under his back and knees in an ill attempt to lift him bridal style, like he had done just the other day for you. He didn’t stir, which left you relieved so you mustered all your strength and tried to lift him. You could only huff, barely lifting him at all. You tried a second time, only to notice a small smile creeping onto his face. Jin had tried his best to pretend he was still asleep, but he couldn’t help but giggle at your failed attempts.

♡Yoongi♡

Yoongi merely stirred and hummed quietly when he felt your arms around him, but ignored you and assumed you were just cuddling up with him. He was surprised to find you heaving him up, just for a moment you held him up. Your triumph was short-lived though and Yoongi was quick to steady himself on the ground when arms began to shake. He smooches your forehead, very much amused with you but ready to go back to bed.

♡Hoseok♡

Hoseok couldn’t be that heavy, could he? Right now he looked so small with how he was curled up on the sofa, surely you could lift him. He was confused and maybe a bit scared when he woke up to find someone trying to lift him. He wiggled away, trying to wake himself up through confusion and a racing heart.

♡Namjoon♡

When you first met Namjoon he had been fairly slim and you had picked him up in the past, so you assumed you could still now. Of course, you hadn’t taken into account just how much he had been working out in recent years, so when you went to lift him you barely moved him at all. Namjoon opened his eyes, looking up at you with sleepy, questioning eyes. He can’t help but laugh as you pout in defeat.

♡Jimin♡

Jimin wasn’t that big- in your mind, he wasn’t at least. You had so many pictures and memories of just how small he was in your mind so picking him up just seemed easy. He had cuddled you the moment he noticed you trying to pick him up, even when you can’t really do it he keeps encouraging you with his eyes still closed and voice still heavy.

♡Taehyung♡

Taehyung up when you accidentally let him slip from your arms and fall back into the sofa. It was barely a fall, but he woke up anyways and turned to you with furrowed brows. “That hurt” he lied, getting up with a fake pout. You just stood there with a shrug, explaining how you wanted to carry him to bed. He thinks the gesture is super cute and wastes no time in getting to bed to cuddle with you back to sleep.

♡Jungkook♡

Honestly, you weren’t really sure what made you think you could lift Jungkook, but you sure did try your hardest. Jungkook was always lifting people and things, he was just so strong, you thought maybe you could too? You were wrong, Jungkook was dead asleep despite your desperate attempts to lift him to bed. Eventually, you just poked at him until he woke up and asked him to join you to bed.

#bts imagines #bts reactions #bts x reader #bts scenarios #bts #kim seokjin #bts jin #min yoongi #bts suga #jung hoseok #jhope #bts jhope #park jimin #bts jimin #jimin #kim taehyung #bts v #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts jungkook

[blkgirl-writing]

"Head Game" part 1 Zuko X Reader Smut Hcs

Warnings: complete filth. Zukos first blowjob at like 20, poor guy.

Requested: yes! By many beautiful, horny anons.

A/n: as always, Reader is assumed as a WOC. Though, everyone can read it, as its left a bit vague. My requests are always open!

[Part 2 found here!]

Zuko was having a really, really hard day.

Years had gone by as a king, and yet he felt less equipped the longer the title was held to his name,

Meetings became white noise, training because a dull pastime. There was no adventure left in life,

That's why he started the arrangement between you two...

You, a representative of a small city in the fire kingdom, and most importantly, his good friend.

A good friend who shot him the most dirty, lust filled looks at any given chance

He definitely shot some back too.

The touches you shared were getting longer, hugs a bit tighter,

You started to kiss his cheek, staining his skin a dark red. A memory of where your lips were.

He had a wet dream about you,

Lipstick still painting his skin

Zuko was fucking confused. Sure, the pair had flirted playfully, maybe he had placed his hand on your thigh one or two times, but no one had spoken about it.

The picture of your head bobbing, unholy moans from your lips on his-

It was wrong. Really, really wrong.

For the next week, Zuko avoided you at all costs.

If course you noticed the fire lord ignoring you clearly calling his name down the hall.

Had you miss stepped? Maybe he had a girlfriend and you had gone too far?

The week after that, you decided enough was enough. You had to know.

After a meeting, you asked to speak alone with Zuko

Zuko was freaking out.

He had three more dreams about you since the first. His only thought was how the fuck you found out about them. (This boy actually thought he was being so sly and smart with his avoidance)

"Do you hate me?" Your words came out far more desperate than you wanted. "I'm so sorry if I messed up. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable-"

"What?" Zuko was so confused, oh my god. Where the hell? What the hell were you talking about?"

"Well, you've been avoiding me, so I assumed that I was coming on too strongly and you don't..."

"Don't what?" Still confused Zuko can't imagine a girl liking him, even when shes flirted with him for years...

"This is already embarrassing, zuko, don't make me-"

"Tell me~" His voice changed, a bit more buttery, lower, sexy...

"I was worried I was too clear with my flirting, and you were disappointed? Disgusted? I don't know, honestly." You huffed.

There was a really, brutally long length of silence.

Zukos mind was going at full speed...all thise touches, all the small kisses that you gave no one else. You wanted the same thing he did...maybe. was it worth the risk?

The answer was yes.

"I think about you. I dream about you, even." Zuko forced himself to look up at you, who sat with your painted lips slightly parted. "My imagination went wild. I couldn't look at you without thinking of my...dreams."

"Oh."

"Well, I'm sure I can help with that-" you stood up, zuko quickly following. He didnt know what to do, so he just stood there, looking like a shook puppy.

"Tell me about your dreams, Zuko. Tell me how I made you feel."

Your hips pressed into his, lips inches away from his ear, hot breath sending shivers down his spine.

Zuko rested his hands on your hips, urging you so very softly to just come a bit closer. Maybe then his words wouldnt fair him.

"It's okay, Zuko. You can take your time." You hummed, placing a small kiss on the exposed skin if his neck. A perfect canvas to paint love marks.

After one or two, hickeys, you asked "is it okay if I keep going?" Followed by - "do you want this.

"More than anything-" "I dreamt that you

"Keep going-" you hummed, untying his pants as he spoke.

Zuko barely even breath. You so easily made him weak. So easily hard...painfully ficking hard as you palmed him though his boxers.

"You sucked my cock," Zukos voice was low, forcing himself to to whimper as you wrapped your fingers around his length.

You looked up into Zukos eyes, his yellow ones staring into your brown eyes with a desire you hadn't ever seen before. Lust beyond words.

The motions were quick...pushing his underwear down, his cock springing free from the cloth, spitting on his length as you used both hands to pump

Honestly you fought the urge to gasp, cause hot damn, he was packing

Your jaw was not gonna be okay after, holy shit

"What next, my king~" you purred, kitty licking his tip.

Zuko hummed under your touch, the way you talked to him was just pure filth, and he loved it.

"Can...can I touch your hair? I...i remember helping you take me in," for a man on the verge of being a puddle, his words were affirming and deep.

"You can pull my hair," this is how you knew you found Zuko attractive. Any other time you'd shamelessly swat the guys hand away. "Guide me."

His fingers intertwined with the hair near the nape of your neck a gentle motion to take him inside your mouth. Nothing too hard, just a bit of pain.

"Just like that-fuck" Zuko let out a strangled breath, shutting his eyes tight as you hollowed your cheeks around his cock.

It was slow, taking what seemed like minutes until you got as far as you could go, still quite a few inches left at his base. The muttered gagging sound as his length hit the back of your throat fully fucking aroused and confused Zuko

"Are you okay?" He choked out, moaning when you hummed a reply.

You bobbed your head at a decently slow pace, not wanting to overwhelm the king, who clearly hadn't gotten a blowjob before. Giving a soft pump from your right hand, just to give that extra amount of pleasure.

His eyes shot from how you sucked on his cock, lips pushing in and out, leaving a streak of red lipstick down his shaft, down to your exposed breasts. How did he not notice you unwrapping your blouse?

And how fucking soft your hair was in his hands, how you moaned around him if he pulled hard. Sometimes he just had to close his eyes for a few seconds, bathing himself from the moaning mess he had become. His free hand brushing through his messy hair,

"When I came," zuko muttered, licking his chapped lips. "You drank it all, licked your lips of the rest."

Your free hand came up to Zukos thigh, squeezing his skin softly as your own little reply.

Then you start going faster, hand moving to to caress his balls, and zuko comes undone.

"F-fuck, you're doing so good, fucK"

His grip on your hair became much tighter, his hands forcing you to go just a bit deeper, faster, harder. Then he looked into your eyes,

Looking up at him, eyes begging to drink up every drop he would spill into your mouth

Zuko was literally shaking, his hands coming down to your shoulders as he came, knees so close to giving out.

The deeper angle of him, plus the weight of zuko keeping himself upright purely by hanging onto you made you honestly think you might drown in cum

Not the worst way to die, but still.

You brought both of your hands to his hips, steadying him as he bucked his hips into you

It seemed like he was cumming for hours, an absolute mess, black hair draping down on his sweaty face.

Eventually, Zuko pushed himself up from his slumped form, running a hair through his locks, trying to play it cool

The sight of you was dirty and so, so beautiful. Lips plumped, curls springing out left and right from your hair, tears of arousal brimming at the corners of your eyes. Fuck. Fuck fuck.

"Enjoy yourself?" You managed to smile, voice weak and throat a bit sore. With the help of Zuko, his hands held yours to help you balance. The long time on your knees had certainly taken a bit of a toll.

"Fuck yes-" he sighed, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. Just as you did to him, he placed small kisses along your neck, up to your ear, nibbling on your earlobe. "You're so good. So beautiful."

"Can I return the favor...?" Zuko whispered, voice hoarse and raspy from the moans.

"Of course, my king." You replied, bringing your hands up to his hair, pulling slightly. "Let's recreate one of my dreams."

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