#and if you're wrong. which is more likely

[sjyuns]

MY LOSER BOYFRIEND — LEE HEESEUNG

loser!heeseung x fem!reader established relationship in which everyone questions your taste in men, but there's nothing you love more than a hot loser boyfriend who's deeply obsessed with ramyeon, keyboards, and you (especially you) mikaela's heeeeeee i love hee, might do one for hoonki

I WANNA BE YOURS — how he confessed (how you forced him to)

loser!heeseung who thinks he's super cool and nonchalant with the way he strategically chooses to sit next to you in class as if you can't see him spasm every time you lean in to talk to him, sweaty palms of his leaving obvious marks on the table.

It's cute, you think, so cute.

You can hear him catch his breath, as if it was a sin to breathe every moment you were near and you wonder if he knows that he's got you wrapped around his finger.

Heeseung thinks he's getting it all wrong, even though the obvious signs you've been hinting at of liking him couldn't be any clearer. He feels hot all around because you’re so hot and he's such a loser — there's no way on earth that you'd ever like him or even consider him when you have people lining up just to see you.

As cringey as it sounds he akins it to a tier list like those in ranked games; him a mere bronze level loser while you were in an unreachable challengers tier. He'd need at least 10,000 hours of gameplay and upgrades to ever be able to even touch you.

So, when you have him cornered in your grasps, questioning him if he liked you, Lee Heeseung is nothing but nerves, spouting out complex analogies about how much he liked you.

"It's like laning phase dominance," he starts, and he's so nervous looking at you to the point that he wants to look away but he can't because his body feels out of his control (and you look so pretty today just as you did yesterday). "I'm playing mid lane with my champion I really want to win but my enemy's playing a better champion than I am but I really want to dominate the mid lane so b—"

You cut him off with a kiss, his pouty lips too inviting not to. Heeseung freaks out and he wants to pinch himself to see if this isn't one of his late night put-him-to-sleep scenarios about him bagging you.

"So am I the mid-lane in that analogy?" you ask, teasing him as your lips separate from his.

"No, I mean—" Heeseung panics and he thinks he's losing you over a stupid League of Legends playing tactic. "Yes, technically but you're nothing like a lane physically you're so much prettier and—"

"You think I'm pretty, Hee?" He melts, cheeks dusted a rosy red as he tries to catch a breath, eyes darting around in innocence.

"Yeah, I do actually."

DOMESTICITY — living with him

loser boyfriend!heeseung who walks around the house in loose sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt not knowing what it does to you and your heart.

"Hee," you call and he comes running immediately, going so far as to abandon his game for you.

"Yes, baby?" he answers and he knows from the look on your face that you're hungry so he cooks for you. It's anything but special yet it warms your heart, how he's nothing but willing to do anything for you.

You remember the first time you complimented him on his cooking, the ramyeon in your bowl gone after no more than five slurps and Heeseung's beaming, almost glowing at your satisfied expression.

"I told you babe," he grins, long fringe hovering over the crinkles of his eyes, "shin is so good with the egg cloud but you should never ever put egg inside neoguri. I've tried it and the seafood broth covers the beauty of it."

"Hee," you call and he stops to look at you, bambi eyes glistening under the studio lights of your shared apartment, "you're spiraling again."

"Sorry baby," he gives you a sheepish grin, "I'm just so excited that you like my ramyeon. I've always wanted to make it for you."

"I guess you're my ramyeon slave now," you grin, "because I'm eating this even in my grave."

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY — when he gets jealous

hot loser boyfriend!heeseung feels green venom boiling in him when you get approached by idiots who can't seem to grasp the fact that you're taken, even when he's standing right beside you.

His grip on you tightening as you leaning closer into him, kindly rejecting the boy standing in front of you. "I have a boyfriend," you tell him, looking over to Heeseung who can't help but give the poor boy death glares.

And you really don't think you should be salivating at how hot your boyfriend looks when he's mad in such a situation but you find yourself doing just that, staring at him in adoration as he wraps his arms around you possessively, not wanting to let you go.

"I can't believe that guy, how can one have such low IQ," he grumbles, placing a chaste kiss on the crown of your head, brows still furrowed in frustration.

"Right," you answer, totally unaware of what Heeseung had just said, mind focused on your boyfriend's face and you wonder how Heeseung has never been asked out before because he's so pretty: like an angel from heaven.

"Right, and the audacity? I was here first and you're literally my girlfriend, if he wants a girlfriend he can take a pick from the other less pretty ones, how — baby, are you listening to me?"

You hum, looking up at him with eyes of innocence and he folds, instantly. Pent up anger vanishing into thin air as you envelope him with happiness. "You look so hot right now," you tell him, and he gives you a slight look of concern.

"Baby, how's jealousy hot?" Heeseung almost laughs at your words, unable to wrap his head around what you found hot about him.

"Well, because you said that I'm yours." You point out and he ponders.

"I mean yeah, isn't that a fact. You're my girlfriend." He states, like it's always going to be this way, "just like how my keyboards are my keyboards and not anyone else's. I mean no two people can have one thing."

"Hee, you're so ruining the moment," you whine and he flashes you the goofiest grin.

You love your hot loser boyfriend and the best part is that he loves you more.

© SJYUNS

[thebuddhagaming]

Kosmos og Kaos

Map - Azgaar seed 345455509

I'm starting to think they were right. Magic is real.

Of course, everyone knows magic is real. But I am, or was, convinced it wasn't really magic. It was just science with extra steps. I saw the way the mages learned, studiously learning incantation after incantation; studying the wisdom of sorcerers past; learning their, "fundamentals." There's no way this wasn't science, I thought, they just are not studying it like a science. I hypothesized that, if there were rules one could learn, if there were patterns that could be recognized, then there was an underlying natural principle behind it. We just didn't understand it yet. It was cosmos, not chaos.

I would debate this with the mages. Tell them if they just applied the principles of science they would uncover deeper truths. They insisted I was wrong. They told me stories of mages who unpredictably broke rules, were able to beat unbeatable opponents far more powerful through sheer force of will. But never could they provide evidence; always nothing more than anecdotes.

On the western continent of Greater Magra, just north of the border of the See of Magra, there is a wasteland in the northwestern tip. A no-mans land where the glaciers meet the marsh. In winter it is harsh, frozen, and dark; in summer unforgivingly humid and wet. What's worse, there are reports there of inexplicable mana entities. Spirits, such as the Nøkke and lesser faefolk, have been reported by the few stupid enough to wander in, and lucky enough to wander back out, without mana repelling potions. But even the potions only get you a few dozen meters into the marshlands before the entities reported take you. Most intriguing for me, they have been said to be entirety beyond human understanding. This is where I decided to prove my theory of magic.

I had the fortune to be granted funds by my institution to construct a small research outpost in the marshlands in an area known as the Valley of Frozen Souls, a narrow pass where the glaciers converged. The outpost consisted of a storage outbuilding and the main observation station. Though impressive in name, it consisted of little more than a 3 room building - a kitchen and dining room, a sleeping area, and a rest area - along with a tall tower containing the observational bay. The main observational bay boasted an impressive three hundred and sixty degree glass window, the first of its size, to monitor the various mana entities that have been said to migrate through the pass.

I fondly recall the conversation with the Dean of Magical Philosophy at Sælgerhavn University, Lord Bøhme, when I requested an application for funds. He was considered worldwide to be the foremost authority in Alchemy. And also, in my learned opinion, had unparalleled wisdom and foresight.

"You want to do what?" the old alchemist pondered.

"Create an observational outpost in the Dark Lands," I repeated.

"For what purpose?" he inquired.

"I'm sure you're aware of my hypothesis that magic is not truly supernatural in origin," I said, to which he nodded in a bemused fashon, "well I believe being able to establish an understanding of the manifestations in the marshes, specifically in the Valley of Frozen Souls, would provide evidence toward that goal. I've already performed a number of experiments and calculations into the nature of human magics. Those tests revealed an underlying predictability of magic and mana. I've developed theories of the behavior of mana and its elemental place in the material hierarchy of the universe. However my critics claim that it is the human form, which is of course natural in origin, that forces cosmos onto mana's chaos.

"In my opinion, the only way to truly answer whether mana is chaos or cosmos is by studying it divorced from the physical. The Dark Lands is the only place where such a task is thought to be possible."

"I see," Bøhme said, "but why come to us? Why not request funding from your own department?"

"I tried but they decided this line of questioning was not the purview of natural philosophy," I answered quickly.

The old alchemist leaned forward on his elbows, pensively interlocking his fingers in front of his face. For what felt like an eternity, he stared at me in thought. Until finally he uttered, "I disagree with your conclusion that mana, and therefore magic, falls under the realm of nature. Your philosophy's fundamental constraint of the observable being natural has been largely ineffectual in explaining the underlying cause of mana's existence," I began to sink as he spoke until he continued, "However, as an alchemist, I firmly understand the importance of testing ideas and crossing disciplinary barriers. Additionally, I think it is important for our understanding of the nature of our universe to answer this question you've so fervently chased. I will provide your funding."

I was elated. I thought I was well on my way toward answering this question. The funding was for a full decade, a rarity among research endowments. Bøhme must have made a very strong case for the outpost's establishment. Of course the money did not come without expectations. The expected detailed reports and findings were there but also I would allow young mages to come during the equinoxes to establish a mana barrier, shielding the outpost from the mana fog that descended on the area for all but the week before and after the spring and autumn equinoxes. The incantation was supposed to be simple so the task would allow students to have real world experience. Coincidentally, that would be when the outpost was built, specifically in the autumn. It was the common belief that the solstice days were the most powerful for magic while the equinoxes the weakest, thus explaining the fog's periodicity.

Once established I was able to take in the view from my new institution. We were two hundred meters within the edge of the marsh, it's waters calm with the autumnal stillness at the time. A further ten kilometers and one could see from the observation bay the edges of the eastern and western glaciers as they drew to the horizon. A spyglass would be my primary tool in this endeavor to observe the mana entities. With its help I could see almost all of the valley from my perch.

There I sat for four years. Every day taking notes on what I saw in the fog, how the creatures interacted with it, what came out of it. The first year was particularly illuminating. Four days after the final incantation was placed on the building the fog descended, or shall I say manifested. It seemed to just appear from everywhere without warning. It was unlike any fog I had encountered as well. It seemed to almost be alive, allowing me to have clear views just enough to make out details of scenes playing out in the valley but still hiding crucial details. I would watch a fox stalk prey into a clearing only to fearfully rush back out chased by something unseen. Yet a deer would walk in, graze, and leave without incident. I would occasionally think I saw some spectre only for the turbulent air to show an outcropping of ice or a bare tree. By the middle of year three, I was beginning to construct a publication detailing my initial findings, namely that there seemed to be a relationship between the fog's effects and the mana of whatever stepped into it. Mana poor animals, such as deer and wolves, seems to suffer no ill effects while mana rich creatures, such as ravens and foxes, would occasionally vanish entirely as though consumed by the fog itself. There was also the behavior of the local fungi, a mushroom species known as the Mind Mold - commonly used by mages for illusionary potions - fruited through the dark months and exhibited a dull blue light. I wrote that this may be a distinct sub species as typical mushrooms of this variety glowed green. But my most important finding to date was the absolute lack of the spectral entities said to be manifestations of pure mana. This, I thought, was the final nail on the chaos coffin.

The equinox at the end of year three came and so too did the mage apprentice tasked with renewing the charm on my abode. He was new, as the previous student had now ascended to full magehood, but nonetheless seemed competent. Something seemed off about the incantation though. I had heard it six times by this point, so I was no expert, but I could have sworn that it was incorrect. Nonetheless I went into the dark months with confidence. As the nights grew longer I noticed that a mushroom had sprouted in one of the corners of my kitchen. I plucked and put it in storage intending to dry it for the next mage visit. It was not uncommon in marshlands such as this for fungi to intrude. But the Mind Mold seemed to not take to the barrier well so I began to worry that the barrier was weaker now, and the fog may be able to interact with me. I sent a message by pigeon to the university to request a more experienced mage to check the barrier. All I could do was continue my work.

The following day I saw the first discovery. I was tracking another wolf as it approached the glacier and from behind one of the mangled marsh trees I saw what I can only describe as a Huldra watching it intently. When the wolf stopped to catch a scent the Huldra turned to look directly at me before vanishing immediately. Later I observed lesser fae dancing upon the mushrooms then turning to attack passing animals without notice or reason.

The apparitions multiplied in number. Having no pattern or predictability. Some days I would see dozens while other days they were absent completely. My mind began to falter. Then, the fog began to speak.

I was observing what appeared to be a group of wisps pop in and out of existence, trying to discern any pattern when I heard the fog call to me. Join the game, it said. Brief and fleeting was the sound. Coming from everywhere and nowhere. It shook me to my core.

The days grew short, less than an hour in length. The night began to glow with the mushrooms and the wraiths began to take more sinister visages. The faefolk began to resemble pixies more, the huldra grew crooked and wicked, and they all glowed blue in the light of the mushrooms. I knew the end was near about a week ago when, on the first day of total darkness, I spied one of the rarest of the spectres, if reports are to be believed. As the shroomal glow reached its apex a ragged mare rose from the waters. The Nøkke had made itself known. It locked eyes with me and by some inexplicable mechanism refused to allow me to look away. I don't remember falling asleep but when I awoke it was gone.

Last night a most chilling development came, prompting me to scribe these final thoughts here, before I meet my inevitable end. As the mushrooms began their spectacular display, a pair of cutting red eyes shone fifty meters from the base of my tower. They glared with a malice I had never before experienced. Its body then began to glow black. As nonsensical as it sounds I cannot describe it otherwise. But the glow left no mystery as to the identity of my executioner - the marsh grim had decided I was its next meal. It had been circling the outpost the entire night. I have not slept for fear of it taking me while I sleep. I do not wish to give in to this beast without a fight. Though I don't believe I am much of a challenge.

For the next person who finds this, please preserve my notebooks and data. Let this record serve as a final warning to all: I dared to peer into the nature of mana and in my hubris mana has decided to make an example of me.

I was wrong. The magic is real.

The equivalent of Antarctic research stations but in fantasy worlds like for example there’s an evil terrible region of rotting and nightmares but like nine miles from the edge there’s a very ugly little building optimistically called Observation Center 1 and it’s full of normal humans just vibing. for like 90% of the year they can’t leave because that’s Death Fog Season but it balances out because they can study the ghost migrations and also hear the whalesong-like calls of The Unspeakable Ones asking you to come outside for a game of checkers but thankfully the checkers set is kept locked up to slow down anyone that gets tempted

[dissociacrip]

disability and chronic illness and whatnot are really complicated sometimes and can result in a lot of complicated, messy feelings, but the pervasiveness of ableism and the fact being disabled doesn't exempt you from participating in it (yes, including on a violent interpersonal and an also an institutional level, as there are disabled people that work in the very healthcare system that neglects and violates many of us! there are disabled people that work as caregivers who are capable of abusing that power!) makes it important to discern whether you need to be airing out those messy feelings in public vs. working through them on a private level, not just for your own sake

people with terminal cancer, ALS, etc. aren't somehow "luckier" than those with PASC/long covid for having research and awareness and they aren't automatically treated well or taken seriously despite what one might assume

obligate wheelchair-users aren't "lucky" for having no choice but to navigate a world that is built for ambulatory people with a mobility device that is expensive/difficult to acquire, requires routine maintenance, can wind up damaged and destroyed, etc. and bars them off from being able to participate in all the same areas of life as the able-bodied because - again - society is physically constructed with ambulatory people in mind

people with visible disabilities aren't "lucky" for being recognized as having something "wrong" with them by other people (because "visible disability" does not necessarily mean others thinking "oh that person is a real disabled," it's more complex than that)

someone having a very visible aspect of their disability like a limb difference doesn't mean their disability can be reduced to just that limb difference (e.g. there are a lot of ways someone might end up medically needing an amputation, including forms of chronic illness, like diabetes leading to nerve damage, leading to infected wounds that then can't heal properly!)

having assumptions made about your intelligence or "mental age" by strangers based off visible aspects of disability is 100% a form of ableism but there are ways of discussing and addressing this that don't contribute to ableism against people who are genuinely intellectually disabled (some of whom might have the same condition you're talking about!)

autistic people who require caregivers for survival aren't somehow privileged compared to autistic people who can live independently but get burnt out, living independently = not having to worry about getting abused or violated or neglected by people you have no choice but to depend on to feed you, bathe you, attend to medical equipment, clean your living space to prevent bugs or mold, etc.

i also highly doubt sensory disabled people are automatically taken seriously in terms of "oh they're actually disabled" either, even people with total vision or hearing loss, so excluding sensory disabled people from the label of "invisible disability" (in cases where it isn't accompanied by visible disability, like strabismus impacting vision) based on that is purely something out of ignorance

too many people in online disability spaces (physical or psychiatric) actively spit on other highly vulnerable groups of disabled people by saying/doing these things and it needs to end, especially as the overton window continues shifting to the right when it comes to ableism in the western world and elsewhere

and don't sit around waiting to be corrected and instead deliberately expose yourself to the experiences of disabled people whose lives are unlike yours and are continuously shut down in online (and offline) spaces, which is part of the reason these prejudices and misconceptions exist in the first place; if we don't have solidarity, then we have nothing

[sssapplebottomjeans]

i know the point of rapunzel putting on the crown at the end of the series was that she was finally comfortable in it, and i know that it was the only possible ending for her but it never fails to make me unbelievably sad she was doomed before she was even born, she was doomed because she was born. the darkness of the black rocks was already unleashed because she was saved. after she was kidnapped, there were no other heirs, why? infertility, plot reasons, grief? and she comes back from 18 years of being fucked in the head by gothel, she comes back as a myth, "the lost princess of the sun kingdom" even more so when she sneaks out before her coronation and suddenly the mark of this stupid cosmic mistake, the mark of her trauma is latched onto her in 70 feet worth of unbreakable blonde hair and there's these expectations that come with being this myth, this lost princess from the tower. instead of having 18 years of learning things normally, it all gets shoved on her in six months. probably not six months after that, her parents leave for two days, leaving her in charge, and of course it all goes wrong. and of course she blames herself for it. and of course the fairly reasonable decision at the time to prioritize an entire kingdom over this one kid she barely knows lands her in deep shit, gets her mom kidnapped and her loved ones almost killed (i honestly don't even blame her for not visiting varian after the storm. she knew he was mad at her and she knew something was wrong. she was scared and didn't want to face what the possibilities could be because, i don't know, that's what she'd been taught to do for eighteen years of her life?) then all the things with cass's betrayal which is a post in of itself, coming home just to be made temporary queen and knowing it all rides on you. "you're not alone" "maybe it would be better if i were" NO ONE talks about this line holy shit so she's doomed to be royalty and doomed to be this mythical figure either way that has to save the kingdom and her friends from destruction because her father decided to save her. even if she'd somehow ran off with eugene in the movie (+cut her hair) instead of realizing her heritage, the rocks still would've been a problem. in all honesty, i think in all timelines she still would've been curious about them and touched them. she probably still would've been found out and made crown princess she should've had the chance to live a normal life after the tower and be as wild as she wanted with no global consequences but no she gets this. it's not like she even makes a particularly good "savior-figure" OR princess/queen anyway (and then i think about arianna being so similar to rapunzel and mellowing out when she became queen and i fear rapunzel would turn out the same way eventually, i fear she's still trapped but it was the only ending she ever could've gotten so i mean at least she's making the best of it) hhrhgnjfd thinking about her

[natalianovnas]

༄ `. 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 & 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐂𝐊

summary : natasha believes she's the reason why you almost got hurt in your own shared apartment so she believes ending things with you is the best decision but you don't let her off the hook so easily.

warnings : angst (w happy ending as all angst should be), mention of blood, gun, an intruder and bullet, reader having minor injuries, natasha wanting to break up.

words count : 2.3k

an : so basically, this one has already been posted on my wattpad and the writing there is awful for most chapters but I'm two lazy to proofread them again and do modifications so if you wanna go check, you're free to do so but at your own risk (wattpad link on my masterlist). anyways, i just decided to finally include the angst i wanted to include since having this story idea. also, this was inspired from a c.ai bot. enjoy :3

If there was something Natasha feared more than loosing you, it was having someone who'd hurt you. So just imagine how she felt, coming home to the sight of you, frightened, covered in blood and disoriented.

You had called her earlier, rambled about someone breaking in and trying to hurt you and Natasha knew she wouldn't hesitate to spill blood but turns out it wasn't needed because you'd already defended yourself.

By the time the Russian crossed the front door, your gaze met and it only took you a second before running straight into her arms.

Natasha took a look at the scene while holding you. The lifeless figure of the man smashed through the glass coffee table, a bullet hole through his chest with blood leaking from it.

The gun was one of Natasha's—which was for emergency cases, just like this one.

"Don't you worry your pretty head, детка (babe). I'll take care of everything." She murmured against your temple after placing a kiss there, her hand gently cradled your head while her other arm was around your waist.

Your nose was buried in her shoulder, seeking her scent that could only provide the comfort you needed.

This was the risks of dating a civilian.

She had voiced her concerns to you prior to dating. You told her it was fine and that it wouldn't certainly happen. That even if it did, you'd be ready due to her teaching you self-defense.

But now, here you are.

Natasha was going to be way more protective of you than she already is and that wasn't questionable.

You turned your head to look down at the mess around the apartment at the same time, a quiet sob escaped your lips and it's only now that you're conscious that you've been crying, silently. You heart is beating pretty fast in your chest as you recall every moment of what happened previously.

The redhead notices, of course she does, and she doesn't hesitate before guiding you away from the living room to the bathroom instead. You barely register her words but look away from the mess nonetheless as you're dragged away.

She doesn't force you to speak or so ever. What she does is walk you over to the sink and gently wash the blood off your hands while standing behind you.

Natasha mutters soothing words to your ear —occasionally kissing your temple— taking time to let the water flows down, between and around your slender fingers to wash the blood away.

Your mind is fuzzy but you're aware of her presence, aware of what's happening.

Despite the fact that your concerns weren't elevated, you once imagined something like this happening but you thought you'd be able to shoot someone without much difficulties, just like Natasha did but you were so wrong.

What no one ever told you was that the first shot would always be terrifying, no matter how prepared you'd think you could be.

The sink is turned off and your hands are being dried by Natasha. She didn't asked you anything until now and that was a relief because you couldn't utter a word if you were being pressured to do it.

She went slowly, softly and carefully as to avoid startling you and it's only now that you decide to speak up.

"I didn't meant to." You mutter, mostly trying to convince yourself more than her. You weren't even looking at her, your eyes were empty as you stared at nothing but then your gaze met hers. "I swear, I didn't meant to."

Natasha put the towel on the edge of the sink and held your body closely against hers, hands slowly rubbing over your sides. "I know, красивый (beautiful), it's alright, it'll be okay,"

"He was going to hurt me, Nat. I swear. It was him or me.." You states and the tremble and fear in your voice didn't go unnoticed.

Natasha wanted nothing more in this moment than to get you to be okay again, to see you smile again but she knew she had to let you pour out your emotions and be there for you first.

Because you needed her to go over this.

She hated seeing you like this, eyes that always held joy were now full of tears for a worthless person.

She hated that you felt like you had to explain yourself because you were totally not in the wrong. You had only defended yourself and that is how you should be seeing this.

"I know, princess, I know," Her hands continued to hold you close. "And i've got you now. It's okay."

You shook your head, tears prickling down your cheeks, panic rushing back into you. "No, It's not okay. I just killed someone, I just got—"

The spy gently pressed her finger to your lips to interrupt you, her expression still calm but firm.

"No. It is okay. You did just kill someone, yes. But you did it to protect yourself. You had no other choice. I know this is a lot to process, but you need to understand that you did the right thing for yourself."

The redhead's eyes were looking directly into yours, her gaze stern but full of concern and care for you.

You wanted to keep protesting but no words were coming out so you gave up and simply leant into her while she continued to hold you close. Her fingers slowly came up to run through your hair, her touch gentle and soothing.

"I'm here for you, okay? I'll take care of everything. You're not alone in this. I just need you to breathe for me, okay? Deep breaths."

You nod hesitantly but take deep breaths nonetheless, following her rhythm. She's relieved to see that you're somewhat cooperating with her request to take deep breaths.

"Good, just like that." She praises you gently while continuing to speak in that soothing tone of hers. "Keep taking deep breaths, love. Just focus on your breathing and staying calm, okay? You're doing well."

You let out a sigh and your eyes flutter close. Your nose brushes against Nat's jaw — taking in both her scent and the feeling of her skin on yours. Leaning up, your nose brushes her cheek, and your lips get closer to hers but before you have the chance to make a move for it, she pulls away, making you frown.

"Why?" You whisper and it's a real wonder how she heard it.

The redhead could see the frown on your face and it tugged at her heartstrings. She wanted to kiss you, to give you comfort and reassurance. But she also knew it wasn't right. Not yet, not like this.

"It's not because I don't want to, love. I do. But not like this."

Nat's slender fingers move from your cheek down to your chin, her grip gentle but firm as she tilts your head up so she can look directly into your eyes.

"You're still high on adrenaline and shock. You're not thinking straight right now. I don't want to kiss you when you're like this. I want you to be yourself when I kiss you again."

"I am me," You insist. "I just need to forget about all of this. Just for a moment."

"Love, you may be yourself, but you're not conscious enough right now." She pauses to take a deep breath, keeping her eyes locked to yours. "I want you to be sure of what you're doing. Not just do it to forget."

Stubborn as ever, you shook your head, not stepping down from what you wanted because you were sure of one thing — you needed her right now. "I'm me, I'm conscious, I promise. I just— please, just for a little while. I need to forget about it. It's messing with my mind and I feel like I'm gonna go crazy at any moment.."

Your hands were cradling her cheeks, the desperation and pleading in your voice and eyes were hard to ignore. "Just please, Nat.."

Her hands gently wrap around your wrists, only to pull them down and make your heart drop at the further rejection.

"No, Y/N. We're not doing that."

"But Nat—"

"I said no, Y/N. And you should stand by that."

Her tone had changed. It was firmer, like a flip had been switched and now you knew that this was more than her not wanting to make love to you in that situation.

"This is my fault. He came here because of me. You could’ve died."

Your sighed, your tone dropping. "Natasha, please.." you didn't want her to say such a thing.

"You shouldn't even be here. You shouldn't even have had to do what you did to that guy but yet, here you are and because of who? Me."

"Wait what?" You breathe out, the shift of the situation being too quick for you to actually comprehend her words and you wish she was messing with you right now but she wasn't. "What is this all about, Nat? What are you trying to say?"

"You heard me, Y/N. And I'm not taking it back. We shouldn't be together."

You swear you could've fainted right on the spot. You couldn't believe your ears. How could she say that to you so openly. Hadn't you proven yourself enough in more ways than once? Did her doubts never flatter after all these years?

So many questions with no actual answers but what you knew was that you weren't going to give into her so easily. Not with that.

"No." You state, breaking the silence between the two of you, making her eyes return to you.

"No," You say again in a firmer tone this time. "You stop right there, Natasha. Don't you dare say that to me, ever. I knew what I signed up for when I decided to be with you and I swore on whoever God rules up there that I wouldn't leave you if it isn't over my dead body!"

"You don't get to say those things to me. No matter what. I don't care if I have to face each and every of your enemies but leaving you is non negotiable."

"Y/N—"

"No, Natasha, you hear me out this time. I did not go through hell during all these years, paving my way in your heart, getting you to trust me and love me just the same way I love you for you to freak out and try to break things up between us the instant I barely get hurt. You don't get to make me do the job for you."

She couldn't be able to leave you, even if she tried, she knew she couldn't so getting you to leave was the easiest way but you were against it too.

Natasha snaps back,

"Did you see yourself back there? Did you really? No, you didn't, because I was the one who had to look at you and face the fear that was in your eyes. I hated seeing that, Y/N, because this wasn't you."

"So what, Natasha? Life isn't fairytale, even for me. It's not always going to be all smiles and rainbows but if you insist, go be a coward on your own. If you want to leave me, go ahead, leave. But don't count on me to do the job for you because I am not leaving you."

Natasha could swear that she'd never seen you so determined. She had one more reason to love you more than she already.

You were willing to stick until the end no matter what the risk was and not many people every stayed in Natasha's life. And now you had cried because of her, you'd cried because of her words

She regretted saying what she said.

Normally, she'd think before speaking but in that moment, even she wasn't sure of what happened. If you left that meant only one thing, that you needed some space for a moment and Natasha would allow it to you.

The silence that followed your exit was louder than any shout. Natasha stood still in the bathroom, the warmth of your touch still lingering on her skin, but your absence left a hollow in her chest.

She stared at the doorway, jaw tight, fists clenched at her sides. It was supposed to protect you. Pushing you away, creating distance—that’s what she told herself. But all she’d done was break something precious. Something real.

The minute your palm made contact with the bedroom's doorknob and closed it behind you, you broke down.

You didn't even know what hurt more if it was the fact that Natasha's solution for al all this was for you both to break up or that she might still have self doubts in this relationship.

The tears kept flooding, mind fuzzy with all the events of the day and you slowly were starting to feel drained. Dragging yourself up after calming down a bit, cries turning into sobs, you made your way to the bed and curled down on it, arms wrapped around yourself.

The tears were slowly rolling down your cheeks, the pain thudding in your heart from the words of your beloved. You hated feeling like this, drained, helpless and alone. Your eyes remained fixated on your window, admiring the afternoon hours turning into evening.

Only then, you barely register it when the door is pushed open.

Natasha stood at the doorway for a moment, taking in the sight of you — strong, stubborn, broken — all because of her.

“Just go away, please, I don't wanna talk.” You don't even look in her way as you whisper this, only wrapping your arms around yourself tighter.

“I can't do that, love,” She replies, “You know that more than anyone else.”

You didn’t respond, and it made her heart clench even more. She walked toward you then knelt in front of you, hands resting on your knees but not forcing anything.

“I'm sorry, baby. I thought pushing you away would protect you. I thought if I made you hate me, you’d be safer,” She said, eyes locked to yours, desperate for a flicker of understanding. “But all I did was hurt you. Again.”

Your eyes finally met hers. Tired. Glassy. But open.

“You did,” You whispered. “You really did.”

Natasha nodded, tears stinging her own eyes now. “And I hate myself for it. Because you… you were right. You didn’t give up on me, and I should’ve trusted that. I should’ve trusted you.”

You searched her face, trying to find sincerity. And it was there. In every line. Every tear. Every crack in her voice.

“I looked at you, and all I could think about was how close I came to losing you. Because of my past. Because of someone who was after me, not you.”

You swallowed hard. “It didn’t feel like protection, Nat. It felt like punishment.”

Natasha stepped closer. “I know. I know that now. And I hate myself for making you feel that way. You stayed. You fought for me while I tried to run.”

“I was scared,” Natasha admitted. “But you weren’t. Not of me, not of what comes with me. You were brave enough to stay, and I—I panicked.”

Natasha reached up, cupping your cheek again, gently this time. “If you’ll still have me... I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

This time, when you leaned in, Natasha didn’t pull away.

The kiss wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was slow. Full of apology, of longing, of love reignited through pain. Her fingers held your jaw like you were something fragile — not because she thought you’d break, but because she knew she almost did.

“Hold me?”

Her lips curved into a smile, “I was hoping you'd ask.”

She climbed into bed beside you, wrapping her arms around your waist, pulling you close with the kind of care she wished she’d given you earlier. No more pushing away. No more doubt. Just her, and you, and the space between your heartbeats — finally closing.

[kenyummy]

✰ 06. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 06. take a bite.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: hi lovelies!!! unmmmmm its been a very hot minute. sorry!!!! my job and uni prep have taken me hostage not to mention math exams woooowweee. im gonna try and be more active now and post a bit more, so hopefully look forward to that!!! also ill answer any asks asap 💞💞 ily all ok muah

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You think you mayyy have gotten ahead of yourself. A very slim maybe.

Sure, all these things probably needed to be said at some point, but jeez, you'd never met the guy before. You could've given it at least a day or two. Now, you're stuck in this situation. Cringing at yourself in the mirror, holding back from slamming your head against the mirror to rid yourself of these crippling memories.

Your eyebags—they speak for themselves—and your expression is anything but pleasant.

Last night was awkward. Awkward can't even begin to describe it, actually. It was excruciatingly awful, looking back on it. You have no idea what he is or was thinking, ir even how he acted outside of those diary entries. Maybe these assumptions were wrong. Maybe you were biting off more than you could chew.

(But it was hard to think this way when his expression; his words, they seemed to resonate with it so deeply).

Regardless, you can't dwell on this forever. You have a mission to do. Mission being; not failing school and incurring the wrath of your father. And getting back home. But that was a given.

You barely feel like yourself. You don't even look like you. This house isn't yours, nor are these clothes. The scent you spray onto your body isn't familiar, and even the shampoo on your nightstand is tacky and strange feeling.

All this time, you had never felt this lost. You may not be alone, but in this giant mansion, away from all your friends—you may as well be.

Your siblings were strange and unlikeable to you. You had barely even seen your father since you'd gotten here. Alfred was the only person you seemed to be able to even have a semblance of a normal conversation with. The knowledge is daunting, but not painful. You don't care.

It's all temporary, anyway.

... You hope. But knowing Reed, you'll be back before you can say, Hello, New York.

In a math class you've already done a year ago, you find yourself beginning to doze off with these thoughts plaguing the forefront of your mind. Cheek squished upwards in your hands, you aren't worried.

Your spidey sense is really handy; your head will tingle with that familiar static when the teacher's suspicions grow to large and you've already done your work, anyway.

But Harry doesn't seem to be doing so hot, you note when your eyes snap open and your pen finds a home in the dips of your fingers. As the teacher walks past your seat, you glance back at Harry's spot. Away from you, and on purpose, for sure. (At least, knowing you and your Harry—the amount of mischief whispered behind your hands was impalpable and certainly not appreciated by your teacher.)

He looks distressed by the worksheet in front of him, and small bits of laughter rumble from your chest. You feel gleeful, the best you'd felt from this crummy morning.

Those blue eyes meet yours and are practically screaming for help, to which you have to hide your smile behind a hand. The girl beside you shoots you a confused look, but nevertheless focuses on the math in front of her.

He mouths, Help me. It's a bit difficult the sound the rest out, but you think it's a mix of, This is impossible and I can't do this anymore.

Without much else of a clue on what you could possibly do to help him with that dictator of a math teacher around, you shrug your shoulders.

I'll help you out at lunch, you wordlessly mouth to him back, making a small heart with your index finger and thumb to go along with a sly wink. A teasing gesture, something you'd find yourself doing with your own best friend back home. Nothing more, nothing less.

His cheeks flush with a bright red before he chuckles to himself, lowering his head as if you couldn't still see that he was grinning stupidly to himself. Hand resting at the back of his slim neck and pen limp in his hand, not even pretending like he was actually doing something.

The reality dawns on you again and you turn away.

Once again, your stomach sinks. Not at him. Not at the prospect he thought you were flirting. Just at how, even for a second, you were unable to forget that this was not your home.

Once again, you feel lost in your own skin and nothing about you seems to sit just right.

... Even through your years of crime fighting, even through the hate and backlash from the public, even when a Skrull had stolen your face and you had looked yourself dead in the eye—not once have you felt as estranged as you have now.

"I hate teen drama." MJ moans dramatically, draping her arms on your shoulders and slumping, putting all her body weight onto you and you find yourself having to cling to her shoulders to keep her upright. If you didn't have that enhanced strength, you think you'd fall right down with her.

Harry slams his locker door shut and shoots her an amused look, "What happened now? That guy you were talking to ended up having a girlfriend after all?"

"Even worse." She tilts her head up to look at him from where it still lay against your shoulder, cheek smushing against the fabric of your shirt, "His ex is cuckoo. Like seriously,"

She spin her index finger around her head and then knocks against it with a closed fist. "There's something up with her. She hasn't stopped glaring at me since third period. I think she actually wants to kill me."

"That makes two of us," you speak, pushing her up so that it doesn't look like she's trying to fuse into you Steven Universe style.

She crosses her arms and frowns, red brows narrowing down at you, "I'm serious! What are you gonna do if I die? You can't take the comedic relief out of an already-established trio."

"You think you're the comedic relief?" Harry asks, genuinely surprised. MJ doesn't seem to take this too kindly—understandably.

You'd say you're pretty funny. Or your version of yourself, that is... this you. You aren't sure about the other you. Seemed pretty glum, but you digress. You'd be mad at the world if you were born here too, as harsh as that sounds.

Students pour out around you and you hear the bell chime around you. The day is over, as fast as it began. Too bad. You almost found yourself enjoying school.

Because at least that meant you didn't have to go back home, a place where you felt the least like yourself than anywhere.

"[name]?"

A hand waving itself in front of your face makes you blink back to reality, staring up at its owner. Harry looks concerned, an expression you think you've been seeing a lot of on his face and it's ridiculously defined cheekbones lately. "Are you okay? You spaced out again."

Again? Has this been happening lately? You hadn't even realised. Even your base instincts, your enhanced senses, hadn't even snapped you out of it.

"I'm okay. Sorry. Just uh..." You press your lips tightly together, gaze lowering. "Having some trouble at home."

You say, and you really don't want to elaborate.

"Is it with your brothers again?" MJ speaks softly, quietly, even though there's barely anybody left in the hallways after school hours. Your eyes widen a tad. You're sure you'd never told them anything, and you guessed this original you wasn't too keen on sharing their personal life either, so...

"How...?"

"They're not exactly subtle in sending you to the poor school then never bothering to pick you up in one of their fancy cars." MJ rolls her eyes. "You literally take the public bus home. Bruce Wayne's kid. It doesn't really take a genius to figure it out."

You chew down on your lip. They're right. It's not as subtle as you thought. A strong pair of arms wrap around you and your face heats up when your chin digs into Harry's woollen sweater.

"[name], we don't care. Their loss. You don't need them, you have us. Always, no matter what."

... Does he think you're upset about this? Embarrassed? Really, you aren't. But the gesture is sweet and you really do love your friends, so you don't hesitate to hug him right back.

"Thanks," you murmur, eyes not meeting his as MJ places a soft hand on your shoulder. Maybe you should be sad? It's a bit unnatural to appear so stoic when you talk about something like this, no? "But it's fine. It doesn't bother me anymore. You're right. I have you guys, and you two are more than enough."

"Since when did you get so good with words?" MJ slyly eyes you up and down, thoroughly amused. "You know, the old you would've just told us it's nothing and everything's okay. What happened?"

A smile forms across your lips. This time—a real one. "I guess I just had an epiphany. Not even my ego's more important to me than you guys."

My family.

You walk out through the gates laughing. A few other students still surround the building and even fewer walk out behind you and your friends—probably those bothered enough to take up after school tutoring programs and clubs and anything of the sort.

The ones that linger at the gate are frantically texting on their phones—probably spamming their parents to hurry and pick them up, because it was starting to get cold again. The clouds fog up the clear sky and blocks the sunlight from hitting the ground, so the world around you is dim as well. Not a good look for Gotham.

"We're so gonna get jumped." MJ blurts out, gripping the straps of her bag tightly. "Me and [name], I mean. You're totally safe, Harry. You and that driver of yours. Tell him I said hi, by the way."

"You're throwing shade now? I told you both you're welcome to drive with us if you want to."

You shake your head, no matter how much MJ's eyes brighten. "You live all the way on the other side of Gotham. We don't want to bother you. We all know how your dad gets when you slack on your homework."

Harry hums, "Yeah, but he likes you both, so it cancels out."

"Norman likes me?" MJ looks positively flabbergasted at this news, as if she hadn't even considered it before. "He always gives me the strangest smiles. I thought he secretly wanted me out of your life."

"Trust me, if he wanted you out, he wouldn't keep it a secret." Harry sighs, exasperated. "Actually, he respects you a bunch. He's seen you on TV a few times with your reporting work experience. Dad thinks you're the kind of reporter this city actually needs."

MJ places a hand over her heart, as if it were suddenly warmed by this strange act of kindness showed by The Normal Osborn.

A loud rev grabs all of your attention before you can even think of what to ask next. Whether Norman liked you, or even superheroes in general. Whether the Green Goblin was even a thing. So many questions, and such little time.

You turn to where the obnoxious bike noise came from, and your blood runs cold. All warning signals in your head go off and you can't help but instinctively ball up your fists.

Your (?) brother. Jason. He sits atop a stationary motorcycle, a strange smile atop his lips and a black helmet snug under his bicep. He's wearing a black biker outfit you'd never once ever imagine would exist in real life and MJ is literally gawking.

His eyes seem to have caught yours before you'd even noticed he were there. Now, when you're staring at him in such dumb looking shock—he gestures toward you, "C'mon. I'm takin' you home today."

"Wh... what...?" You splutter, fingers digging into the toughness of your palm. "Why? Nobody said anything about..."

Jason swings his leg over the seat of the motorcycle and adjusts his rear view mirror absent-mindedly, "Spur of the moment. I wanted to spend more time with you."

Harry and MJ, from beside you, coo quietly at you, teasingly. Despite your love for your friends, you really wished they could see the dread slowly seeping into your skin.

You feel like you're on your last leg when you conjure up the lamest excuse you could possibly come up with. "... I don't have a helmet. It's not safe."

"You're with me. You think I'll let anything happen while I'm here?" His words are sweet, like those of a regular elder brother. Normal sounding, to your friends who give you a small nudge to your side.

But you know better. You've seen him covered in sticky crimson blood and you've seen the shiny metal of the mask that covers his face.

You know that his words aren't as sweet as they are a promise. A promise you're entirely sure he is willing to uphold and keep at any means.

... But what can you say? Nothing that won't give away his identity, or even your entire family's. You're left in a corner, with nowhere to go but forward. Right into the lion's den.

Taking his hand feels more like a sort of demonic deal with the devil than it probably should've. Still, his gloved fingers wrap around your own, carefully and practised, with all the warmth of a human and all the delicacy of an older brother.

He slips his helmet on as you settle behind him on the seat, tentatively holding him so you don't go flying back. "Hold on tight. You're not gonna fall, trust me."

You know you won't, and even if you do, you'll be fine. Still, when he revvs up the engine and drives off into the cool Gotham air, you feel a strange hardness of your limbs start to build.

The wind bites at your cheeks as he revvs his bike up. Your arms are wrapped snugly around his waist, leather feeling rough under your fingertips. Despite the physical need to hang onto him so you don't go tumbling off the seat, you find yourself wanting to put as much physical distance between you and Jason as possible.

Your head is awkwardly bent back so it isn't squished against his back, and you have a feeling he's a bit miffed about this fact. That you're still so unwilling to be beside him. But that's just your guess. You'll never know what he's thinking with that helmet blocking out each expression and his head facing straight to the road.

Even with this concentration, he still decides to speak. "Didn't know you were still friends with that guy. Harvey?"

"Harry," you correct him, though you aren't sure why.

"Yeah. Harry. That rich kid who gave up the exhilarating life of Gotham Prep to go to school with you." Jason's tone is light, and he doesn't seem to be too serious with his words. He's trying to make conversation, and it's strange, because you can tell he isn't really sure on how to do it. "I always thought he was good for you. He hasn't got a stick up his ass like the rest of those snobs at Bruce's galas."

"At least you approve of him," you say quietly. Barely even hearing yourself over the sound of the wind hitting your ears.

"That's more than you can say for a lot of those other brats you used to hang out with, you know." He almost sounds amused, despite how dead your tone was. "Hated all of them. These two ain't bad."

You wonder what those so-called brats were like. Other rich children all couped up together for the sole fact they're all born from wealth? Jason not liking them didn't really discern much about them to you, because you got the impression Jason didn't like many people.

You had the impression Jason didn't like you. But looking at your situation now, you couldn't be furthur from the truth, it seemed.

Silence fills the space between you both for a bit. Driving down the busy highways into darkening skies, as the clouds start to grey and the sun waves its last goodbye. When there no longer lay any witness but the moon itself, watching over the crime-riddled streets of Gotham, where you, somehow, were taken away from without a second thought.

Red fills the sky. Red, like Jason's helmet—not currently being worn, but an image you could never really remove from your head when you'd look at him.

Red, like your suit. Red, like the blood flowing through your veins. It colours the ground above you and will eventually turn into an array of violet hues. That's how it all concludes, in the end.

Jason takes a turn off the busy street and it goes quiet. He slows down a bit to match the speed limit—which feels strangely out of character for him, but you digress. He takes this opportunity to finally have his voice be heard above the onomatopoeia of cars and angry honks of the drivers within them.

"... This is nice. Never picked you up from school like this, huh?" Despite not being able to see him from where you sit behind his back—you can practically feel his smile. "We should do this more. How do you even get home usually, anyway? Alfred never goes around these parts."

... You debate on telling him or not, but assume it doesn't matter whether you do or not in the end. If he wants he know, he'll just find out. No use in delaying the inevitable. "I take the public bus."

If he could stop in the middle of driving, he would. Even if he was driving, without a car behind him, you're sure he'd brake abruptly and send you flying off the bike. His hand twitches around the handle and panic is sent flaring through your nerves like electricity. "What? You actually go on that shit?"

You know he probably didn't mean for it to sound the way it did, but you're annoyed nonetheless. "Well, not like I had much of a choice. Would you rather me walk the way?"

His lack of a response tells you all you need to know. You aren't keen on continuing this conversation, so for now, it's just silence.

Slipping off the motorcycle, you shake the wind out of your hair and brush down your clothes. Jason barely even looks at you as he places his helmet on the table beside the front door and slips the keys into his jacket pocket.

"Thanks for driving me." Despite your... complicated feelings towards him and the rest of your family, you are a polite person. Your aunt had always raised you right like this. "But you don't have to worry about doing something like this again... I'm fine taking the bus."

You say, with all the subtlety of a man dying of thirst. Practically yelling for him to just leave you the fuck alone. At least putting it in a mildly kind way.

He hums, expression unreadable to you. Then, he smiles. A stark change in his features from when you'd first gotten a glimpse of that contempt face. When you'd first saw him. "Don't be so humble, okay? I'll take you home every day from now on. Even if there's crime, I'll finish it up quick and we can ride home together. Just you, and me. With your big brother. That's fine, right?"

... You didn't realise when he had started moving closer to you while speaking, but now he was standing right in front of you, a hand on your shoulder and a dangerous glint in his eye (that, yoy aren't sure even registers to him at all).

Your brain buzzes with static sirens. Warning. Yelling for you to run away, move, fight him, do anything except stand there frozen like a deer in headlights. Fingers twitching with the urge to punch, claw get away—but you don't.

You grip the sides of your shirt, knuckles feeling weak under the pressure. No longer can you force the words you want to say out of your mouth. "... You don't have to bother. I'm serious."

He smiles. "Alright. I have some errands to run. Wasn't supposed to be here today, anyway." Changing his biker helm out for his signature red one, he pats your shoulder a few times before walking past you. "Goodnight, [name]. Don't stay up too late, yeah? Study for that test you got."

You can't even begin to question how he knows you have a test coming up when you're sure you'd never told him, when the thought pops up in your head that no, he absolutely did not listen to you. And yes, he absolutely will continue to keep waiting outside your school for you to drive you home with uncomfortable conversation.

You almost fall over in the hall's entrance when Jason shuts the front door behind him. You shove your face into your hands, squeezing your eyes shut and willing the memories of that drive into the back of your mind, where you wouldn't have to think about it.

But... he is right. You do have that test, and that simple fact is the reason why you pick yourself up, just as Spidey does, and decide to go to your room. Down the first living room, into the kitchen and dining room, and past—

"W—whoa!"

You're going to cry. You genuinely might start bawling. After that godawful moment, you've now crashed straight into a fucking brick wall. A moving one, at that. ... But it can't be just brick, because you think your nose is starting to bleed from the impact (if the warmth dripping down your chin is anything to go by), and you've slammed head first into concrete before with no reaction.

Just what the hell is—

"Shit!" A guy's voice curses. Unfamiliar, different from anything you'd heard here in this house before. When you crack open your eyelids, you see... Shaggy black hair, a very strange style of clothes, and the brightest blue of eyes you'd ever seen. "Shit, I'm so sorry! I should've looked where I was going—"

"Kon? What—"

Tim's face pops up from behind him just as you stand up on your own two feet, and the look on his face is something you can't even begin to describe. As soon as he gets an eyeful of you, and sees the trail of red seeping slowly from your nose down to your chin—where it drops down to the floorboards below—his entire demeanour shifts.

Subtly, but not subtle enough. At least, not to you. You don't think this Kon notices it.

"What happened here? What did you do to my sister?"

Kon raises his hands in defence, eyes widening, "I'm so sorry, I didn't look where I was going, and—"

"Are you serious?!" Tim's brows furrow deeply and he almost growls like a damn dog as he sneers, "You hurt my sister, and all you can say is that you didn't look where you were going? Don't be stupid, Kon!"

"Look, I'm really sorry—it was an accident. Why are you getting so worked up—"

"You made her nose fucking bleed, dumbass! You know she's not like the rest of us! I told you to be careful around her, and look what you've done!"

Before Tim can tweak out even worse, you speak up, in the most monotone voice you can manage. "I'm okay. Don't worry. I'll just go clean it up."

The two boys look to you in shock, seeing a tissue already shoved up your nose and your face clean of any bloodstains. Void of anything except the drip of red on your shirt.

"But... But—" Tim's tone wavers a little as he steps closer, "What if it's broken? I'll help you—"

You hold your hand out, stopping him in his tracks as it collides with his chest. Shaking your head, you clench your jaw to try and alleviate the throbbing pain. "It's not broken. It's just injured. I'm okay."

The boy with piercings—Kon—he presses his fingers into his palm from his face behind Tim, looking rather guilty. "Sorry, um... Kon. I didn't look where I was going, either. That's my bad."

That name sounds strange to say in your mouth, and Kon himself seems surprised to hear you say it. "No, no, it was my bad. I'm so sorry, [name]."

His expression and words were genuine, enough so that your head starts to clear from its panic and you feel a sense of calmness finally wash over you.

But, your fingers still twitch when Tim gives you a forlorn look of almost longing.

You don't say another word, rushing past them snd going to your room—where you could bury your face into your pillow and pretend like none of this existed. Where you could climb out the window, suit clinging to your frame, and become the you that you'd always loved most.

The one who was free, swinging through the skies and cutting the wind like it meant nothing to you. The you that only ever felt like the real one.

And even if just for a moment, you could believe that this was your only you.

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taglist is full, please don't ask to be added any longer! also dm me if you want to be removed, to make space for people who wish to be there!!!

[cricketcat9]

About the Hungarian goulash

(since you asked): there are many good recipes on the internet; just look for "real Hungarian goulash" or "authentic Hungarian goulash". There are minor regional differences, but: real goulash is made with beef cuts, NOT GROUND BEEF, and NO PASTA! It's not a damn casserole, it is somewhere between soup and stew. You can make Hungarian dumplings, which are delicious and not difficult to make (recipes usually to be found together with goulash), or eat it with a good sourdough bread. Use LARD if you can, and Hungarian paprika, from an Eastern European deli, if possible.

This is the American so-called goulash 😱

This is Hungarian goulash 😋 Edited to add: better ignore the mashed potatoes in the second photo

Edited again! I was notified that the photo on the lower left is pörklot, not goulash. Looks like goulash to me, but I defer to the Hungarians... The difference, apparently, is the texture of the sauce. Pörkölt is a very thick beef stew, while goulash is a more saucy (almost soupy) type of dish with some extra veggies. Or so I've been told!

Also, for the record: nothing wrong with enjoying the American version, if you're so inclined.

[silens-oro]

Rest My Chemistry

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Dr. John Shen x f!Dr!Reader Fluff

The Pitt Playlist located here The Pitt Masterlist Masterlist

Synopsis: John really needs to keep his mouth shut on quiet nights Word Count: .8k Content Warning: content typical warnings for The Pitt A/N: I just love him

“It’s going to be a baaaad night.” Shen said with a sigh as he came to stand between you and Ellis at the Hub as you were going over who was taking which room. The night was still young, but the ED was oddly quiet -words you would never, ever say out loud. Not that it mattered when you had someone like John Shen opening his gob to say it for you. 

“You’ve got to stop saying stuff like that, man.” Ellis’ exasperated voice responded immediately as she dropped her hands against the top of the nurses station. Bridget raised a brow as she looked over to the three of you. You turned to Shen, stuffing your hands in the pockets of your scrub pants so you didn’t strangle him. 

“Yeah, the last time you pulled that crap, we had four separate MVA’s and a man with a screwdriver stuck up his ass in the span of an hour,” You spoke lovely through clenched teeth. “—and I got puked on by a drunk frat kid.” You glared at Shen. “Twice.”

“Look at this,” He shook his iced coffee to make his point, ignoring the pleading from you and Ellis. “The color is wrong and it tastes like battery acid. It’s a bad omen.” Ellis leaned over the nurses station and pointed her finger in his face. 

“I swear to god-” Bridget interrupted from the other side of the Hub, catching your collective attention as she spoke with the cell phone still held up to her ear. Your eye twitched and you wanted to swipe that coffee straight out of Shen's hand, but that would've made more work for the kind and wonderful environmental services night staff and that was the last thing you'd ever do to them. They didn't deserve to pay for John's idiocy.

“We’ve got a three car pileup. Three patients inbound -two critical, eta four minutes. No casualties. Trauma one and two needed.” Shen had the wherewithal to look shameful for a split second at his temptation of the medical gods. 

“I didn’t do that.” He said looking between you and a pissed off Ellis, still sipping at his coffee. He made a face after every sip, but it didn’t stop him from continuing to drink it. You heard Dr. Abbot call your name from down the hall behind you, and your nostrils flared in irritation as you glared at Shen. 

“You’re with me!” Dr. Abbot directed you, his hand patting your shoulder and tossing a gown to you as he passed by without slowing down. “Shen and Ellis, you're on Trauma one and two.”  Your eyes met John's as you gave him one last sharp look before hastily putting the gown on, Ellis quickly tying it behind you.

“Your ass is grass, Shen, and I’m gonna mow it.” You said angrily, pointing a finger into his chest as you stepped around him to follow Dr. Abbot out to the ambulance bay just as the ambulances started rolling in. 

“Was that a threat or a proposition?” He looked at Ellis, who grunted in an irritated response to Shen’s question as they both got a move on. John's eyes followed you as you disappeared through the sliding doors. 

“Easy, boy.” Ellis laughed, tossing a gown to him. “She’ll chew you up and spit you out before you even know what’s happening.” 

“I could only be so lucky.” Shen replied dreamily, grinning from ear to ear. 

“You’re insufferable.” Ellis rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless as she decided to be an agent of chaos for the night since Shen decided to open a can of worms for the night. Two could play at that game. "Ask Doug in neurology if he felt lucky to get chewed up by her. Guarantee you his answer won't be yes." Ellis baited.

"She went out with Doug in neurology? Really?" Doug in neurology was the poster boy of what a doctor was by Hollywood's standards with his wildly attractive looks, perfectly coiffed hair, and exuberant charm. He wasn't a bad guy per say, but if Doug in neurology didn't stand a chance with you...

"Briefly." Ellis confirmed as she tied his gown behind him. Shen made a face, crossing his arms over his chest as he turned back to face her.

"Ah, shit." Ellis shook her head, but directed her attention to the first patient that was wheeled into Trauma 1.

“So,” John rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“I don’t even want to look at you right now.” You mumbled as you grabbed your backpack from under the nurses station and set it on the counter so you could dig around for your headphones. 

“I’m sorry!” Your head snapped up to glare at him. “You really think I caused anything that happened tonight?” 

“I think you caused all of it, actually.” You pocketed the earbuds and zipped the main pouch with more force than was necessary. The bag swung, hitting him purposefully as you shrugged the straps onto your shoulders. 

“See you later, Princess.” Princess nodded at you, glancing between you and Shen before she leaned over to Perlah to whisper into her ear. Perlah spun around in her chair, not being sly about also looking at the both of you, narrowing her eyes at John, then responded to Princess in Tagalong. 

Both of the nurses shook their heads and Princess gave you a look, her eyes shifting quickly to John like she was trying to tell you something, but you couldn’t decode Princess after the exhausting shift you had. 

“If you two are done being weird, I’m going home so I can fall face first into my bed. John,” You turned to Shen who was already looking at you. “Sleep with one eye open.” With that, you cracked a small grin for him to see, but didn’t stick around when he started sputtering. 

“That’s…fair.” He exhaled as you walked past him. “See you tonight!” He called after you, but you were already out the door to the waiting room. Shen heard someone clicking their tongue in disapproval and turned back to Princess and Perlah, who were both watching Shen expectantly. “What?” “She likes you.” Princess teased as she passed by him to check on the patient in South 4. Perlah quickly turned away when Shen looked over to her for confirmation. Princess was messing with him, right? Right?

[kael-writ]

A great tip to students is to always check sources. Because people DO lie. Ive seen a ton of conservatives cite some study that says the opposite of what they claim it says if you actually try to read the study. Ive even seen news articles where if you hunt down their source, it's some random person making an unsubstantiated claim. If nothing is cited, the claim is worthless.

Example: yall remember the "bath salts zombie"? 2012. Yea, that guy was never on bath salts. A cop that got interviewed said "I dunno, guy was probably on bath salts", and everyone ran with it. That was BEFORE the autopsy, which showed only weed in the guy's system. (here's the wiki, https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miami_cannibal_attack and you can look at their cited sources. It's a pretty gruesome story though!). I just mention this because it sticks out in my mind. There's a lot of examples of stuff like this, some of which werent found to be false for decades. Someone just says something, it gets reported, no one CHECKS, they all just believe. YOU are not impervious, even if you think you're smart, you think your political "side" wouldn't lie to you, whatever. CHECK PRIMARY SOURCES.

And learn what makes a source valid. A 1930s study of 5 subjects that's the first of it's kind is probably gonna be proven invalid by the time you get to a better 2024 study of 2,000 subjects with better controls that's built on repeated testing.

White settlers from 1770 are no where near as good of a source on Native American history as actual Native American historians today looking at primary historical sources from actual indigenous people's own testimony.

People who are trying to tell you that doctors are conspiring to poison you might seem appealing when you dont feel trust in doctors, but when they're telling you that to sell you supplements they dont have any proof works, maybe try to look at the evidence for different medical treatments as objectively as you can. Because yea, sometimes doctors are wrong. but so is Alex Jones, like a lot more often.

It's tough to learn critical thinking and proper sourcing, but it's fuckin vital. Read a lot. If you're bad at reading, it's ok to use audio and audio-visual aids. Educate others. Always be aware you might be wrong, and open to evidence.

[angelsforthenight]

brain is melting over sub!ellie on an aphrodisiac (* ´ ﹃｀*)

dumb little bunny would find it the funniest thing in the world if she ordered one of those chocolates online that would supposedly make her 'wet for hours.' she'd watch you with an amused glint in her eyes, outwardly ignoring your warnings and pressing on the 'checkout' button. you'd sigh and shake your head. if ellie is already a mess after two rounds, imagine how bad she'd be when high? frankly, you weren't opposed to such a notion: being able to witness ellie being sent to the highest peaks of sensitivity.

ellie doesn't believe she'll feel a thing, which is why she wants to try it so bad. to prove you wrong. so you let it happen; fully knowing who'll turn out to be the right one in the end.

she doesn't let you know when the package arrives or when she eats it, but you know damn well the second she shuffles into your room whilst you're sitting on your phone, crawling into your bed and laying on your stomach. you can feel her heavy breathes on your skin, an entertained smile tugging at the corner of your lips. but you choose to mention nothing about it just yet.

'you okay?' you gently question, your fingers splaying across her scalp as you pretend to not know what's going on. the tip of your nails dragging across her scalp makes her go so weak. so weak.

poor thing thinks she's being so discreet by slowly spreading her thighs open, and shifting up to press her clothed pussy against the nub of your knee. should've thought again.

'you took it, didn't you?' you croon. ellie whines in response, her hips jerking. she isn't even trying to hide it anymore.

'but you don't like how it feels.' you continue, taking the words right out of her mout. when you guide her face up. you're met with eyes glazed over with unbridled lust. ellie nods with a slight pout.

'i'm so itchy... inside. pl-please help me...' her words warp into slurred babbles, her eyes lighting up with unshed tears. you pout in mocking sympathy.

'i told you, ellie.'

'i knowwww... i'm sorry.' what a sight. you love when she gets like this: all stupid and pathetic and begging. she's so pretty.

you give in pretty easily, saving the teasing for later. maybe after-play. as you thump into her with your strap you swear you can palpably feel her pulsate, with her sopping cunt clenching and fluttering around your faux-cock. ellie feels it all ten times harder, her jaw slack as she begs for more and more. her hips would move all on her own as obscene noises would spill out from her like a broken faucet.

and when you'd mention it the day after, she'd deny that ever happening.

note: haven't written anything about ellie for SOOO long omfg. i lovelovelovelove subjecting usual strong women in media to being submissive asf ehheehgergeehgeydgfwifdsi its so hot

[moon-fics]

I'm just spitballing here, but what about bob floyd × naval admin reader where she sees him shirtless for the first time and like a friend kickback on the beach and is just absolutely gobsmacked because she knew he was fit but not ripped to heck 😭 and bob is just so nonchalant about it 😂

Please keep spitballing bc I love this. Sorry, it took so long!

After beating all the odds, the mission was a success. You only had a minor heart attack watching Rooster and Maverick get shot down. You definitely didn't need to lock yourself inside a bathroom for a few hours after everyone returned home to ground yourself. Everything that could have taken your friends did not.

Which is why you're celebrating at Penny's house. You're only a few days away from being sent to another base, and yet, you're happy. You get to stand in a beautiful backyard while hot dogs are being grilled. You're surrounded by people you love and get to keep for one more mission.

Now, if only the sun would set so you don't have to sweat through your shirt. It doesn't help that you forgot to wear a swimsuit for her pool. You're stuck watching Rooster, Hangman, and Fanboy mess around in the water.

"Hey," Bob's voice snaps you out of your mind. You glance to your left to see him holding two plates with hot dogs on them. "Penny said you haven't eaten yet." He holds out one of the plates.

You turn your head past Bob to see Penny staring right at you. She gives you a wink and returns to talking to Maverick over the grill. You should have assumed she'd do something like this. Ever since you drunkenly admitted to having a crush on Bob she's made it her mission to get you with him.

"Thank you," You sigh. You take the plate, but you don't eat from it. You're afraid that if you take a bite, the heat from the hot dog will worsen your sweating. You take a second to admire Bob, who is wearing a T-shirt that is drenched in sweat. "You're allowed to take that off." You gesture at his shirt.

He's taking a bite of the hot dog when you speak. His eyes snap to you immediately, and he awkwardly chews to talk. It takes a couple of long seconds before he swallows.

"I didn't really think about it," He admits while flashing a nervous grin. Your eyes trace the lines from his smile automatically. You're trying to ingrain every part of him before you're left to fate, for when you see him again. You don't want to forget a single detail about him. "I didn't put any sunblock on," He chuckles.

"I'm sure you'll be fine," You shrug. You can feel the sun kissing your skin and tanning it, but you don't feel burning yet. Besides, Penny should have sun lotion somewhere in her house if he really needs it. "I mean, you just came back from a mission that Maverick deemed almost impossible. I think a few sun burns will be alright."

"Yeah, I can't argue against that," He nods. "Hold my plate?" He asks, and you take it from him. You watch as he takes off his shirt and rolls it into a ball. It takes a moment for you to look down because his arms are enough to keep you occupied. When you finally change your focus to his chest you clench your jaw to stop it from falling.

You can see every muscle on his torso, and the sweat only defines them more. He's tan from the sun already, which adds to the appeal. Forget Hangman and Rooster. Bob has a body that you could not imagine holding his head up.

"You look like this regularly?" You ask without realizing it. The question slides down from your brain and past your lips before you can stop it. The only thing stopping you from diving into Penny's pool is his laugh.

"Yeah, I mean, everyone else looks the same," He brushes it off.

"Well, yeah, but I just wasn't expecting you to be this fit." You cannot stop talking. It's like your brain is just letting anything out. "That came out wrong. I knew you were strong, I just never imagined you shirtless," You clarify.

"That insinuates you've imagined everyone else shirtless," He points out. He ducks his head down as another laugh comes out. You're thankful he's finding this humorous instead of insulting or creepy. You could handle looking like a fool. "I just don't see a need to show off," He says and takes his plate back from you.

"You're depriving the world," You joke. "I'm serious. If I looked like you, I'd be shirtless regularly."

"I'm glad you think that. Next time I'm shirtless, I'll let you know," He shakes his head while holding back a chuckle.

"Put me on speed dial," You nudge him.

[justauthoring]

Can't Deny You.

Summary: Zoro has always hid his pain from everyone, but you refuse to let him hide it from you.

Pairing: Zoro Roronoa x F!Reader

A/N: Some fluff after the trauma I experienced in Sabaody :(

Word Count: 1,315

If you see spelling mistakes, no you did not :)

You could tell something was wrong.

You meant that beyond the obvious - Zoro had gotten hurt. You knew it had something to do with his battle with Kuma, but it was worse than what you had seen before your memory went blank.

It was way worse.

When Sanji had come running back with a severely injured and bloody Zoro, your heart had dropped to the pit of your stomach. Although you knew Chopper was an extremely skilled doctor, you hadn't been able to leave his side despite all the festivities. You sat beside him, clutching his hand and watched with a fond, but small worried smile as your crew celebrated another win.

Zoro, resting, hadn't moved that entire night.

Now, a few days later, back on the Sunny and heading to the next island, Zoro was back to normal. Despite his injuries, he was still training. He still napped for most of the day. He still kept to himself and went on with his normal day-to-day routine.

Everything was back to normal. But you knew.

He was hurt more than he was letting on. He thought no one noticed it, noticed the way his face would pinch briefly when he moved wrong when trianing. Or when he'd sit, and you'd seen the muscles in his neck tense with the movement. When his hands would clench around his swords.

You noticed.

You had no doubt there was others on the crew who knew what had happened. There was a delicacy Brook considered Zoro with which was different than the rest of the crew as he adjusted. There was a deliberate intent in the way Robin would check in on him.

And Sanji, who suprised you most of all. Sanji who outwardly acted the same, still getting into the same silly arguments with Zoro, still threw insults his way when there was no cause for it, but you saw the way his eyes would linger on the swordsman. It was like he was waiting for Zoro to collapse and was terrified of it happening at any moment.

You knew they knew, but you didn't want the answer from them. You're not even sure they'd tell you. It was clear whatever had happened, Zoro didn't want anyone to know - especially Luffy. That was fine.

But you weren't anyone.

So, on the third day of watching Zoro silently struggle, you'd had enough.

He's in the training room Franky had made for him when you approach him.

There's a line of sweat beading across his forehead, shirtless with the bandages Chopper had put on him on full display. The sight brings an instant frown to your face, fists clenching just as Zoro notices your presence, turning to face you.

"Oh, hey," he calls, voice light but face tinged with an expression of confusion on why you were here. It wasn't often you bothered him while training, and if you did, you normally followed him when he first left and would watch him.

"What's up?"

Stepping further into the room, you let the door fall shut behind you. There's a beat of silence that follows as you try to collect your thoughts where Zoro realizes there's something up.

Setting down his swords, Zoro meets your awaiting gaze.

"What happened?"

It's clear Zoro tries to mask the reaction, but you see it. See the way his eyes briefly widen and a look of discomfort crosses his face as you stare back at him in concern.

"Nothing happened," he replies, fully aware of just what you were asking about. He wasn't going to pretend like he didn't know, that was a waste of time, but that didn't mean he was going to tell you either.

Sighing, you step towards him, crossing the distance until you're directly in front of him. "I'm not an idiot, Zoro."

He shakes his head, "I never said you were."

"You're treating me like I am," you huff. "Do you really think I can't tell you're hurt? More than you're letting on?"

Zoro visibly swallows, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's nothing."

Frustrated and at your final wits, you reach forward before Zoro can react, grabbing his arm and pulling so they fall by his sides. If you were anyone else, Zoro would've stopped you, but he won't when it's you. You use that to your full advantage.

Arms out of the way, you use a single finger to press directly into his chest, hard enough that if it was anyone else, their balance would've been shifted. Zoro doesn't move, but the reaction you wanted, you get.

Instantly, his face pinches in that way you've seen over the past few days. His eyes narrow and his lips thin as his jaw clenches, before he fixes it; but both of you know the gig is up.

Slowly, you inhale, before meeting his eyes. "Before Kuma sent that shock wave across the island, you were fighting him. I watched it happen. I know that wasn't enough to hurt you like this. Something happened afterwards."

Lips still stretched thin, Zoro sighs; "something did. But it's fine."

"Zoro," you call, voice sharp in a way it's never been before. It causes his eyes to widen, shocked by the anger in your tone. Something changes in his expression then, a look of defeat and you let out a sigh, shoulders falling as your tone softens. "What happened?"

And so he tells you.

He tells you about what happened with Kuma. About how his sacrifice. About what he had to endure. And then he finishes by making you promise you won't tell Luffy or anyone else.

Biting your lip, your eyes graze the bandages across his chest as he finishes, your chest twisting. You known it was something awful and you'd wanted to know, but hearing it out loud was something different. To know Zoro had been alone when all of that had happened...

Taking a small step forward, you reach out for Zoro. He lets you, arms still hanging by his sides as you set your hands on his chest, brushing across the white bandages with a gentle, soothing touch.

Zoro sees the words on your lips before you even say them.

"Don't apologize."

Blinking, you glance up at him, surprise evident on your face.

Zoro just shakes his head. "I don't regret it and I'd do it again. For Luffy, for the crew and for you."

Swallowing thickly, you raise your hands, squeezing his shoulders.

Slowly and carefully, Zoro's hands fall on your hips in response.

You shake your head; "I can't believe you went through that alone."

Zoro just sighs, raising one of his hands to cup the back of your head as he pulls you into an embrace. You lean into the touch, letting your head fall against his chest as you carefully wrap your arms around his waist, not wanting to hurt him more.

"It's fine."

"It's not," you dismiss, pulling back to meet his eyes. When he doesn't respond, you continue. "Let me take care of you."

Brows furrowing, Zoro's lips part.

"You shouldn't be training when you're so hurt," you say, pulling back from his touch to slip your hand into his. Zoro's lets out a noise at that, and you gently tug him with you. "You should be resting. And I'll take care of you while you are."

"Y/N," Zoro starts, "I'm fine--"

"I don't want to hear it," you cut him off, pointing your finger at him. You once again take advantage of the fact that Zoro is a huge softy when it comes to you, and has never been able to argue to your wishes. "You're resting and that's the end of it."

Huffing, Zoro lets you pull him. "I'll rest for today." He comprises.

You shrug and the both of you know he'll be resting for a lot more than just today.

[yay855]

Lord of the Rings was literally a condemnation of war and a deliberate rejection of the hero narrative, where the ones who save the day aren't the long lost king or the wizard or the elf, but two tiny people who can barely carry each other, whose heroic trait wasn't martial might but the will to endure suffering and horror for the sake of a better future they might not even live to see. And their final welcome home after being broken down into something less is their beloved home town having been burned to the ground while they were away.

Dune (which literally revolves around a drug that gives people psychic powers, it's fantasy) is a narrative about how minority extremist groups are formed by desperate people who want to cling to something that justifies the suffering they had to endure at the hands of imperialism, and how these movements are so easily coopted by the very people who made them so necessary in the first place.

Wheel of Time is about how evil is something innate to humanity, and how fighting against it requires you to acknowledge your own capacity for evil and to choose not to indulge in your rage and selfishness. And it's about how evil isn't just angry and selfish but self defeating, and that we fight to save as many people as possible who would otherwise be sacrificed on the altar of greed. That the fight for what is right is an eternal vigilance that will never end, because the misery and selfishness that drive more into their clutches will always exist to some degree, and that we will be fighting the same damn fight forever. And that it's worth doing.

And the Discworld series literally has transgender dwarven women, messages about how believing in Santa Claus is training kids to believe in higher concepts like justice and mercy, about how conservative movements inevitably lead to fascism, and about how a good person will accomplish way more than a powerful one simply because they keep trying.

Fantasy has always been political. It always was, and it always is. And if a fantasy story doesn't have a clear message to it, then you're not paying attention. I'm not familiar with Arcane, but I know Harry Potter, and I know that the latter explicitly advocates for neoliberalism to the point of insisting that any social change is equally wrong including eliminating racist laws and harmful lack of regulation on dangerous substances. The end goal for Rowling isn't to make things better, it's to be the one enforcing the shittiness.

most funniest sudden deviation from a youtuber’s typical video lineup i’ve seen in recent memory

like bro imagine being SO pissed at the direction a show had taken that you have to momentarily quit spongeposting in order to talk about it for two whole hours. king shit

[lorelune]

rabbit hearted

|| michael kaiser x reader || E/18+ || a wolf and a rabbit || wc: 6.6k || ao3 ||

After a game, during a much-needed night at the bar, Bastard München muses on what animal each player embodies. The answer that the team decides on for you is rather unfortunate. And even more unfortunate is that Kaiser takes such a liking to your assignment.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: wow. wrote this in an afternoon in a complete, lust-filled haze. michael kaiser the things you do to me. this is truly just smut. insane smut with a relatively mean kaiser who is soft, somewhere in there. god help you and reader. enjoy loves 🩷

CWs: player reader, nonbinary reader with afab anatomy, reader referred to with they/them pronouns, clit/dick are used interchangeably for reader, dubcon (kinda), minor Oliver/reader, reader smokes and drinks, predator/prey (lightly), degradation (no derogatory terms used), squirting, PIV sex, kaiser is mean

It starts during a normal night of drinking.

You're out with the team— you usually abstain, but tonight feels different. After a hard-earned win, Bastard München is squirrely and more lively than normal. You can feel the electric energy in the air as the lot of you settle into your favored bar.

Kaiser is, as usual, at the epicenter with you against his side.

Kaiser doesn't drink often— the smell of ale and liquor bothers him usually. But when he does, he's a bit of a lightweight.

Tonight, Kaiser nurses his third stein with flushed cheeks. He'd taken a shot of smooth vodka with you earlier, too.

You don't fare much better than him, listing into his side after your first few drinks. He's warm, and the German winter that swirls outside is so, so cold. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, rubbing mindless circles over your jacket. 

It's Gagamaru, the usually quiet goalie, who presents the question that fundamentally alters your evening.

"If you were an animal," he slurs, "Which one would you be?"

The table chatters immediately; Kaiser is silent above you.

"Ness would be a dog," Isagi, another lightweight, who has spent the last ten minutes with his head lowered to the table, says. "That one’s easy."

"Don’t say it like that," Ness whines from your other side, squirming. Isagi isn't wrong and everyone at the table knows that. Someone claps Ness on his back.

"Kurona... a shark," you yawn. "like one of those nurse ones, that's nice and likes to be petted."

The table busts out in laughter, but no one disagrees. Kurona simply takes a sip of his drink, nodding amicably twice. 

It’s decided that Isagi is a panther, Hiori is a leopard seal, and Gesner is a dingo. Grim is a falcon.

"What would you be, Kaiser?" It's Yukimiya who asks. He’s a heavyweight, surprisingly, who has drunk more than the rest of the table but looks perfectly put together, still. Fucking rude.

Kaiser, who has remained notably silent the entire conversation, hums. Contemplative in a way that makes your stomach swoop. A quiet Kaiser is a dangerous Kaiser.

"A wolf, probably." he leans back in the booth. "Or a big cat."

"like a lion?" Isagi slurs. He needs water badly, you think. You wish you were within yourself enough to fetch some for him. “You’re way more of a wolf.”

"Sure, yeah." Kaiser smiles, all gleaming teeth. He does look like a predator like this, you think. Especially with how you’ve, somehow, become nestled against his shoulder, beneath him, keenly aware of his canines and their sharp points. It’s been almost a week since your last fuck, and therefore the marks he'd left during your last bedding have all but faded, but the knowledge of the damage they can inflict is still there.

You still remember the feeling of them. The way Kaiser sometimes draws blood and looks pleased about it.

"What about me?" you ask, shifting closer. Kaiser’s arm loops lower, going around your waist. His body is filled with curled tension.

Kaiser looks down at you, still smiling. It makes your stomach drop all over again. His fingers dig into your ribs and a small sound bubbles up your throat, against your will. It’s a frail, warbling sound. The bar is loud enough that only Kaiser and you can hear it, but it still makes your cheeks hot all the same.

When you attempt to duck and hide your face in the fabric of his shirt, Kaiser winds his hand into the hair at the base of your skull and tugs. It keeps your face up; he won't allow you to hide.

"I think," Kaiser licks his teeth, tilting his head. The long, azure tails of his hair fall off his shoulder. "You’re just a little rabbit."

What the fuck.

"... A bunny?" you ask, incredulous. You're not a fucking rabbit.

"Mhm," Kaiser pulls your hair again. "Don't you agree?"

"Absolutely not," you snap, embarrassed. Everyone at the table gets something of a predatory animal and you get shafted with a fucking bunny?! "Take it back."

"Nope." Kaiser pops the 'p' and pats your head with a little too much force. Your brain rattles around in your skull. "You're just a little bunny rabbit at the end of the day."

"No, I am not—!"

"I have to agree," Hiori says. The traitor, with his own sharp glint in his gaze, sighs dreamily. "Aren't ya' a lucky one, Kaiser."

"Don’t say it like that." you stutter over your words. "I'm not—!"

"Nah, you are," it's Gesner, this time, nodding and crossing his arms over his chest. "You run around like one too."

"Um," Ness says from beside you. "You a-are a bit like a rabbit, don't you think?"

"You’re cute like one too." Kaiser pinches your cheeks and shakes your head with his grip.

"No," you refuse again, drawing back from your wolfish tormentor. "Nuh-uh, nope, never. I'm leaving. Bye."

"See!" Gesner laughs. "Running off, just like a cornered rabbit!"

"I hate all of you." You snap, crawling over Ness and Kurona without a care in the world. You need to get out of this fucking booth—

Kaiser grabs your ankle and yanks.

It puts you off balance, and you fall into Ness’s lap. Like, fully. Face pressed between his legs.

You both squeak.

"Fuck off—!" You kick Kaiser in the gut, who doubles over, and you scramble from the booth.

You sway as you right yourself, stumbling through the crowded bar.

You're not a fucking bunny.

...

You end up outside, having bummed a cigarette from a beautiful woman who lit it for you. It balms your ego instantly, and the nicotine buzzing in your skull makes your humiliating animal assignment seem less important.

You consider going home. Your apartment is within walking distance, but it is cold. You could take a taxi and put yourself on ‘do not disturb’ so you don't have to deal with any of the inevitable teasing texts from your teammates.

And, it would allow you to ignore Kaiser.

You know him well. Well enough that the idea of you being a cute bunny rabbit is going to have you and your cunt infirmed for some amount of time if he is left to his own devices. Locking your door— no, barricading your door, because that fucker has a key to your apartment somehow, is your best option to save the health and safety of your dick.

You exhale a cloud of smoke that gets carried away by the biting wind. You shiver.

"Look at this," A voice comes from down the road. You grimace. You’d know that rolling, low drawl anywhere.

Uber’s Oliver Aiku— for fuck's sake— you cannot catch a break. You should've figured that he and the rest of his team would appear, given Bastard München beat them earlier in the day. They walk in a gaggle toward the bar with Oliver at the helm.

"Hey," You take another drag, remaining casual because you value your sanity. "All of Bastard is in there. I'd turn back if you want to keep the peace and avoid a bar fight."

"Aw," Oliver clicks his tongue as he nears; the team is already filtering inside. their funeral. "Don’t think we can handle it?"

"Not at all." You shake your head with a sigh.

Oliver hums and stays outside, sidling up next to you and taking his own pack of cigarettes out. He lights up beside you and exhales his first puff with a sigh.

"Where's your keeper?" Oliver asks.

"Inside.” You huff. "And— he's not my fucking keeper."

"Yet, you knew exactly who I meant."

"Because I have common sense— and I know how... we are perceived."

"And is that perception... not entirely correct?"

"We’re just fucking." You take another drag. This cigarette is burning way too long, dammit. You should've hailed a taxi. "That's all."

"You exclusive?"

"You're a dog." You spit, hoping there's enough venom behind your words to keep him at bay. "And... we haven't spoken about it."

"How interesting." Oliver slides a little closer.

You move a step away. "Keep your distance. He bites."

"Excuse me for trespassing." Oliver holds his cigarette between his lips and holds his hands up in what feels like a false surrender. "And for pursuing a fling."

"There are other prospects."

"Certainly." Oliver cocks his head to the bar behind him that has absolutely gotten louder since Ubers entered. "But you've banned me from your favored pub."

"Out of concern for your safety."

"So, you care about me then?"

"Twisting my words..." You laugh and throw your cigarette on the ground. You stamp it out with the bottom of your shoe. "Go in, I don't care. Find another body."

"Ouch." Oliver laughs, running a hand through his hair. His gaze is warm and piercing all at once.

You begin to walk away, in the direction of your apartment, when the door to the bar swings open rather dramatically.

Fuck— you took too long. You walk a little faster, you have to—

"There you are," It's Kaiser because, of course, it is. He grabs your shoulder and yanks you back. He wraps himself around you from behind, his blue-tipped bangs tickling your cheek. You refuse to look at him and see the glare that he's undoubtedly shooting at Oliver. Kaiser presses his lips to your cheek. "I thought I lost you."

"Piss off. I'm going home."

"Without me?"

"Yes." You try to pull away from him, but Kaiser is so much stronger than he looks (and he doesn’t look weak to begin with). He keeps you in place with an arm looped around your waist.

Oliver watches you both with blown pupils.

"'Just fucking', huh?" Oliver laughs then, low and forbidding.

Kaiser goes stiff behind you. You're fucked.

"Is that what they said?" Kaiser says next to your ear. You pull away harder, more frantically, but he doesn't yield.

"Yup, and it's the truth!" You say, far too chipper. "Now, let me go, so I can go home, drink some water, and go to bed."

"Nope." Kaiser cuts you off. "Not alone, little rabbit."

"I hate you."

"I'm sure," Kaiser smiles against your cheek, wolfish and unrelenting.

He drags you away, Oliver chuckling at the door of the bar. You despise them both.

...

Kaiser has you pressed against the door to your apartment (which he unlocked with that stupid key of his— you really should take that away from him—) the moment you enter. You're pressed, front flush to the wood with your cheek pressed to the side. Kaiser is leering at you like a wolf, like a big cat that needs you as a meal.

You gulp.

"You should know better," He practically croons. He's pressed against your back, already hard against your ass. "But, I suppose that I shouldn't expect all that much intellect out of a little bunny, should I?"

"Piss off." your voice barely squeezes out.

Kaiser's hands slip to your front, undoing the button of your pants and the zipper of your fly. You squirm.

"No," You tell him, "No, no, don't, wait—"

"I was very patient at the bar," Kaiser noses into your cheek. "I wanted to fuck you in the bathroom there, you know. I could've made sure the whole team knows whose you are."

"I think they already— do—!" Your voice arcs as he bites down on your neck, on an old, yellowing bruise he left the last time he had you like this.

"Do they?" Kaiser sucks at the skin, blooming a mark there, surely. "That Uber's defender seemed pretty keen on you."

"He's a whore."

"And you're mine." Kaiser tugs you by your hair, forcing your neck into a painful curve.

His gaze is cutting. All sharp edges and blue thorns. You've offended him, somehow, by doing nothing. Now you'll reap what you've sewn.

(Part of you, the part that, perhaps, is more rabbit-like than the rest of you, knew that this is where you'd end up. It wanted this. Wanted to feel squeezed and pressed and small like a little prey animal at the hands of a man who can't be described as anything less than a canid predator.)

Kaiser’s hand dips into the front of your panties, the stupid cotton kind you try to avoid wearing when you know you're going to be fucked.

"Oh look," Kaiser says, sing-song, "You're soaked."

"Fuck— you—!" You kick back at him.

"A little bunny is so predictable," Kaiser sighs, wistful, rolling the pearl of your clit. "You just need to be fucked, don't you?"

"No—"

"Don’t lie," Kaiser shoves your pants down to your thighs. "You’re not very good at it, anyway."

"I hate you—"

"Keep lying and I'll make this worse for you." Kaiser reminds.

It's always like this. The push and pull, the tugging, and the resistance. You both get off on it. You feel dizzy with arousal, with shame, with pent-up rage and indigence.

A sound bubbles up from your throat as he spins you. Still against the door, with your back to it now. Your panties are hardly covering your cunt down, the thatch of hair around it peeking out.

And your wolf drops to his knees with a hungry smile. He pulls off your pants and presses his lips to the wet spot on your panties.

"These are cute," he hums. They are, there's a little bow in the middle, periwinkle, with light lace around the thighs. "All for me?"

"N—No—"

"Lying, lying, lying, little rabbit."

He licks a stripe over your cunt, over the soaked cotton. Your hips jolt, and he presses them into the door.

It's rude how he does this. How he undoes you so easily, how he picks you apart like a wolf tearing the flesh from the ribs of its meal.

He pulls your panties down and feasts.

It's too much, immediately. Kaiser does nothing in halves and sucking your dick applies to that. He sucks your clit into his mouth, kneading your hips as you gasp and writhe.

He moans when you kick him and doubles down.

He laps at you, breaking you down so easily. A finger presses against your entrance and you whine, hips jolting down toward the pressure. Your legs feel weak, with arousal and the leftover exertion of the day’s game.

"Wait— wait—" Your voice breaks. "I’m going to fall—"

Kaiser hefts one of your legs onto his shoulder but does not slow. Doesn't break his tempo while his head bobs up and down. You fist a hand in his hair and pull. He moans against you and the vibration goes straight to your dick.

You cum incredibly quickly. Embarrassingly so, and your one unsupported leg shakes so hard that it does, indeed, collapse. Kaiser barely catches you, still licking at your cunt through the aftershocks of your orgasm. He lowers you to the floor as your chest heaves.

You struggle to catch your breath as Kaiser grins at you. Your slick coats around his mouth, down his chin.

"What? He tilts his head. "Nothing to say now?"

"You’re the w-worse."

"At least you're not lying, now." And he kisses you, fiercely.

It’s the kind of contact that is meant to break and snap bone. The wet-fingered hand that had been massaging your insides grabs your jaw with enough force to bruise. All you can do is take it. All you can do is swallow down his moans while he takes yours. All you can do is shake and wrap your arms around his shoulders.

A warbling sound breaks from your throat.

He pulls away with a gleam in his eye. The night has hardly started and you already feel— wrung out, small. Aching.

Kaiser, for all of his dramatics and teeth, kisses your forehead with a surprising amount of tenderness. You ignore the stinging behind your eyes.

...

Kaiser is kind enough to bring you to bed, thankfully.

During some of your trysts, he'll simply take you over the arm of your couch or the small dining table tucked away by your kitchen.

Today, however, he drops you on top of your bed. You bounce as he does. You sniffle, dragging yourself up to the headboard.

"Running, just like a rabbit." Kaiser pulls off his shirt. "You’re not making a good case for yourself, bunny."

"Don’t c-call me that."

"Shouldn’t I?" he moves so quickly, suddenly braced over you, with a hand in between your legs. "It turns you on so much when I do."

You hate that he's right. You hate that— being in his jaws makes you so weak. You turn your head to the side, away from him. Kaiser acquiesces, kissing down your throat that you've bared to him. He nips and sucks as he does. Raised bite marks following in his wake, surely. You can't stifle your sounds as he does. Your legs kick and your heels press into the bed, but it doesn't slow or stop him.

"You’re so wet," Kaiser rolls your clit with his thumb. "I bet you'd take my cock so well, without any prep even."

Alarm bells go off in your head, the hard line of Kaiser's cock, still covered by his boxer briefs, burns against your thigh.

"No, no, please—" Kaiser is not small. He has a frustratingly large and thick cock (pretty, too), and taking without being stretched first aches for days.

He hushes you with a kiss on your cheek. "I'll be nice today, hm? Even if you don’t deserve it."

"You're n-never nice."

"Another truth," he sighs, wistful. "You’re getting better."

You hate him so fucking much.

It’s unfair, how easily he slips a finger into you. Then, so quickly, another, pressing and curling in just the right spot. For 'just fucking', Kaiser knows your body far too well. He is so keen to the spots that undo you. You barely hold back tears as he massages the most tender spot inside you.

He kisses you as he does. It’s consuming, the way his tongue delves into your mouth. He licks your tongue, at the back of your teeth, and sucks your tongue into your mouth. When he withdraws, a line of spit connects you both. It breaks and slaps against your chin.

"You look so pretty when you're messy.” He pats your cheek with too much force, curling his fingers just right.

"If—" You can barely find your voice. "If you make me c-come again— you can't—"

"Oh, I can—"

"Don't—" you won't be able to take it, you're certain. No matter how empty and barren your insides feel, even with his fingers in you, you can't take anymore. You feel tears brimming at the corners of your eyes.

"Please, please, please—"

"What are you begging for?" Kaiser kisses your cheek again like a lover would. "More or less? I can't tell."

You think less, but you don't know.

He slips a third finger inside you. You cry out, wrapping a leg around him, over his back. It’s an answer enough. 

“All that talk,” he pushes your shirt up. “And still so needy.”

Before you can reply, Kaiser has his lips around one of the stiff peaks of your nipples. A sound shatters out of you as he sucks. Bites, even, gnawing on you like a piece of meat. It’s sensitive, it’s too fucking much, and yet you can kick him away anymore. You fist a hand in your own hair.

He spreads his fingers inside you, switching to the other side of your chest. 

Kaiser leaves marks as he does. Your chest, marked. Your throat, marred. Everyone in the locker room will see, and that’s his intention, probably. You’ll be embarrassed— you are embarrassed— but you can’t make yourself stop him.

(Oh, you want his mark on you. You want to be more than fucking, you want to be in his maw, his teeth in you— fuck, fuck, fuck—)

He pulls away, taking your shirt with him. 

Kaiser looms above you, grinning, teeth gleaming in the low light of your bedroom. You swallow, audibly, and he laughs in the same way a wolf does. Low and forbidding, a promise of a massacre tucked in his throat. 

He peels off his boxers and his cock springs free.

If you were more within yourself, less lost in pleasure-pain, you would make some quip about how he is wet too. Pre staining the front of the boxers, wetting the red head of his cock. He’s like that— messy. Eager in his own way, dripping before you’ve even really touched him at all.

You jolt up, unsteady, wrapping a hand around his cock and pumping. He hisses and grabs your wrist, but doesn’t stop your motion. Instead, his mouth falls open, pretty lips parting as you stroke him. He’s already fully hard, painfully so it looks like, but he doesn’t make you stop. If you were teasing, he probably would, but you’re not.

You’re just pleasure drunk, bent within your desire. 

“Fuck—” he grits out, guiding your holding a little tight on his cock. His pre drips, splattering against your navel. You jolt with the feel of it, whining. 

“How—” you swallow again. “How d-do you want me?”

You watch his brain stall.

Kaiser is an interesting creature. Part of him craves the chase, the capture, the stealing of something for himself. Your pleasure and forced submission are two of those things, you’ve found. Those desires of his are transparent. 

There’s another part that wants something stickier. That wants something... you wouldn’t say kinder, but more intimate maybe. Closeness, in all its parts. 

It depends on his mood, how he starts fucking you. But it usually ends the same.

Kaiser doesn’t answer you verbally, he instead grabs you by the hips and flips you, so you’re tummy down against the duvet. He roughly grabs your hips, raising them so your back is in a cruel arch.

“I want to mount you,” he says, voice rough and lilting. “Like any wolf would want a rabbit, yeah?”

You kick at him blindly, “I’m not—”

“But you are—” Kaiser reminds you, a hand bracing on the back of your neck, pressing you down into the sheets. “And you were doing so well, knowing that. And even still—”

His breath is scalding against your nape.

“I’m a wolf, remember?” Kaiser's teeth nip against the skin and muscle of your trap. “Whether you’re a little bunny or not, I’d want you like this.”

You don’t get to speak; your words are stolen by the press of his wet cock against your cunt.

A sound tears from you as he breaches. It’s a tight fit, even though you’re dripping and he had three fingers in you moments ago. The stretch is a burning thing, hot, so hot. It hurts, but the good kind of hurt you relish. Every centimeter Kaiser pushes into you feels like agony and relief in tandem with one another. 

By the time he’s fully seated, pelvis flush to your ass, your breath is catching. Too fast, too shallow, too withered.

“Deep breaths,” he whispers into your ear with a kiss over the sensitive shell of it. His weight is still beared on your neck. “Slow ones.”

“F-Fuck you—”

“I could move now, you know,” Kaiser adjusts his hips, the tip of his cock nudging your cervix, entirely too deep. “I’d make you pass out if I did that, wouldn’t I? I said I’m being nice, so breathe.”

You whine and close your eyes, counting your breaths, matching Kaiser’s, his own ragged by better-paced than your own. The brittle quality of your own settles a little, though a hiccuping sound emerges too.

“Are you crying?” Kaiser asks, half-incredulous and half-struck. “So early for tears.”

“Is’ the liquor—” You slur out.

“Liar,” Kaiser withdraws, so only the tip of his cock remains inside you. “Liar, liar, liar—”

With each word, he thrusts in and out of you. Deep and fast, bruising your insides without care for how you scramble for purchase below him. A twinge burrows itself in your neck with the pressure.

You wish you had words in you, but Kaiser fucks them out of you without pause. Without yield. All you can do is grab the duvet and take it.

His pace isn’t rapid, it’s measured. It’s meant to undo. Each wet slap against your cunt is tactical on his part. Each groan he lays into your ear serves the purpose of flaying you. You’re a meal for him; you’re being eaten.

He starts babbling as his pace speeds up.

“J-Just a fucking bunny,” he spits. “Just a stupid fucking bunny who doesn’t know what’s good for them, yeah? Should’ve watched your mouth.”

Any reply you could have leaks out of you in the drool that pools out of your mouth, wetting the fabric beneath your cheek.

“Good thing you have me,” Kaiser moans into your throat, sinking his teeth into you. “I know what you need, even if nothing in that pretty head of yours does. You k-know that, yeah? You know you’re mine?”

Ah, there it is.

Kaiser wants something that is his. Something he has to take.

He’s taken your body in so many ways, parts of your heart too, which is far scarier to acknowledge. For how much yearning is built up in that man’s body, he is horrible at expressing it in any sane fashion. 

Only like this, with you taking everything he gives, can he let those desires loose. Only then can Kaiser really yearn with the full breadth of his chest, with the full weight of his body against yours.

“Yours.” Is all you can get out.

(Oliver, that fucker, was right. ‘Just fucking’, your ass.)

Kaiser moans, high and sweet in a way that you’re certain only you have had the privilege of hearing. He pulls out for only a moment to flip you around. Your legs instinctually come up around his hips, ankles locking at his lower back. His cock lays over your navel, over the softness of your tummy. It’s— obscene to look at. How deep inside you he can reach. 

He clasps his hands with yours, intertwining his fingers with your own as he pushes inside you again. 

The angle is different— each thrust has the head of Kaiser’s cock nudging your sweet spot. It doesn’t help that your stomach is bare, slick with the remnants of your slick and Kaiser’s pre. You feel exposed, like a belly-up prey animal that can’t hide from the wet jaws of a much larger, much more dangerous animal.

It doesn’t help that Kaiser is leering from above you, smiling, sweat beading on his brow, and slicking the blonde and blue hair around his face down against his cheeks. He looks just as debauched as you, maybe.

You squeeze his hand in your own, and he moans. Dirty and filthy, fucking into you harder, deeper. He tilts his hips to raise your own, the angle making blood rush into your skull.

Tears, the overwhelmed kind, drip from your eyes.

It makes him slow, just barely, and flatten his body to yours. He licks them away like he so enjoys doing when he forces you down small enough to get you teary and lost. 

“Shhh,” he shushes into your cheeks, lapping like a hot-mouthed canine. “You’re taking me so well— why are you crying? Is the little rabbit scared?”

“No, no—”

“Sure, sure,” Kaiser laughs, cruel and loving all at once. “So scared of a big, bad wolf, right?”

“No—”

Are you scared? 

Maybe.

You’re scared of how Kaiser makes you feel in these moments. 

On the field, he’s all hard metal and marble. Something entirely broken and reforged, stone-hard and indomitable. Endless in his prowess, terrifying in his ferocity. On more than one occasion, you’ve been explicitly thankful to be on his team, rather than facing him. The way he breaks others down simply through his own play is terrifying to watch. You aid him, as any good midfielder would do, but it’s not you who is tearing apart your opponents.

That’s all Kaiser.

But that’s less fear— more awe, some respect, and some... eye-rolling. God, the man has a flair for the dramatic when he gets into it. 

The fear comes from these moments. It comes from when you were so easily wrapped around him at the bar.

The depth of Michael Kaiser’s feelings is endless. Black and lightless, like the deep sea, there’s no bottom to it. It’s the kind of lucid knowledge that Kaiser will consume you with his yearning, his voracity, his urge to take and eat his fill, and then some. It doesn’t take a genius to know that Kaiser has lived most of his life hungry, and now that he has access to ample food, he will never allow himself to go hungry again.

It’s unfortunate that you are his— morsel. Prey. Meal. So often.

It scares you, the look on his face now as his pace increases. As all of his attention truly zeroes in on you. The smile on his face, the knowingness of how he looks at you. The way he eats your pleasure and intends to gorge himself on his own.

(At how— he so clearly wants more. No one unaffected would need to hold your hands to come like he does. Kaiser doesn’t know how to want and yearn in any way that is normal. Only when you’re both stripped down, you, humiliated, and Kaiser fully riding the high of humiliating you, can you both be honest.)

“Please—” You say, desperate. 

Kaiser doesn’t tease or ask what you mean, now. He just fucks you harder.

It hurts— your insides. You’ll be bruised and you want to be bruised. You bend up into him as he does, as he chases his own want and desire through the outlet of your body. Your cunt squeezes around him and he curses under your breath.

His pace falters, just barely, and you know he’s close.

“Kiss—?” You ask, broken all over, and Kaiser does just that.

His sounds get lighter and airier as he gets closer to his own peak. You feel the way his muscles are bound tight. The bed frame hits the wall with each thrust. The wet slap of flesh-on-flesh lights staccato breaths in your chest.

You babble out pleas, for more, for more— 

He chases his high, eyes locked onto yours, hands squeezing your own on either side of your head. His rhythm breaks as he groans, pressing deeper, so fucking deep, and he fills you up.

The gush of warmth in you has you gasping, kicking at his back. It feels like so fucking much as he fucks his spent into you, not stopping his thrusts until he’s empty and softening. His chest glistens as he pulls away, cock slipping out of you with a rush of cum. It drips out of you. It must be obscene because Kaiser practically has hearts in his eyes as he pushes his release back inside of you with two shaking fingers.

His gaze shifts from your cunt to you. Then, he scowls.

The moment is gone, it seems. 

Something odd and hollow enters your chest. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. It gets worse as Kaiser climbs off the bed, finding his boxer briefs and pulling them back on.

(He’s— he’s usually clingy after sex. He needs to be cuddled and held, but will never ask for it. Though, sometimes he does this, runs off when things get too raw and truly real.)

He exits the room wordlessly and you sigh.

You feel— sober enough. You want to cum and your insides are still vibrating and aching. Your hand slips between your wet thighs.

A little aborted sound slips out of you as you scissor two fingers around your cock. It’s swollen, your whole cunt is puffy and aching from the treatment Kaiser inflicted upon it. You feel like all of the blood in your body is centered around your core; it won’t be hard to finish.

You throw your head back against the bed, feeling too empty even with Kaiser’s spent inside of you.

“What are you doing?”

You hadn’t realized Kaiser had reentered the room.

He looks— handsome, unfortunately. Ruffled and sweaty from sex, and it’s a good look on him. There are a few bite marks on his neck, ones you didn’t even realize you left. His hair is frizzed up from the generated humidity.

“Getting off,” your voice breaks when you speak. “Leave, if that’s what you want.”

There’s a stillness in the room. Tension that appears so quickly and thickly, that you can almost see it. 

Kaiser glares at you like he intends to kill you. It’s the same look he gives Ness when the other whiffs a pass during practice. It’s the same one he gives Isagi when he outdoes Kaiser. It’s an identical look to the one he gives you when you leave the locker room without him.

Kaiser’s clamoring back on the bed before you have time to think. Your hand is ripped away from your cunt and replaced by his own.

“Did you really think— I’d leave you on your own like this?” 

“Yes—?”

“I must’ve fucked you stupid, then.” Kaiser spits, literally spits, onto your cunt. You flinch. “Or maybe, you just don’t think at all. That sounds plenty logical too.”

“You’re—” the worse, you want to say, but unfortunately, you really can’t speak as he lifts your thighs around him once more and slips his deft fingers into you again, rubbing your clit with his other hand.

“I just wanted to be nice, and get you some water, considering you were so bent on having a sip before we left the bar. But excuse me, I have such a needy rabbit on my hands, needing to get off and be fucked stupid before they can be satisfied.”

You squeal as his pace increases. You’re still— so sensitive. He folds your legs up and an odd pressure grows in your abdomen.

“Mihya—” A slip of the tongue, an understandable one, all things considered. “Wait—”

“I’ve been too nice to you, haven’t I?” Kaiser bends you in half. “You’ve forgotten the role you play, haven’t you?”

No, you haven’t, you really just thought that things got too sticky and gooey for Kaiser to continue to be in your bed, and you were trying to not fucking— leash a wolf, for your own safety. But, maybe Kaiser’s cock and the shot you did before you left the club really did make you a bit stupid.

The pressure in your abdomen increases, all pressure and heat.

“Mihya, wait, wait—!” You sob, scrambling to grab his wrist, but he doesn’t stop or slow. His pace grows more frantic, intense. 

When you come, it’s wet.

A gush of fluid drips down his wrist, soaking your thighs, and wetting the comforter in a puddle below you. Kaiser keeps going, fucking you through it, despite all of your kicking and pushing. 

He doesn’t stop until you come again, the same way. Wet and messy and wrung empty.

Only then, once you’re shaking, choking on your tears and harsh breaths, does he extract his fingers from inside you. They’re— they’re dripping. Soaked, just like the sheets, just like your cheeks. 

You have your forearm laid over your eyes as you struggle to catch your breath.

You’ve— you’ve never done that before.

“Well,” Kaiser says, a smile so clearly in his voice. “That’s new. How lucky am I?’

“I—” Your voice is chopped. “I d-didn’t know I could do that.”

“... You haven’t before?”

You shake your head, pulling your arms away to look at him.

Kaiser— oh fuck, oh fuck— you made a mistake. You shouldn’t have told him that. The smile he wears is worse than wolfish. It’s worse than predatory. It’s something deeper and more primal that has your hindbrain begging you to roll off the bed and hide in a closet until further notice.

But you don’t, you can’t.

Kaiser kisses you. 

He licks at your lips, your mouth, swallowing down each desperate, overstimulated sound that leaves you. His cock— his fucking dick— is half hard again against your thigh.

“No,” you tell him for the umpteenth time. “I can’t— I can’t—”

“You can and you will.” He declares with a sharp kiss to your now locked-shut lips. 

You know that there isn’t much you can do to refute him.

(And you’re not sure you want to.)

...

You do, eventually, get water. It’s the early morning by then, the sun beginning to peak over the horizon. Kaiser puts a bottle to your lips after you, literally, cannot raise yourself up.

He hasn’t ever fucked you like this— never so many times in a night, never so full and so relentlessly. It’s hard to think— hard to fully understand that he is done— appetite fully satiated. Maybe.

Regardless, Kaiser is done with his gorging, and what’s left is the half-corpse of your body.

“Slow,” he tells you. You’re cradled in his arms as the bottle is put to your lips. You drink too fast, choke, and he scolds you. He’s being uncharacteristically doting.

“S-Sorry,” you mumble. Your lips feel numb.

“Don’t apologize,” he says. You can’t see his face, not really, but you can see the hint of an expression that isn’t as viperous as you would think it to be. It looks... not kinder, but not cruel.

He’s just as worn down and puddle-ish as you are.

Kaiser drinks his own bottle, after wiping you down. You really should shower, you’re filthy, but Kaiser says you can take one in the morning. There’s no practice tomorrow, you can sleep and get clean later.

It’s not until he’s slipping beneath your (fresh, thank god) sheets that you realize Kaiser means that you’ll do so together.

He tucks himself under your chin, head against your chest, with your sticky legs tangled with his own. Like a dog, a wolf maybe, he mouths at a few of the marks he’s left. He only relents with a laugh when you whine enough. 

It’s odd, then. The stillness of the room. The only sounds are the whoosh of the aircon, the hum of an air purifier in the other room, and your matched, steady breathing. Kaiser rubs a hand up and down your spine.

“You’re still shaking, bunny,” he hums. 

“Am I?” You genuinely can’t tell.

“So hard.” Kaiser lifts up your hand by the wrist, showing off the tremor that he caused. The bastard. 

“O-Oh.”

Kaiser nudges your jaw with his nose. A smile is pressed into your skin. Toothy and wide, pleased with himself.

Maybe, hours ago, you would’ve fought him on it. There’s still a well of embarrassment in you, but there’s nothing to do with it when you’re this... fucked. All you can make yourself do is hum, contented enough, and press a few kisses to the crowd of his head. Your vision blurs with exhaustion, with sleep. It doesn’t take long for you to fall under.

(You crash before you notice the tension drain out of Kaiser. You don’t see how he presses closer to you, wraps you up in his arms tighter, tighter than he ever has before. You don’t feel him lavish your marked neck with kisses, luxuriate in his claim and all the closeness he’s broken you down into.)

(And, truthfully, even if you had witnessed this version of Kaiser? You wouldn't have minded. Maybe, even, as rabbit-hearted as you are, you would’ve returned his affections in kind.)

For now, as the gold of morning streams in through your blinds in pretty rays, you sleepily enjoy being caught prey in the arms of a wolf.

thank you for reading!! ❣️

[bytemee]

JOURNEY MERCIES — yu jimin.

♫ playing… journey mercies by MARK.

synopsis. “my heart's on an airplane, on its way to find you, so that you can keep it beating i want you to hear me call your name i just want to hear you call my name over the years i’ve been all that you hated will you see me differently or will your heart still have some space for me?”

pairing. non!idol!karina x gender!neutral!reader

genre. emotional drama, slow burn, slice of life (?)

disclaimer(s). lots of flashbacks, um listen to da song, some language, just pure angst, some fluff too!!!! haha, heartbreak 🥀💔💔💔💔, and let me know if there’s more!

word count. 5.2k

authors note. kai cenat let me go to streamer university please kai ceant

there's a crying baby two rows ahead, a stiff neck settling in, and six more hours to go. you told yourself you'd sleep on the flight, but of course, you're wide awake . . . which is not really your fault given your environment. the overhead light is on, casting an unflattering glare on your face, and you look over to see the person sitting next to you, already sleeping peacefully.

you envy their ability to doze off so easily. but that's nothing compared to the emotions you're feeling as you think about what's to come.

it's a little bit of everything, and some things you can't even name. nerves, anticipation, anxiety, excitement, dread, hope, and more than a hint of sadness. maybe you shouldn't have come. it's been a long time since you last saw her. you've both grown up and moved on with your lives, but you don't know what you'll find when you meet her again. and why exactly her parents mailed you an address with an envelope attached to it.

will she even remember you? or has she moved on completely, erased you from her heart and her memory? will she smile and wave, politely asking about how you've been these last few years, and will you exchange the expected pleasantries? will you sit across from each other and feel awkward and empty?

or will she light up, fling her arms around you, and cry into your shoulder the way you dream of? will she tell you how she never stopped missing you, that the only thing keeping her going all these years was the memory of your time together, and that she never got over you? will you have a long conversation over drinks and laugh as you talk about all your favorite memories? and then, after an hour, or two, or more, will you slip into a natural silence where you can both just smile and appreciate how lucky you are to be sitting in that moment with the love of your life?

but that's a dream, isn't it? nothing will ever go as well as it does in your mind.

you stand near gate 34, your backpack slung over one shoulder, trying not to break eye contact with jimin, but it's hard. the lump in your throat keeps swelling, and there are tears brimming, threatening to fall, and you've already made a fool of yourself once this morning by crying while buying breakfast. you were embarrassed to get emotional at a place like that, in public, but the woman running the cash register smiled and handed you a napkin, which just made it worse.

you wonder what's wrong with you. you've always prided yourself on being able to control your emotions, staying level-headed, and not letting things get to you. why is today different?

although your mom has already cried as well, hugging you and making sure you were packed and prepared. now she's sitting on a bench a few feet away, pretending not to eavesdrop. your dad isn't here, and you haven't asked why. you figure he has his reasons, and it's probably better for you both that he's not present for the inevitable teary goodbye.

jimin stands in front of you, hands in her pockets. she's rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, a habit you've always found endearing. there's a lot of nervous energy, and neither of you quite knows what to say, what can be said without causing another round of waterworks. you try not to look at the time, although you have no idea what would happen if your gate suddenly closed or you had to sprint through the airport to make it onto your plane.

she looks pretty today even when she's wearing your old sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. her hair is thrown back in a messy bun, and she hasn't bothered to put any makeup on. but, as you stare at her, your eyes wandering to take in the familiar sight, you think she's beautiful.

you've had many nights of staring into the darkness, your hand stretched across your pillow to where she used to lay. you'd close your eyes and try to conjure the image of her lying right next to you, smiling or fast asleep, and the ghostly sensation of her skin under your fingers. but somehow, you always managed to forget a part of her, whether it was the exact shape of her mouth or the precise tone of her voice, and it felt like the most horrible loss you could imagine.

now, in the cold airport, her presence hits you full force, and you realize, not for the first time, how much you're going to miss her. you wonder what it would have been like if things had been different, if you had decided not to apply to colleges so far away from home. if you had both stayed here, close to home and each other, would you guys be living happily together somewhere in this town, waking up together and cuddling on a sofa every weekend, doing all the mundane, domestic things that everyone else takes for granted?

if only you weren't chasing a stupid degree or trying to be someone.

"you packed your charger, right?" she says, "and your inhaler?"

you smile, despite your mood, and nod. you have no idea how to deal with this, with saying goodbye and going your separate ways. so you keep it simple and hope you're not messing up somehow.

"don't forget your adapter. it's a different voltage."

you nod and tell her not to worry.

she bites her lip and then laughs softly. "sorry. i'm not good at this."

"at what?"

"being brave," she replies, and then pauses. "goodbye is the hardest thing, isn't it?"

"i'd say so. but i'm still not quite convinced. who came up with the word goodbye in the first place, right? like, what kind of idiot would think that this was the right answer?" you don't know why you're talking, spewing out the thoughts that come into your mind, but her expression relaxes, and you're glad.

"you're always going to be my person, okay?" she says. "no matter how long it is, no matter how much things change. don't you ever forget that, not for one single moment."

you stare at her, feeling speechless. all of this is a whirlwind, and it's difficult to catch your breath and find a stable thought, let alone speak. you manage a shaky "me, too. you'll always be mine," and you think those words are woefully inadequate compared to what she's just told you.

she doesn't say anything right away.

she nods, memorizing your face one last time before opening her arms. you step forward and embrace her. her scent overwhelms your senses; she smells like your laundry detergent and her favorite body spray. it makes sense; you gave her the bottle as a gift after your sister had brought a case of it home from a trip overseas. you pull her close, squeezing her against you and burying your nose into her hair, never wanting to let her go.

the last call for boarding echoes overhead.

your mom stands now, a silent cue. it’s time.

you pull back and wipe the tears off your cheeks with the sleeve of your hoodie.

"you better go," jimin whispers.

"okay."

she smiles, a sweet, sad curve of the lips. "text me, okay?"

a ding sounds overhead. the plane starts to descend, and your stomach drops with it. you sit up straighter, brush the sleep lines from your cheek, and try not to think too hard about where you're going. you pull your bag out from under the seat and rest it between your feet. your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you check the screen. it's an email alert from your flight confirmation, reminding you about the weather forecast at your destination—the weatherman said to wear a coat, the clouds are going to cry.

there’s also some notes on what you need to do upon landing, and the itinerary for the connecting flight.

your fingers fidget with the hem of your sleeve. you’re not sure if it’s the altitude or something else making it hard to breathe all of a sudden, and you feel an urge to open your window and jump. but then the seatbelt light flashes overhead, and you get the sign that it's safe to get up. you reach into the pocket and grab your phone, then pull your wallet out and tuck it into your carry-on bag. you double-check your boarding pass, ensuring you have everything.

"okay, but listen," your friend alex says, eyes wide and slurring slightly, “if i were three inches taller, i'd have a girlfriend by now. it's because i'm short. people just can't take me seriously."

you lean your head against the couch, rolling your eyes and half-smiling. this is not the conversation you thought would happen when the group suggested watching a movie and hanging out, but it's entertaining enough. alex is a bit of a character, to say the least.

"why don't you try online dating or something?" you ask, not unkindly.

"like bumble? are you serious? i don't wanna meet weirdos online, and the last time i was on tinder, there were like…six women i could date. six. out of twenty. the ratio is so fucked, dude."

"he has a point," emma mumbles from the armchair, barely lifting her head. she's half-sprawled, nursing a half-empty cup of something suspiciously orange. you hadn't really met alex until this year—you got added to a group chat through mutual friends, and after getting paired for a class project, you ended up hanging out more often. now, it's become a semi-regular thing. you're not sure if he's way drunker than everyone else or if his tolerance is just off the charts.

"dude. seriously. think about it. what does a guy have to do these days to impress a girl and score a date, huh?"

"become a woman."

alex twists his lips and turns his head, thinking about the response. he finally shrugs and points a finger in emma's direction, "that's not a terrible idea."

you squint and look over at him. you can't tell whether he's joking or not, and the room is a little blurry, so maybe your judgment is clouded.

your phone buzzes.

you glance down and freeze for half a second.

incoming facetime: jimin 💙

it’s nearly 2 a.m. for you. which means… she must be getting ready for bed.

“be right back,” you mutter, stumbling to your feet, almost knocking your drink over. no one pays much attention. you step outside, letting the door click shut behind you as you swipe to answer—just before the ringing cuts out.

jimin’s face fills your screen, her toothbrush hanging from her mouth, and you hear the muffled sound of music playing in the background. she blinks at you.

“you answered,” she mumbles around the toothbrush, then turns to rinse.

"i always answer for you," you say, grinning as you sit on the steps.

she returns with a sleepy smile, face lit only by her bathroom light, and her voice is a little softer, a little gentler; it's something she does when the two of you are talking late at night. you've missed it.

“what time is it over there?”

“almost two.”

“two? why are you still awake? are you—are you outside?”

you nod.

there's a pause.

she holds your gaze.

then, "you're not wearing a jacket." before you can even defend yourself, she squints, then sighs. “you really should be sleeping. you have class tomorrow.”

you try to change the subject before she turns into your third reminder app. “what about you? getting ready for bed?”

her lips tug into a pout. it's adorable. too adorable for you to handle, too adorable for her to be miles away, too adorable for 2 a.m., and too adorable for anyone in general, really. you swallow and try to distract yourself by picking at the corner of your phone case.

jimin sits on the floor, leaning her back against the bathtub. you watch as she tucks her hair behind her ear, and then she tilts her head. “yeah. i have an early shift tomorrow. just brushed my teeth. wanted to see you before i slept.”

there are a thousand different thoughts running through your brain, a thousand different words that you want to say, but you keep them in. instead, you reply, "i miss you."

"i miss you, too."

you never really liked the idea of calling someone. why? texts existed for a reason, after all. but jimin prefers video calls. she likes hearing your voice, seeing your face, and watching the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. she's the only person who can get you to smile, to laugh, and make you forget about the rest of the world.

and you love it.

you love her.

she tells you that she can't sleep unless she talks to you first, and she says that talking to you helps her fall asleep. but it makes you wonder why you don't call her more often. you like her voice, too. it's sweet and soft, but you know what's hidden underneath. the way she looks at you, the way she smiles, the way she bites her lip and raises her eyebrows—all of it makes you feel like you're going to burst.

she yawns, long and slow, before curling sideways on the bathroom floor, phone still propped up against the towel rack. her hair’s a little messy. she mumbles something incomprehensible, and you think she’s going to hang up—but she doesn’t. she just nestles her cheek against her arm and blinks up at the screen.

“you’re gonna fall asleep right there?” you whisper.

“mmhm.”

you sit there for a while, listening to the sounds of her breathing. her eyes close, her mouth opens, and a tiny snore escapes. your own eyelids feel heavy, and you're tempted to let yourself drift off as well, but you have enough self-control to resist. instead, you reach a hand forward and place a palm against the screen.

you murmur, "good night. i'll text you."

you walk through the terminal with your bag trailing behind you, bleary-eyed and jet-lagged. your body is still operating on london time, and it feels strange, walking past so many people. people heading home, families, groups of friends—everyone is here for a specific reason. no one stops to think about the destination; they're caught up in the moment, looking for the next sign to tell them which way to go, where to go next.

your throat feels dry. you blink, trying to push away the creeping sense of unreality. the last time you were in this airport, the last time you had set foot anywhere near here, was the day of your departure.

it feels like an eternity ago.

you get to the carousel just in time to see your suitcase rolling past. you step forward, grab the handle, and tug it off the belt. the crowd begins to move. everyone walks in different directions, going towards the exits. there's no one else waiting here, and you take a minute, letting the bustle subside a bit.

as you make your way toward the exit, the automatic doors glide open with a whoosh, and sunlight fills your vision. you squint. then you stop because you need to find out where your rideshare pickup zone is before you're stranded. you're already thinking about how awkward it would be if the driver has to circle back and double-check, so you pull out your phone and tap the button to start a search.

your phone buzzes in your hand—a location pin and a little car icon moving slowly on the map.

two more minutes.

you tuck your phone into your coat pocket and rub your hands together for warmth. you’re not used to this weather anymore. you exhale and watch your breath fog in the air.

"excuse me?" a small voice.

you turn.

it's been almost six months since the last time you saw each other. that's the longest the two of you have gone without meeting in person, and even then, it had been hard to manage the separation. you don’t know what you’re supposed to be feeling. excited, definitely. nervous, a little. anxious in the way that makes your palms sweat and your brain try to recalibrate every possible reaction you might have the moment you see her.

you've been pacing the arrivals terminal for about ten minutes, the toe of your shoe tracing the line between two tiles. your eyes flick up to the digital display again: flight ke081 — arrived. people stream around you. some rush, eager to find a loved one, a familiar face, while others meander, dragging luggage, a few feet ahead.

she's here.

your phone vibrates, and you jump, nearly dropping the device.

landed!! i’m walking slow on purpose

make sure you’re there plz

don't abandon me

and you had replied:

i’m literally standing here waiting…

hurry up

after the texts, it's only a matter of seconds before the sliding doors part, and there she is. hair tied up in a messy ponytail, hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over her hands, and a stuffed tote bag slung over one shoulder. she looks a little tired, a little dazed, but when her eyes find you, she beams so hard you have to look away.

she breaks into a jog.

you don’t even realize how fast you move until you meet her halfway. and then her arms are around your shoulders and yours wrap tight around her waist, lifting her off her toes and swinging her from side to side.

you breathe.

"i missed you," you say into her ear.

her legs kick the air, and she's giggling. you don't know what she's laughing at, and maybe it's just the energy of the moment, but you can't stop the wide smile breaking across your face. you squeeze her harder, and she lets out a squeak, struggling for air, but she's laughing still.

when she manages to free herself, you pull back a little, holding onto her elbows. your cheeks are burning, and you don't care. her lips are parted, and her eyes are shining. you take in every detail, from the curve of her brow to the pink tinge in her cheeks. it's been a long time since anyone has looked at you the way she did right now.

she looks so pretty.

"are you really here?"

"in the flesh."

"well, yes. obviously."

she raises her eyebrows, smirking.

you drop your forehead to her shoulder.

"don't do that."

"do what? what did i do?"

"stop being adorable, and stop teasing me," you mumble into the soft cotton of her sweater. "we can't all have your self-control, yu."

she hums and wraps her arms around your neck.

you don't dare ask how much time the two of you have together. instead, you close your eyes and revel in the sensation of her against you, the scent of her hair, her body, and everything else about her that makes your heart beat faster. you think maybe it wouldn't hurt to stay here for just a minute longer.

but the world doesn't work like that.

she pulls away, and the air around you shifts. she's smiling again, and her hands slide down to intertwine with yours. her fingers fit perfectly in between the gaps, and it's the strangest feeling. like something that was missing is finally back in place.

your campus feels different with her beside you.

you forgot how much you’ve separated the two halves of your life—jimin in texts and midnight calls, and college in blurry lectures, shared rides, and all-night study sessions. but now those worlds are overlapping, crashing softly into each other as you pull up near your dorm building and glance over to find her already unbuckling her seatbelt.

“okay,” you say as you grab her bag from the trunk. “don’t judge my room.”

“i won’t.”

“i mean it’s not dirty, just…boring.”

she looks at you like you’re being ridiculous. “you think i flew six hours to judge your interior design?” you thin out your lips at her response.

inside, you stop right outside your dorm door. “wait—before you go in, i should probably tell you something.”

she lifts an eyebrow, amused. “what?”

“my roommate’s out of town. for like…three days.”

there's a moment, a pause where nothing moves. then the corners of her mouth tilt upward as she nods, very slowly, might you add. "okay…"

“and i mean—i didn’t plan that.”

“okay.”

the smile is turning into a grin, and your brain short-circuits because, oh, that grin. the same grin she wore the night she convinced you to sneak out with her.

that grin is trouble.

your hand reaches behind you, groping blindly for the key slot. you manage to shove the card in, turn the knob, and step aside as she passes through the doorframe.

your stomach turns.

it's the first time she's ever set foot in this space. and you feel strangely exposed, like all the things you keep locked inside have started leaking out. you see it reflected in the way the walls shift color under her gaze, the way the empty chair at your desk suddenly takes on more significance, and the way the unmade bed seems more vulnerable.

"it's small," she murmurs, glancing around the room.

"well, yeah, of course."

she's biting back a laugh, and you can't help but crack a smile.

"come on, you promised."

"i know, i know. not judging, just…an observation."

there's another pause. she turns and gives you an innocent look, shrugging. you can tell she's dying to say something.

"out with it, yu."

"just surprised there's no photos of me on your walls."

you scoff and throw a pillow at her.

later, you microwave leftover pasta and split it into two mismatched bowls. she sits cross-legged on your bed, wearing your hoodie now, the sleeves covering her hands as she scrolls on your phone and hums along to your playlist. you finish first and then walk over and flop on the bed next to her, half-hiding your face in her thigh. "did you just check my canva? and my emails? really?"

her hand pauses mid-scroll, and you can feel the way her thigh tenses slightly beneath your cheek. you turn your head just enough to peek up at her, and sure enough—she’s trying to hold in a laugh, lips pressed together, eyes bright.

“you told me to make myself comfortable,” she says sweetly, not even looking up from the phone now. “so i did.”

“by invading my school email? how does that make any sense, hm, miss yu jimin? did you open any private messages while you were at it? read some classified reports or something?"

she squints and clicks a couple more times. "maybe. don't remember. sorry."

"mhm, sure you are."

then your phone rings in her hand. she jumps, nearly dropping the device on your head. "oh, fuck."

"language," you scold.

she grimaces, clutching the phone like it’s suddenly burning in her hand. “sorry, sorry,” she mutters, pressing it to your chest like she’s passing off a bomb. “here. it's… emma?”

you sit up with a groan, balancing the bowl of pasta in one hand while grabbing the phone with the other. “yeah, thanks. try not to give me a concussion next time.” jimin flops dramatically onto her side, making the mattress dip with a slight giggle.

you answer the call as she watches you with obvious interest, her chin resting in her palm, eyes fixed on your face. you ignore her and lean against the headboard, running your free hand through your hair. “hey,” you say, tone already shifting into something more formal and professional.

jimin makes a tiny ooh sound, wiggling her eyebrows in amusement, and you give her a light smack on the forehead. she giggles.

it's been a long week. emma is your partner for an upcoming project, and she has some questions about the due date. you answer patiently, giving your opinion and suggesting ideas for how to improve. the project's almost halfway finished, and you know how hard emma is working—you don't mind doing a few extra tasks to speed up the process.

after you hang up, you glance over to find that your visitor's attention is still entirely fixed on you. her eyes are narrowed slightly, her expression inscrutable. you give her a look, and she simply grins.

"what's with you?" you ask.

"you’re so serious. and cute."

you squint.

"cute, i said, very cute, in case you couldn't tell," she repeats, more forcefully now, and then she starts laughing. "come on, i was serious!"

you raise your eyebrows as she makes herself more comfortable. "okay. go on."

"so cute," she says as if you asked a question, nodding to herself, then tilting her head slightly. "so serious and so…competent? i don't know; it's like you've stepped into another personality for a moment there, and i didn't expect it at all." she sits up, legs folded beneath her, that hoodie practically swallowing her whole.

"do i look that different?"

"kind of? i mean, i don't think i've ever seen you with your hair down like that. and it's just… i don't know, seeing you be serious is different than when we talk at home; that's all."

you feel your cheeks heat. it's odd—being here with her, with both of your walls down, both of you fully present with each other in a way you've never experienced before. it's like this whole moment exists outside the bounds of normal time. you wish you could freeze this feeling.

"don't tease," you say, and your voice wavers just the slightest. "it's weird. i'm weird."

her gaze softens. "i like it. i like the different sides of you. you know that, don't you? you know i like everything about you." there it is. that look that always gets you. her eyes are sparkling now, and there's something hidden in them, a secret message only you can understand. she bites her lip and tugs at the sleeve of the hoodie, and you just watch. you want to touch her, feel the warmth of her skin, the smoothness of her cheek, and the softness of her hair.

your chest feels tight.

"so," she says after a moment. her voice is a little tentative, “after college… is there a special place you wanna go to?"

the question catches you off guard. you take a moment before replying, "yeah…wherever you are."

she doesn’t say anything for a second; she moves closer and tucks her legs underneath herself and lies on her side, propping her head up with her hand. "yeah?"

"yeah. why do you ask?"

she shrugs, her face shifting into that adorable thinking expression that always gets you.

"i just… i never want us to forget each other," she says, almost shy. "i can't imagine being without you."

it feels like something is in the way of your throat. "don't say that. you're the only one i can't forget."

she gives you this soft smile and touches her fingertips to your cheek. your eyes flutter closed as you feel her fingertips tracing a light line from your ear down your jaw, and you feel your cheeks heat under her touch. when she cups your face gently and runs a thumb across your bottom lip, it sends a tingle through your body, making the hairs on your neck stand up. you swallow, then look at her through heavy-lidded eyes, and it makes her smile widen.

she looks happy, but you know the happiness won't last. she knows that she won't get to spend much more time with you like this, in person. the two of you will be separated again—but hopefully not for much longer.

her face is so close, so very close now, and her lips part ever so slightly as she moves her thumb down to the edge of your mouth, gently tugging on it, coaxing you into responding. "you know," she whispers.

you blink. "know what?"

"i came all this way…and you start saying things like that."

the two of you laugh quietly, both of you feeling like there are butterflies in your stomach, your nerves fluttering from elation. you look down, taking in the sight of her hand against your skin and her lips inches from yours. it feels so right to be together again.

you move your fingers to rest against the hollow of her throat, watching her pulse jump under your touch. then she takes your hand and kisses each finger individually, holding your gaze and not letting you look away. she presses her lips against every knuckle, slowly, carefully.

the silence stretches, the air crackling with tension between you, until finally, her lips touch your cheek, and she murmurs, "how can you look like this while we're having a conversation? honestly, you're driving me insane, you know."

she pulls away, and her smile is breathtaking. "can you kiss me already?"

as your gaze lowers, it lands on a man around your age standing awkwardly, an envelope in his hand. "sorry, you dropped this." he gestures at the letter in his hand, and you're confused until you realize—it’s your envelope—from jimin’s parents, the one you hadn’t noticed slip out of your coat pocket when you were fumbling with your phone earlier.

"oh my god," you whisper, your eyes wide. you grab the piece of paper from his hand and give a hasty nod. "thank you."

he nods, a bit bashful, and turns.

your ride pulls up, a sleek black car idling by the curb. you hoist your luggage into the trunk and slide into the back seat, setting the bag between your legs. the city whirs past outside the window, but your mind is elsewhere, fingers curling around the envelope on your lap.

you hesitate for a moment, heart pounding like a drum. then you carefully peel the seal and unfold the card inside.

the delicate script spells out a date, a place, and a name.

your hands begin to shake.

and the tears are welling up in your eyes, and it's hard to breathe because there's so much you wanted to say, but now you're more than scared, you’re terrified of saying too little or too much. you have no idea if the person on the other side of the door will answer or slam the wood shut, but you don't know any other way to make sense of everything.

what is a memory, really? is it a gift? you've been running from your own mind, trying not to think of what you've lost and what you'll miss. but now here you are, clutching a wedding invitation from your…your…

what was she to you?

your life feels shattered, like a thousand pieces scattered on the floor. but somehow, with her, you believed those pieces could fit back together. you wanted her to be everything—the one who could hold you steady when everything else was falling apart. and now, holding this invitation in your trembling hands, you realize how fragile that hope is. if she walks away, you don’t know if you’d ever be whole again.

but regardless, it's stuck in your mind, the wonder if there is even an ounce of love left, an inch of faith, a breath of understanding, and the smallest hint of forgiveness, if, even at the end of your story, you could still leave behind something hopeful— a wish, a message that lasts forever— even if you have to say goodbye.

[spoonyglitteraunt]

It hasn't been forgotten it has been actively suppressed. It's a result of the wave of nihilistic cynicism that took hold in the 2000s combined with purity culture. I don't know what happened exactly, though I have my theories, but that's too long a rant to go into. Let's just say it was a combination of factors. But suddenly it became edgy and cool to shit on everything. Sincerity was not allowed. Everything was cringe. It was umpteen bad take articles pointing out why supposedly disney princess sucked (for reasons that hold no ground). It was cinema sins* and nostalgia critic breaking everything down to only its supposed (overinflated) flaws. It was edgy online bros shitting on everything because it made them feel intellectual and better than others. It was the disregarding and mocking of sincerity, genuine expression, joy, emotions, softness and hope. It was grimdark and grimdark only, and all the rest is for girls and little kids, weaklings who can't handle "the real world".

Alongside that there was a shift towards what we collectively started calling puriteens. People who clearly were raised in high control environments, who carried a LOT of unprocessed trauma, coming into online spaces. Either still fully steeped in the culture that formed them, or actively trying to break away from that, but then just transferred the same mentalities upon being leftist or queer. It's this idea that everything has inherent morality attached to it. Because in high control environment that is your baseline. Something is either good or bad. No setting in between. Even if life rarely works that way. Again the nuances of this is an entire topic on its own I won't get into now. But it led to the fact that liking or disliking something became attached to morality, to purity. If they like something it has to be morally pure, or they might be a bad person for liking it. So every flaw must be excused. Every criticism is seen as a personal attack. (because so often their entire shaky mental health is scaffolded by this one media property they made into their entire personality, which is a trauma response)

But the flip side of that is that everything they dislike must now somehow be morally evil. It isn't just that they don't vibe with it. That they weren't the intended audience. That a piece of media is not perfectly customised to their specific likes and wants, and that's ok and normal actually. No.

It needs to be because it has unforgivable flaws. Sins in either the piece or the creator. And the above cynical cinema sins mentality sure has unconsciously trained them to find plenty if they just look hard enough. Every piece, every creator, must be morally pure or morally bankrupt. And you need at all times to not only know what side of the line you're on, but loudly showcase it. Lest they might think you like or support the sinful stuff.**

But some part of them inherently knows that reality isn't this binary morality, but an entire rainbow of shades. So they need the constant reassurance and confirmation of others that they are in fact Good People™️ who like and dislike the Right Things™️. So they need others to hate the bad thing just as vocally. Need to convince others they are wrong for liking/disliking a thing. Need people to agree and never challenge their world view. Because that scaffolding is too rickety to hold itself up, and then the trauma may come spilling out.

So no, they can't just go meh and move on. Because to do so would be to risk their morality and they are terrified. *Just the fact it's called cinema sins is such a clear unintended telling on themselves where this mentality is rooted. Even if they didn't realise it. **And if you do, then make sure to hide it and feel shame and berate yourself for it so maybe you'll stop liking it. But you won't. Because you can't control what makes brain go brr. So more shame and more moralising to others, because maybe then it will stop and you won't go to superhell.

Feel like society has forgotten the art of dislike. you can just dislike a thing. a person. a ship. a character. a book. why does everything have to become Hatred. why do you need to get other people to Hate with you. why can't you just go blech!!!!!!! and then move on. god i miss living in a society that was comfortable with shades of grey and not existing between extremes