#My most self indulgent fic yet

[innerslumber]

Lost But Found

Bucky shrugged Steve's hand off his shoulder and tried to get up but his legs wouldn’t co-operate. His whole body felt heavy with random bursts of pain shooting through his synapses. The interior lights were too bright and while the quinjet was quieter than almost anything except a Wakandan aircraft, it still emanated noises that his super soldier ears could pick up. It was all too much. Bucky curled his body toward the wall and tried to make himself as small as possible. “Bucky-” “No, Steve,” Bucky groaned, his voice barely a whisper. “I can’t do this right now.”

Read The Fic Here.

Rating: Teen

Square: I4 "Failed Mission". September adoptable. @allcapsbingo

Tags: Not IW Canon Compliant, Team Cap and Bucky, PTSD, Dissociation, Angst with a Happy Ending.

Summary: Bucky dissociates and loses time/memory to his trauma.

[theminecraftbee]

There are several things Martyn realizes, all at once, when he opens his eyes:

He is dreaming.

It's one of those in-between dreams, the ones that aren't quite dreams.

He is sitting at a green felted table. It is sitting on a stage. The lighting is dim, and no one is watching, but out of the corner of his eye he can see the stagehands dressed in black, waiting.

He is not the only one sitting at the table. There is a Watcher, draped in purple. There is a Listener, draped in yellow. There is someone he recognizes in a red sweater. There is someone he thinks he should recognize, but can't quite, shuffling a deck of cards.

"Right. What's all this, then," he mutters.

We are playing blackjack, the Listener says.

We are deciding the rules, the Watcher says.

"It's not like we have anything better to do. Honestly, I'm glad you're here. Do you know how boring these guys are?" Grian says, and Martyn decides to quietly file Grian away as a dream-Grian, as opposed to real-life-Grian, so he doesn't go insane and/or stab him when he wakes up. He waits for the almost-familiar dealer to say something. He does not. After another few moments of awkward nonsense dream-silence, Martyn sighs and leans forward on the table.

"Sure, this might as well be happening," Martyn says. "Deal me in. How's the betting work, again?"

"You put your bet on the table. If you beat the dealer, you get to add it to the game," Grian explains. "If you don't beat the dealer, it takes it."

"Yeah, but like, that's abstract, isn't it? What does that mean, exactly, me losing what I bet if I don't beat the dealer," Martyn says.

Grian shrugs. "Don't ask me. To be honest, I'm hardly the storyteller you are."

"Me? Why are you acting like I have any control over these things when you're--"

Are you ready to play?

Martyn shuts up, looks at the Listener, and sighs. "Yeah, sure, I'm ready to play. Why not."

The dealer looks to its left. Grian sighs. "Why are you making me bet first. Again. We should rotate where we're sitting--fine, fine, I know it's an advantage because I'm the worst at this. Uh. Hm. No trading or giving away lives again. Not even as time or something. It makes the dynamics all weird, and I think we could use a nice straightforward death game next time."

(Martyn wants to roll his eyes. Nice and straightforward. Sure.)

The Watcher goes next. I would like there to be deep and wonderful bonds between the players. I would like those bonds to seem unbreakable.

"Coming from you, that's ominous," Martyn says.

Can I not just miss the alliances of the early days? the Watcher says.

"Never left the desert," Grian says, rolls his eyes, and looks at Martyn in commiseration. Martyn just stares back. So sue him, he's a bit more worried about this whole concept than an eye roll and a pithy phrase. Things Watchers want are rarely good.

When the bonds are enforced, they're less interesting, complains the Listener.

Martyn looks over sharply. Hey, wait, he thought--

I didn't say they had to be enforced by rule. I said they had to be deep. Encouraged, as opposed to discouraged.

Just saying. You'll never recapture Third Life.

Martyn swallows. His throat is dry. Weren't the Listeners supposed to be the good guys, here?

Besides, what I want is for each death to be meaningful again. They've felt too meaningless, lately, the Listener continues.

Martyn thinks the dealer raises an eyebrow, but it strikes him he's not exactly sure. Grian snorts. "Meaningful deaths. That's rich for you to say. I mean, I guess they're meaningful sometimes? I don't know, Martyn's the one who understands dramatic sacrifices, I just like killing things."

"Why do you keep on looking at me when you say those things," Martyn says.

"Look, you wouldn't be here if you weren't helping write," Grian says.

"What?" Martyn says.

We're here to play our cards for the story, the Watcher says. Aren't you also one of the authors?

"Me? What? No, I'm--what are you talking about," Martyn says.

Oh, well. I also hope your meaningful deaths make it in, the Watcher says the Listener.

Thanks, even if I disagree on the bonds, the Listener says.

"They hardly ever talk about real, concrete rules they want," complains Grian. "It's easier to understand the consequence if they bring up actual rules. Like boogeyman or no boogeyman."

"We're all just betting on cards!" Martyn says, throwing his hands up. "You're giving me a headache!"

It's your bet.

"Fine!" Martyn says. "Fine! You know what? Screw all of you. I hope this is the last one. I hope we never have to go back to that stupid death game. I hope it's miserable to watch or to listen to or to play and everyone just gives up. How's that for a bet?"

You're no fun.

Is that what you really want?

"Suit yourself," Grian says. "Honestly, if I still had that to bet, I guess I probably would."

"What do you mean, if you still had that to bet?"

"Well, I mean, that's not how blackjack works, is it? I don't just get back my in when I play it."

The dealer nods, and then silently, with a long bony hand, deals the cards.

Grian is dealt the four of diamonds. The Watcher is dealt the nine of spades. The Listener is dealt the five of clubs. Martyn is dealt a jack of spades. The dealer deals itself a seven of hearts. The dealer deals Grian a six of clubs--

"Hey, isn't that supposed to be face-down?" Martyn asks.

"Not here," Grian explains. "They're all face up so we can't touch the cards. So we don't have to. So we can't cheat."

"Who said anything about cheating?" Martyn says.

"Please," Grian says.

The dealer makes a hand motion. Martyn, grumpily, falls silent. He supposes they're playing by casino rules, then. He hasn't been in a casino since--he wouldn't know. Hard to remember anything that isn't this, isn't it? Isn't killing and dying and things out of his control and things very much in his control and, apparently, bizarre dream sequences designed to make him want to strangle Grian.

Anyway. Grian is dealt a six of clubs, giving him ten. The Watcher is given an eight of spades, giving it seventeen. The Listener is dealt a king of hearts, giving it fifteen. Martyn is given a six of clubs, giving him sixteen. The dealer deals its own second card face-down. Martyn stops to try to speak, and then shuts his mouth. Right. Dealer's advantage.

He stares at the numbers.

Grian sighs. "Well, I've got to double down, don't I? Fine. I want the whole 'red lives can kill' thing to be enforced somehow. I don't care how. There's my double down."

The dealer nods.

"Why would you want that," Martyn says blankly.

If we all win, that will be interesting with the bonds, the Watcher says mildly.

Grian shrugs. "I mean, we've enforced red names not befriending green names, but not the murder thing before. Figure we should switch up the game, right?"

"Why?" Martyn says again.

Well, it wouldn't do for it to be boring.

"No, not that. Just... isn't it easier to handle when the rules are laid out properly?"

Martyn throws his hands up, but stops arguing. The dealer gives Grian a face-down card. The dealer moves to the next party at the table.

The Watcher looks over at the dealer and makes a cutting-off motion. I stand.

The dealer moves on. Hit me, the Listener says, and is dealt the queen of diamonds. The Listener gestures to Martyn. It seems I bust. Pity. I suppose there will be no guarantee of meaning, then. Not what I'd prefer.

The dealer looks at Martyn. Martyn looks at the other hands. Martyn pauses.

"Wait, this is like, casino blackjack, yeah? I'm only playing against you, not the whole table?"

"Why would you be playing against us?" Grian says. "Writing's a collaborative process."

Martyn looks entreatingly at the Listener, but the Listener is a little too caught up in the bad hand it has been dealt. Martyn looks entreatingly at the Watcher, but the Watcher just looks somehow confused.

"I was under the impression that, I don't know, you all were adversarial."

Why? All we want is the same thing as you: the story to be told a certain way.

Martyn's not sure if he's furious or just numb.

"Fine. Got a sixteen, don't I? Hit me."

Two of spades.

He's furious. He wants to win against the dealer. He wants to win against everyone. He wants his idea to make it through. He has an eighteen, though. There are only two numbers in the deck that will not bust him, and he's no fool. Hitting on sixteen is a risk enough; if he wants his stupid bet of everything finally ending to make it through, he's got to hold here.

"I hold," he says through gritted teeth.

The dealer silently deals itself another card. A three of hearts. Distantly, Martyn's ears rush. He could have taken that. He could have taken the hit. He could have won. He could have had blackjack, and he doesn't know what the extra payout for blackjack even means in a game like this one, but he could have had it, and he held back, he didn't take the risk, he didn't--

The dealer flips up its cards. Seven, eight, three. Eighteen.

Martyn's heart pounds. A stand-off.

Grian flips up his own card and groans. It's a five of diamonds. "There goes that bet," he mutters.

The dealer makes a sweeping motion around the table. The Watcher smiles, a terrible, terrible thing. Martyn, all at once, realizes that he can't ask again. He can't say 'this is guaranteed to be the last one' again. He backs out of his chair. To the sides, he sees the stagehands change the lighting. A spotlight, on him and the dealer--

"That isn't fair," he says. "It's a tie. I should get my bet back, right? It's a tie!"

THAT IS WHERE WE DIFFER FROM THE HOUSES IN VEGAS, the dealer says, and Martyn's heart stops.

(The voice is familiar. Familiar, but he cannot place it.)

YOU SEE, IN THIS GAME, THERE IS ALWAYS ONE THING THAT HAS AN ADVANTAGE. ONE THING THE STORY IS ALWAYS PLAYING AGAINST. ONE THING, THAT INEVITABLY, AFTER LONG ENOUGH PLAYING, WILL WIN.

There, the dealer looks Martyn in the eyes, and Martyn, all at once, knows exactly what the dealer must be.

AND THAT IS ME.

Martyn stares Death in the eyes.

Then, in a cold sweat, Martyn wakes up.

He does not sleep again for a long time.

[immunetoneurotoxin]

“Not a soul assigned to their case at the Bureau could make sense of their existence. There wasn’t a single scientist, parapsychologist, doctor, or specialist with over a dozen PHD’s under the sun that could figure them out. Pyrokinesis in a human? They defy every law of nature, yet they exist amongst humanity regardless. How do you explain that?” “The truth is that there are a lot of unknown things out there in the world that mankind hasn't even begun to scratch the surface of. Everyone flocked to this case trying to find rational answers, but there aren’t any. Look at the files in your hands. By the eyes of science, Pyro should not exist. Don’t you know what happens to things mankind doesn’t understand? The Bureau has done sickening things to them in the name of research.” “That’s why I helped them escape, Conagher.”

Excerpt from the novel INCENDIARY; A TF2 Pyro origin story Read the latest chapter of 'Incendiary' on AO3 here! Artwork created by the incredible @narklos ♡ 

[duchessdepolignaca03]

WIP Wednesday - A Most Self-Indulgent WIP

Getting an early jump on WIP Wednesday (GASP). I think I am coming to terms with the fact that I have a very specific wheelhouse that I like to play in. And it's not going to be something that 99.9% of the fandom will care for, but my God am I going to write my self-indulgent bullshit. But still, I'd be interested to know if there's any interest at all in this BS :D

So I bring my latest WIP, currently titled: Horny Trophy Wife!Henry Committing Adultery with Alex in a Vaguely Historical European Setting, feat. not-Baron Zemo.

Warnings: Mpreg of the hand wavy variety, Forced Marriage, Infidelity/Adultery.

Read under the cut. Tags also under the cut!

Henry looks over at his husband across the table, and barely conceals the grimace that wishes to peek through his wide, placating smile. Five years of his life he has given this man, five years of wearing the mask of a happy, content spouse. It’s true that the Baron is handsome in his own right, unimaginably wealthy and educated and refined despite his humble origin, and on paper ought to be an ideal husband. But the Baron’s stubborn nature and Henry’s tempestuous fury make for a sorry, wretched match. 

Yet Henry cannot say their marriage has been unproductive. Four little angels he has given the Baron, all four with strawberry-hued yellow hair and eyes as blue and fearsome as his own. They are Henry’s creatures, clinging to him like barnacles even as they grew out of infancy. His little angels serve as balms to his unrelenting loneliness, the ache of foreignness and not-belonging that will never dissipate from where it has settled down into his bones like the bitter cold air of this unforgiving land.

Henry craves the excitement he has been denied his whole life. First, because he was a threat to his older brother, who was pale and sickly yet ambitious, a stark contrast to Henry’s vigour, fertility and frivolity. Henry’s circumscribed upbringing was intended to diminish him in the eyes of the world, lest the unparalleled beauty and grace of the spare cause him to rise above the anointed heir. The match with the Baron was therefore ideal: the marriage brought England wealth and a mighty ally, and Henry would vanish out of sight and out of mind. 

Then, because he was dutiful and sweet, he was with child within weeks of his wedding night. His fertile belly had scarcely been empty since, a consequence of his temper flaring up at his husband, making them both concupiscent despite the lack of affection for one another in their hearts. As each one came into the world, the Baron jested that Henry was birthing his own army to rival the Baron’s own. Henry demurely denied his allegations, instead dreaming of more illustrious futures for his babes than to become lords and ladies of desolate lands rich only in the treasures that could be hewn from the rocks. 

But there is little promise of excitement in his life, besides the happiness the children bring. Occasionally, his heart will race – like when there is little news days after the end of one of the Baron’s military campaigns, and he can briefly fantasize about a merry widowhood. Then news arrives and his hopes are dashed and his husband returns and he finds himself once again with child even though the last one is barely out of swaddling clothes. 

A visit by emissaries of a young nation sets the court abuzz. The new nation had been born out of the ashes of a rival empire the Baron had helped set aflame, and so the visitors were to be honoured with days of dazzling amusement. But Henry is in a melancholy mood, and cannot bring himself to pretend to look forward to the long, agonising hours of politicking he will have to attend at his husband’s side. 

There is a silver lining, however. A quite literal one. The Baron, in all of his wisdom and quest to show off his dearest prize, had commissioned an elegant gown for Henry to wear to the ball celebrating the emissaries’ arrival, inspired by the suits of armour from the ancient days of chivalry. And bashful as he might play, Henry is a creature of vanity, excited by the notion of being observed and desired as an ethereal, untouchable beauty: the Baron’s angel of war and mother to his nation.

Tagging: @sparklepocalypse @orchidscript @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @priincebutt, @piratefalls, @onthewaytosomewhere @nocoastposts, @magicandarchery,, @zwiazdziarka, @taste-thewaste and ANYONE because I need more friends.

[coolcattime]

Waves Lapping Where the Children Grew: Chapter One

Relationships: Captain Capsize/Sonja Firefoxx

Characters: Skipper Redbeard, Captain Capsize, Sonja Firefoxx, Jordan Captainsparklez

> 1 < - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10

Since she was a child, Capsize has lived with the knowledge that she is cursed. That not long into her adulthood, the kingdom she was born into will fall and her birthday will be marked by her falling into a magic slumber that she can only awake from when she received true love’s kiss. She attempted to flee her fate, to find any way to remove the curse before it triggers. However, the curse has come to pass, and the pirate captain rests on the verge of life and death, awaiting the one who will awake her.

A year has passed since then, Redbeard has not left the island of their home since the curse struck. As he’s unable to break the curse himself, he remains guarding his sister from any threats that may come for her. Though he attempts to remain strong, the lack of any sign of the curse breaking has left him with dwindling hope.

The year before, her last year uncursed, Capsize feels just as hopeless until she meets a witch that she believes could change her fate.

AO3 Link

Afterwards: Autumn

Redbeard was not a big fan of hero types. That fact had been festering throughout the year, but now it had become concrete in his mind as he found himself once again facing Jordan having the same argument.

If he was being honest with himself, he still didn’t dislike the man. At least, he didn't think it did. But it had become frustrating explaining to the man over and over that he could not break the curse on his sister. Trying once, sure, Redbeard had humoured that mostly out of desperation. He'd tried, it hadn't worked. Everyone else who had tried had gone away and not returned at that point.

Jordan, however, had continued to return month after month. Never with a new plan, always just insisting that he be allowed to try waking her again. And frankly Red was beginning to regret even humouring him the first time. He couldn’t be entirely unsympathetic towards the champion. Most of his desperation about breaking the curse seemed to have stemmed from Lady Ianite’s reaction. But if he was being frank, he didn’t care for the why of it. Capsize was still the person who was cursed. He wasn’t in the mood for the way that Jordan was forming a martyr complex around her.

"Nothing’s going to change Jordan. You can't wake her up," He tried to speak gently, he really did, but it had been a year. A full year of Capsize being asleep. A full year of Jordan turning up at least once every two weeks insisting that he be allowed to try and wake her again. As if he had somehow become her true love since the last time he'd visited.

At this point, his last scraps of gentleness left were hanging by fraying thread. He couldn’t even say the man was good company at this point. Being alone on this island guarding what may as well be a corpse given the lack of process that they had made did leave him carving human interaction. Obviously it did. Yet, that just made having this same conversation over and over even more frustrating.

“Please, just let me try again. It’ll be different this time,” Jordan said. He was not quite begging, though he was certainly desperate in a way that Red found confusing.

The champion seemed to flicker between what seemed like an almost unhealthy need to save Capsize and a blatant frustration that she hadn’t just woken up when he had kissed her. It was not entirely unlike how he had acted prior to the curse. Though, Redbeard was far more fed up with it than he had before.

When she had been awake, she had been able to handle his weird flirting herself. It had been okay for him to tease her a little by suggesting ways for him to win her over. Because it very much wasn’t going to happen and Capsize was very much open about that fact.

Now, though? Now she was unable to defend herself, so he had to do it. And if it was his responsibility to defend her then he wasn’t going to let the champion near her until he actually had any sort of alternative than just trying to kiss her again.

“How could it possibly be different? Have you suddenly become her true love?” He scoffed without fully meaning to. And he didn’t miss the anger that flared on the champion’s face. Frankly, he couldn’t care less. This wasn’t about Jordan.

This was about Capsize. She was the one stuck between life and death in a magical slumber that she could very well never wake up from. And, while he was open to other methods if they were at all possible, there was only one method that he knew for sure would wake her up: true love's kiss. And, whether the man wanted to admit it or not, Jordan was clearly not her true love. He wasn’t her love of any kind.

It wasn’t as if Redbeard had told him he couldn’t help at all. In fact, he’d asked if he could try to contact Dianite’s champion since he and Capsize had always been friends. The thought had been that surely he would know any potential people with an actual chance to break the curse. Jordan had taken the ask as a personal offence.

He was more dead set than he ever had been that he would be the one to wake up Capsize. Hence he had most certainly not contacted the other champion. Redbeard was left with nothing more than a strong feeling of wanting to bash his head into a wall. “She isn’t staying asleep to spite you, you know.”

“She could be. It’ll be just like her,” Jordan said. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but quieted as he received a frankly murderous look from the pirate.

Redbeard fought back against the overwhelming urge to just attack the champion here and now. A single cut from his weapon would banish him away from the island back to wherever he had come from. A gift from Lady Ianite to keep away the worst of those who might come for Capsize.

However, he had the unfortunate feeling that Jordan would use his magical knowledge to figure out a way around the banishment to return. Even if he distinctly hadn’t been using it to research alternative methods to wake Capsize. After all, no matter what argument they had and how he stormed away, the champion always returned wanting to try again.

Jordan took a breath and tried to bite back his frustrations. Lady Ianite was still so worried about Capsize. So clearly it was his duty as her champion to wake the captain. But Redbeard wasn’t even letting him try! Still, before he had set out this time, his Lady had asked him to try and be calmer. So he would try for her sake. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“Go and find Dianite’s champion, like I asked months ago!”

Redbeard received a glare in return for those words. He gave a more than bitter and annoyed huff.

“Or go with the lead with less clues. She’d met someone in the year before the curse, go find her,” He said, beyond exasperated. It was the lead that he wanted the other champion’s help with, because he was sure that Capsize would’ve discussed the mystery woman with him.

Frankly, Redbeard just hoped that the mystery woman was actually real. He didn’t think it was like Capsize to lie. She was a lot more forthright than him, for example. But given that he had never mentioned any details to him about the woman, he did sometimes fear that she had been just making up stories to give him some comfort that the curse would eventually be broken.

But if the apparent hero before him was going to be insistent on not going to find the only man that could possibly have more details for help, then he could go on the wild goose chase for an unknown woman himself.

Jordan’s face turned sour. Clearly the man was about to start complaining again. This time, however, Redbeard was out of patience. “Or don’t look! Figure out how to give the ocean human form so they can have a go for all I care! But you better leave and go do something because you aren’t kissing her again!”

"But I—!”

“Leave! Before I force you to. Don’t come back unless you’re bringing somebody else,” It was hard for Redbeard to keep his voice steady. As frustrating as Jordan’s visits were becoming, he was one of the only consistent presences he had had all year. He didn’t particularly want to forbid him from returning, but the loneliness would hurt less than the frustrations and false hope of the champion.

There was a flickering of different emotions on Jordan’s face. He appeared to be considering continuing to argue. Redbeard rested his hand on the handle of his cutlass. He didn’t want to attack him, he really didn’t, but he couldn’t keep playing this game with him. Thankfully though, Jordan did seem to actually have sense this time.

The champion turned on his heel and stalked off towards the docks. Under his breath he was muttering what were likely more complaints about himself and Capsize. Redbeard rolled his eyes as he stopped paying attention. He gave it a month before he came back, if he was lucky.

Redbeard turned back to the building he was standing in front of, the ruins of his childhood home. Actually, though that description was accurate, it always felt like he was underselling it. Because, when he said something like that, most people pictured some pirate haven, not the ruins of a castle he currently stood in front of. But he had preferred it that way. The kingdom was gone, he never really wanted to be reminded of how they were runaway nobility. Now, however, his surroundings were a constant reminder of that fact. Of all they had abandoned.

Before the curse, neither of them had been back to their home in close to a decade. Since the two of them had stolen away in the night in a desperate attempt to help her escape her fate. Though in retrospect it hadn’t been successful, he still remembered the smile that Capsize had worn that night.

She’d woken him up with such a bright look in her eyes. She already had a bag packed and a ship that she wanted to steal. She was practically bouncing as she whispered her plan. They’d go and find Lady Ianite, they’d travel to the ends of the earth if needed. He was willing to go with her, of course he was. But when he’d asked his only question as to why exactly they were going to find a goddess, his sister had looked at him with a far too wide smile and said that Lady Ianite was going to break her curse.

He had never questioned if she thought that the goddess could break the curse with her powers, or by the intended method. Even once they arrived, he wouldn’t have been able to guess. Given everything, he supposed it didn’t matter as she hadn’t been able to help via either method. She had immediately tried with her powers and attempted further methods once the curse had actually triggered, but apparently whatever enchantment had been used for the curse, it was more powerful than even the gods.

As for love, well, it was undeniable that something had formed between the two, but it was not love in the way that the curse required. Though the goddess had still tried and looked heartbroken when all her attempts had failed to awaken Capsize. Since then, she’d done so much for him to try and help, it was only thanks to her that this place was in any way liveable. It was still very much a ruin, but it was far better than it had been when he’d arrived back to find that the worst had happened.

Given her efforts, the inside looked a lot nicer than the outside. Not quite the way he remembered, but still far nicer than anywhere he really suited anymore. Whenever strangers came, there was always the look of confusion when they first saw him. They were all people who had just heard of the curse by rumour or legend, thinking that they could appear and break it and gain an easy way into nobility. They always expected an unguarded princess. Not a pirate captain being guarded by a crew member.

If that general shock didn’t annoy them enough, him questioning them typically did. He thought that asking them basic questions about his sister was fine enough given that they were presenting themselves as her true love, but he supposed that was the thing with heroes. Always pleasant right up until you questioned them in any way.

He always dreaded the idea that one of them would actually succeed. He knew that Capsize would prefer to sleep forever than to have someone that thought of her as a princess wake her up.

As he walked through the empty halls, he breathed a small sigh of relief as he felt Jordan’s presence leave the island. He could always tell when someone was somewhere on the island. It was a power gifted to him by Lady Ianite to better protect Capsize. After all, there was no telling who could show up and what their intentions would be. It was a strong enough feeling to wake him if he was asleep. Well, it didn’t have to, Lady Ianite had shown him a way to activate and deactivate the power, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn it off.

Until Capsize was awake, he could do this. An ever-present guard for her. His own, self-inflicted curse.

Because technically, there was nothing stopping him from leaving this place. He could leave at any time if he so chose. But someone needed to stay here with her. If not, she’d be left at the mercy of anyone who appeared. Better he took the role of guard than Jordan.

Sure, maybe the isolation was getting to him. But even if he had to guard her for the rest of his life, it was still a better fate than Capsize’s. So, he would stay here until someone found a way to break the curse.

Even though he knew nothing would’ve changed, he still could only feel a dull disappointment as he entered Capsize’s bedroom to find her still sleeping.

It was the bedroom of a princess in all its finery, looking exactly the same it had on the night they had left as teenagers. Except Capsize wasn’t the same at all. She’d never been the most stereotypical princess. Frankly, even without the curse Redbeard assumed she would’ve run off eventually, but Captain Capsize was completely unrecognisable from the girl she had been growing up.

There she lay in her long blue coat and loose shirt. A mess of curls silhouetted her head like a halo. She had the piercings and tattoos and scars that she had gained over the years. She looked almost exactly like she should, except for the fact that she hadn’t opened her eyes in a year.

She was alive. Her chest still rose and fell as she drew breath. Her heart still beat. But she was closer to death than life.

When he had first arrived back here and found her, Lady Ianite had come alongside him. After being able to wake her with the intended mention, she had attempted to use her power to figure out the curse, to untangle it and break it by any other means. She hadn’t managed to do so. But she had discovered just how deeply woven the curse was.

She wouldn’t age, wouldn’t need anything to remain alive. Given how terrified the goddess had seemed by the sheer extent of the magical blinding, Redbeard wondered if she was even able to die. But that was something he didn’t dare question out loud as he did know what to know the answer.

However, though she certainly was alive, she didn’t look it. Frankly she looked near dead. He didn’t know what had happened that night. How she got back here and what had happened before the curse had finally struck. But whatever had happened, it had left her with a nasty wound on her neck that she certainly hadn’t had that morning. Even now, it still looked fresh and painful.

Looking at her like this, it just left Redbeard with a numb hopelessness. Mostly just because it was entirely unfair. She had so much left ahead of her. She had always looked so alive once they had left, once she had been exploring the oceans. She’d been so determined to break the curse so she could just keep sailing. So why had her fate been overwritten so she was stuck just awaiting a saviour? Why could absolutely nothing overwrite the magic of the sorcerer who had done this to her?

He laughed bitterly. If he ever met the bastard who started all this, he didn’t know if he’d kill them or imprison them so the job could be finished by Capsize. A thought to consider another day. After all, today was special even if it just felt like a terrible reminder.

He grabbed a bottle from near the unlit fireplace. It was autumn now, still just warm enough that he didn’t need to light it. He didn’t know if Capsize could feel the cold in her current state, but he wasn’t going to risk the potential that she did.

He took a good swig of the alcohol as he slumped down next to the bed. It was some fancy bottle he’d found in the basement, the kind of thing his parents would’ve lectured him for even looking at. However, he couldn’t even really taste it. He just felt numb as he tried to drown his sorrows.

It was their birthday. One full year since the start of the curse. The first birthday in their lives where he and Capsize wouldn’t share a word with each other. If he didn’t drink, then he might just fall into despair.

So drank he did.

As the sun set, the alcohol did not numb the pain of the fact that even after a year no progress had been made on waking her. It did not silence the terrible lingering thoughts that he could never shake that they would never figure out how to break the curse and this was how Capsize would remain the rest of eternity.

[yujeong]

kpanniversary2024, prompt 9: Trust

Kim realized pretty quickly why he had been attacked. Curiosity killed the cat had given it away but even without it, it was clear the reason had been to stop his investigation from advancing. The investigation about one of the most earth-shattering events that had happened in his life. Tankhun’s kidnapping. Right now, he was at a dead end. He needed a lead, anything to move his investigation forward. He had been working alone all this time but a tiny voice in his head was giving him ideas. Pete had skills. Pete was loyal, not only to his family - to Korn - but to him as well. He had proven that by becoming a human shield for him. Kim would be a fool to deny that. And Pete liked Tankhun. He had never complained like the others had, begging Korn to transfer them to him or Kinn. He was good to his brother, a fact Kim was thankful for. So maybe, it was worth a try. He knew it was a risk, such a huge risk, so many things could go wrong and yet- “Pete,” he said, his voice wavering. Kim made a decision. He made it by saying something he had been certain he would go through his entire life without uttering. “I need your help.”

(Snippet from The Knight's Pawn because I love that fic to death ❤️)

[museumgiftshoperaser]

Nancy and Eddie and the girls who haunt them

Nancy/Eddie | Rated E | AO3 Link

Nancy swallows her pride and returns to Hawkins when her carefully crafted life in Boston falls apart. In the five years since she abruptly cut everyone off and skipped town, all the people she once knew have left for bigger, brighter futures. Everyone except for Eddie Munson, local drug dealer turned reluctant mechanic who is willing to help Nancy out after her car breaks down. They build a careful friendship over shared trauma and a mutual refusal to talk about their reasons for ending up in the same town that nearly killed them. Feelings grow, cars get fixed and Boston looms on the horizon.

This is a rarepair, mixed with my most depressing headcanons, two characters on the aromantic spectrum and an ending that could maybe pass for bittersweet if you squint. It’s really just for me, but you guys can read it if you want I guess <33 Got a little snippet for you under the cut or you can go read the whole thing on AO3 (just mind the tags if you do!!)

“Hello?” Her voice gets lost in the big empty space. “Anyone still in here?” “Do my eyes deceive me?” Nancy whips her head toward the sound. A familiar drawl and a deep voice. “Or is that miss Nancy Wheeler?” The man approaches from an obscured door in the back of the shop. It’s been years but she can tell it’s him right away. Eddie Munson, in the flesh. It’s the eyes. Warm brown and wider than they should be. It’s gotta be the eyes she recognizes because everything else about him is different. His hair is cut right above his shoulders with most of the layers tied back in a careless bun. No chains, no ripped jeans. Just navy blue coveralls with the company logo zipped all the way up. He’s traded in his white sneakers for steel toed boots and his wild smile for a deep set exhaustion that glistens on his face. He looks older than he should, but then again, so does Nancy. Last she saw him, he was still dealing weed out of his uncle’s trailer with big talk about Indianapolis. Chicago. New York. That was five years ago. “What are you doing here?” she asks. He grins and grabs a bandanna from his back pocket to wipe the sweat off his forehead. His face is slimmer, the last of his baby cheeks well and truly gone. A small tattoo peaks out over his collar and thick black lines disappear into his his curls. A tiny part of her, the eighteen year old that’s burrowed in the back of her brain, refusing to grow up, wants to close the gap and hug him. Her body remembers Eddie. His comforting grin and the tight fit under the curve of his shoulder. But the guy in front of her might as well be a stranger. “You know, most people would just say hi.” Nancy rolls her eyes. They should be past small talk, right? Doesn’t a joined trip to hell earn you that comfort? Or does the privilege dwindle with every year away? “Hi, Eddie. How have you been?” She scrunches her nose in a sticky sweet smile. “Lovely weather we’ve been having. You defeat any monsters lately?” Eddie doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t look away either. The tip of his tongue traces the back of his teeth, just shy of amused. “Now what are you doing here?” she repeats. Still. That’s the unspoken part. What are you still doing here? You were supposed to get out of here. “I could ask you the same thing.” He folds his arms.“We all gave up on you ever coming back, Wheeler.” There’s just the slightest hint of bitterness in his voice. Nancy clutches the strap of her handbag and purses her lips together. Yeah. So did she. They didn’t exactly leave on good terms, her and Eddie. There’s barely anyone in Hawkins who she didn’t burn her bridges with. Not on purpose, but not not on purpose either. Somewhere after the third missed Christmas, the silence becomes intentional. Every missed phone call adds up on the other end of the line, until the invisible tally reaches a tipping point and people stop reaching out. Or until she changed her phone number. “I work here,” Eddie adds when the silence stretches. He points at the logo on his coveralls. “Past four years.” That’s a long time. Almost the entire time Nancy was away. It almost certainly means he never got out. “Well my car is broken.” Eddie’s mouth drops slightly before he cackles out a laugh. Loud and booming in the big empty space and theatrical as ever. He makes a show of it, hands on his knees and everything. “Are you… Are you laughing?” “Come on, Wheeler…” He wipes at an imaginary tear in the corner of his eye. “You gotta admit this whole thing is a little funny.” Read the whole thing on AO3 (again, please mind the tags if you do!)

[jamiesfootball]

I have loved all the comments I’ve gotten on my post season three fic (like you don’t even know how much I have reread all of those bad boys they give me oxygen), but by far one of the most gratifying ones I’ve gotten has been:

“you made that last episode seem so much more reasonable”

THAT WAS THE GOAL

[kakusu-shipping]

Red House

A wayward children self insert fanfic, part 1

In which you get to meet our hero and our villain before the story's even began

This is a story that does not necessarily need to be told. But no story needs to be told. They want to be told, wish to be read, and yearn to be adored.

This is a story you've heard before, set in a place you've been.

A little boy, not yet calling himself Emile, and truthfully not yet a little boy, but not quiet a little girl either, runs as fast as his feet will carry him across broken blacktop on a cool autumn day.

He'd just gotten off the school bus, and had gone home just long enough to empty his backpack of books and homework and refill it with toys and snacks. Then he was back out the door and running before his older brothers could ask him where he was off to, or worse yet, follow him.

The trailer park they lived in overflowed with kids coming home from the nearby school, and his house in particular overflowed the most. Five kids and two full time working parents rattling around in a three bedroom home of plastic and kindling was suffocating at times, especially when you were the smallest.

So the boy, not yet a boy, ran from the after school fights and arguments before they started, quickly ducking between bramble bushes at the mouth of the woods circling his home, and slid down a muddy hill that'd yet to dry from the rain two weeks ago.

"MIKEY!" He called, twisting down a well troded path through the woods until he came upon a makeshift house of plywood and garbage left to rot and ruin the forest around them.

Another little boy, littler than the not yet a boy, with thick glasses and short cut black hair, sat within the makeshift home, doing homework on a metal garden table with a half broken glass top.

"Emile," The smaller boy did not say, but for now we shall assume he did, "You could have just gotten off on my stop if you were gonna run straight here anyway."

The littler boy who's name was not Mikey, but instead Micheal, lived in the same trailer park as Emile and his many brothers, just up the street infact, a single stop earlier than Emile.

Unlike the older he did not go home before making the trip into the woods, because even if he had the door would have been locked, with a note from his foster parents saying they would be out until late, and to play outside for the day.

"Yeah, I COULD have, but then we wouldn't have anything to eat." Emile proclaimed as he shoulded his backpack off and dumped it's contents onto the tiny garden table. Some things tumbled through the hole in the table's top or over the edges and spilled onto the floor.

Great Value brand chips in single serving bags and Hug juice barrels and a single Great Value Swiss Roll pack with two chocolate rolls inside, a feast for the kings of the woods.

Micheal immediately shifted through the menagerie of snack foods, landing on a bag of almost cheetos and a blue hug juice which he opened by stabbing through the thin foil with his pencil. "Doesn't your mom get mad when you take too many snacks?"

Emile shrugged as he picked up a red hug, stabing into the foil with his sharp canines before sitting in an old tire with a blanket thrown over it, "Yeah, but she'll never know it was me. My brothers always eat more than we're supposed to anyway."

Micheal nodded and returned to his homework, his legs dangling from the green painted metal garden chair they'd found along side the broken table, supposedly thrown out together. If one was broken, they both were in the eyes of the original owner, making them both worthless.

"What're you working on?" Emile shifted in his spot, grabbing one of the stuffed animals he's packed in his bag that had tumbled out among the snacks.

"Fractions," Micheal answered without looking up, using his spare hand to dig into his not-cheetos bag, "Did you bring your homework? I'll do it for you if you want."

Emile let out a loud sigh, "Noooo, I dumped my bag out to quickly and left it at home. You woulda been bored anyway, it's just multiplication."

Micheal and Emile were the same age, but not the same grade. Though Micheal was far behind in the height department, he was a brilliant mind. He'd skipped from 2nd to 4th grade at his last school, which actually put him ahead of the 5th graders when he moved this past year. Sense he moved in the middle of the year he was currently stuck in Emile's class during the school day, but was doing 5th grade level lessons as homework to prepare to take the Finals at a 5th grade level. His teachers tell him if he does well enough on the final at the end of the year he can go into middle school next year.

Many people looking in would think what a brilliant and talented child, how amazingly lucky he was to be born so smart, and they wouldn't even be half right.

Micheal was a genius yet, but not because of luck, or genetics, or some invisible disability he'd yet to be diagnosed with. Micheal was smart with purpose, with intent to blast through school. The less years he had to spend learning basic division and decimal placement the better, because as soon as he was done with school he could get a job, and as soon as he could get a job, he could buy his own house, and as soon as he could buy his own house he could have his own key, and never ever be locked out to "Go play outside :)" ever again.

He can't be forced to move if he owns the house, he can't be restricted dinner if he made the dinner, he won't have to sleep on the couch or even the floor some nights because there were guests over who needed a bed more. His house, his rules.

Yes, Micheal was smart, smart enough to know his life wasn't fair, and it would never be fair, and it was up to him to tilt the unbalanced scale in his favor, and up until this year he'd planned to do so all on his own.

"So I'm thinking red."

"Red?" Micheal looked up from his homework to Emile, his first friend sense Kindergarten, sense all the moving, sense being the new kid three times in one year.

Emile sat up and smiled as he turned a notebook he'd had stashed in his tire chair to face Micheal, a crude drawing of a house done fully in red crayon sat squarely in the middle. "Red." He smiled confidently, the dye from his hug juice had colored his upper lip almost as bright as the poorly drawn house.

Micheal placed his pencil down and took in the house. Fully red, with four windows in the front with a round door perfectly in the center. There was even a window in the triangle that made up the roof, implying an attic. The yard was green with a crude version of a brown dog and a purple cat standing on either side of two people holding hands in the center, one with black hair and thick glasses, and the other in a triangle dress with long yellow hair.

Micheal nodded

"I like red."

[kellystar321]

.

[h-i-raeth]

"Alternate Version (Trapped In The Upside Down)" please!

“Robin.”

He doesn’t have to say anything else. “I’ll help Dustin.”

Nancy takes Dustin’s other side, and Steve hoists Eddie’s unmoving body up as gently as he can. Now that he’s holding him, he can tell he’s breathing--fucking faintly, but he’s breathing.

The only problem is, by the time they hobble back to the Munson’s trailer, the gate is slowly closing. And the rope is gone.

Nancy goes first, with the half of the rope that had been left on this side. She manages to stick the landing, bruised but probably not injured. Re-ties the sheets to reform the rope, replaces the mattress… And the gate keeps shrinking.

Steve’s not a math person, but he knows they’re running out of time.

It takes too long to hoist Dustin through safely. Robin might be able to squeeze past, but they have no chance of getting Eddie’s dead weight to clear the gate in time. And Steve’s not leaving him behind.

[foxgloveinspace]

It took 14k words but Sam is finally back on the grid in my fic.

[minisugakoobies]

Cross My Heart | KMG

Pairing: Mingyu x GNReader (afab)

Genre: smut, porn with the barest of plot, friends to lovers (?), non-idol!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: pussy drunk mingyu, late night texting, biting/marking, fingering, lots of flirting, lots of teasing, grinding/dry humping, dirty talk, cunnilingus, face sitting, come eating, hand job, mingyu's a messy boy, OC is needy and mingyu loves it, mingyu has maybe the tiniest bit of a praise kink, use of pet names - pretty, mingyu requests death by pussy

Word Count: 5.2k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: Your crush Mingyu wants (to eat) you.

Text Prompt: You: I can’t stand you Mingyu: Then sit on my face

A/N: Hiiiii I'm writing for svt now and I'm starting with Mingyu because he's driving me insane. This is actually the first in a planned series of 13 svt fics based on text prompts. I'm fully in my self-indulgent era, so this is for everyone who, like me, needs some munch 'Gyu right about now 👅

Unbeta'd as usual. If you like this and want more svt fics from me, please let me know! I'd love to hear what you think (but please be kind I'm fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

It’s finally here. After months of planning, you and your friends have flown halfway around the world for a week of vacation. The six of you arrived just a few hours ago, and after the long flight, the long wait at the airport for your luggage, and the long drive to the hotel, you’re exhausted. 

Well, mentally you’re worn out, at least. Your body? Is still on your old timezone, where it’s currently tomorrow morning. So it thinks that you need to be awake, even though it’s night where you are. You had stayed awake the entire flight here in order to avoid this very problem. 

Fucking jet lag got you anyway.

Unlike you, Seungcheol and Vernon are having no issue sleeping. The three of you are sharing one room, while Minghao, Wonwoo, and Mingyu are sharing another. You glance over at the two lumps tucked in their beds, snoring away like you would be if your body wasn’t so confused.

Because you’re trying to be a good friend and let them sleep, you’re lying on your bed, scrolling lazily through your various social media apps. You could watch something, but you don’t really have the focus right now. Yet you want something pleasing to look at. Something to mindlessly enjoy while you wait for exhaustion to overwhelm you. 

So, naturally, you turn to your favorite nightly pastime - scrolling through your social media apps, looking for any new posts from Mingyu.

It’s an addiction, borne out of your raging crush on your friend. Well, really, he’s Minghao’s friend, you don’t know him as well as you do the others, but still. You’re friendly enough around each other. Which is because Mingyu is so nice, such a sweet and funny guy who always makes you feel more than welcome whenever he’s around. 

He’s also a blatant flirt. At first, his cocky smiles and playful words made you think he might be interested in more than just being your friend, but it wasn’t long before you realized he’s like that with everyone. So you tamped down the hope that burned in your chest, leaving only a simmering crush to smolder forever.

It’s morning back home, where most of your friends have barely started their days, so your feed is fairly dead. There are a few photos from Wonwoo from the flight, including one of Minghao sleeping with his mouth open that you immediately save to your favorites, a couple from Vernon, and, of course, several from Mingyu. You tap into his page.

Mingyu’s an avid photographer, particularly of beautiful things - breathtaking landscapes, delicious meals, himself. Mostly himself, to be honest. Not that you’re complaining. It’s maybe the most mutually beneficial relationship you’ve ever been in. Mingyu loves to provide pictures of himself. You love to admire them. A win-win all around. 

You tap back to home and refresh your feed. A new post appears, from Mingyu. The jet lag must be getting to him, too, if he’s awake and posting right now. The photo is another selfie, this time of him lying in bed, one arm resting behind his head, showing off a perfectly sculpted bicep. God. Could he be more gorgeous? 

Clicking into his page again, you rub your thumb over the screen to make his photos flip by in an endless parade of hot Mingyus. It’s ridiculous, you muse, watching picture after picture roll by, to think about how much time Mingyu must spend on these photos. Making sure he’s got the perfect lighting to bounce off his muscles just right in those gym selfies. Or figuring out the best angle to show off that sharp jawline of his. Just ridiculous. And yet, every second isn’t spent in vain, considering how the photos drew you in like shiny trinkets to your magpie eye. 

It would be so easy to think of Mingyu as a modern day Narcissus, endlessly snapping selfies, drowning in his own reflection on his phone. But he’s never struck you as conceited. It’s something else - a desire for connection, perhaps. A need for-

A tiny heart floats up your screen and you gasp. Shit. You just liked the post the scroll stopped on - one of his many gym selfies, frame zoomed in on his torso, his hand clutching the bottom of his shirt to show off his rippling abs.

Your eye drifts to the date of the photo. Posted eight months ago. 

Quick as lightning, you hit the screen again, shattering the little heart icon. Your pulse is beating too fast. There’s no need to panic. He couldn’t have seen that. Maybe you’re overreacting, but no one needs to know you’re lurking in his profile in the middle of the night, especially not him. 

A notification drops down over Mingyu’s face. A message.

Mingyu: Someone’s up late. 

Ah, damn. You were too slow. And now he’s in your DMs. 

After taking a moment to shriek quietly into your pillow, you write back. 

You: Can’t sleep

Mingyu: Same. Jet lag’s got me fucked up

Mingyu: You know what always helps when I can’t sleep?

You: What?

Mingyu: Creeping through someone’s old photos

Even though he’s not here looking at you, your neck flames with embarrassment anyway. You could play it cool. If only you knew how to do that. 

You: Shut up

Mingyu: It’s ok, I’m flattered

You: Oh fuck off

Mingyu: No really, I am

Mingyu: I like that you want me so bad

Pressing your mouth firmly into your pillow, you swallow another screech. Here we go. Right into the flirting. You can’t handle this right now.

You: Idk what you’re talking about

You:  It was an accident

Mingyu: Oh you were accidentally admiring me? 

You: How did you even notice? Are you just staring at your phone, waiting for attention?

Mingyu: I mean yeah

You snort. 

You: You’re ridiculous

Mingyu: Maybe. But I’m honest about it

You: I’ll give you that

A few seconds go by, then a minute, then two. Maybe you’re boring him. Maybe he’s found something else to entertain him. Or someone else.

When the next notification comes in, you jolt a little. 

Mingyu: What else will you give me?

And now your heart does a funny jump as you stare at his words. God, what a question. How you wish he were asking for real, and not just being playful, like he always is. 

Would it be too real to reply with the truth? “Whatever you want?”

You: I don’t know

You: What do you want?

Mingyu: What if I say you?

Suddenly you don’t understand words.

You: Why would you say that?

Mingyu: Because it’s my answer

Mingyu: I’m being honest again

You: That’s the jet lag talking

Mingyu: Oh come on

Mingyu: You really don’t know?

You: Know what??

Mingyu: How I feel about you

Is he being serious right now??

You: If this is a joke I don’t get it

Mingyu: Not a joke

Mingyu: Hold on

The notification icon on your app suddenly lights up. One heart. Two. Three four five. You open your notifications and immediately start laughing. Mingyu’s going through your oldest photos and liking them, one by one. 

Mingyu: See? I’m obsessed with you

Seungcheol grunts in his sleep, and you press your arm harder over your mouth, trying to muffle yourself better.

You: You’re so annoying, oh my god

Mingyu: So annoying that you can’t stop looking at my photos at 1 am?

Mingyu: Or flirting with me?

You: Is that what’s happening? Are we flirting?

Mingyu: Ok don’t act like you don’t know

Mingyu: I flirt with you all the time

You: You flirt with EVERYONE all the time

Mingyu: Yeah but I only mean it with you

Like any other time this happens, any time his words make your head spin, you put on the brakes, stopping before you start to believe you might have a chance. 

You: You’re so dumb

Mingyu: Are you really going to pretend you’re not enjoying this?

You: Who said I’m pretending?

Mingyu: Me. I know you’re loving this

Mingyu: Because you want me soooooo bad

You: Shut uppppp

Mingyu: Go on, yell at me

Mingyu: You’re cute when you’re mad

You: No really

You: I can’t stand you

Mingyu: Then sit on my face

Your mouth falls open, an amused huff of air escaping in a befuddled laugh at his unexpected response. 

You: What?

Mingyu: Come shut me up. Sit on my face.

You’re blinking so hard, you can hear your eyelids clapping together.

You: Fuck off. Stop playing. 

Mingyu: Who’s playing? I’m serious

Mingyu: Smother me with those gorgeous thighs of yours. I’ll go out a happy man. 

Your gorgeous thighs? He’s never said anything like that before. What the fuck is happening.

You can’t help but picture it - him lying on his bed, you kneeling over him, fingers tangled in his dark hair as you ride that pouty little mouth of his. It’s not the first time you’ve fantasized about it, but it’s the first time the vision has felt… possible. 

Mingyu: No response? You’re just gonna leave me hanging like this?

You: Don’t tease me

Mingyu: Trust me, there are a million ways I’d love to tease you, but this isn’t one

You lay down again, rolling onto your side, curling in on yourself, like you’re trying to contain all the excitement rushing through your veins, keep it from spilling out and over into the room where your friends are still sleeping.  

You: You’re really serious?

Mingyu: Cross my heart and hope to die

Mingyu: Between your legs

Again you laugh.

You: You’re such an idiot

Mingyu: Does that mean you’re not coming over?

You: Like right now??

Mingyu: Why not? 

Mingyu: Wonwoo and Minghao both slept on the plane. They went out exploring

Mingyu: I’ve got the room to myself

You bite your lip, a little harder than you normally would, the sharp sting confirming that you are not dreaming and this is, in actual fact, happening right now. 

You: I guess if I’m not sleeping anytime soon

In the dim light from your phone, you eye the path to the door. You can easily make it out of the room without waking anyone. Should you so decide. 

You: I could come over

Mingyu: I promise I’ll make it so good for you

Mingyu: Eat that pussy like you deserve. Make you cum on my tongue over and over

You inhale sharply. He’s definitely never talked about your pussy like that before. Reading his words has you positively throbbing.

Mingyu: Please, just let me taste you

What else is there to say to that but -  

You: I’m coming over

It’s a short walk to Mingyu’s room. A rush of anticipation hits you as you raise your hand to knock. It doesn’t take long for the door to open, bringing you face to face with the man whose social media you can’t stop stalking. Mingyu’s shirtless, grey sweatpants hanging alarmingly low on his hips, and if you weren’t already planning on crushing him with your thighs, this insta thirst trap of an outfit would push you right over the edge. 

“That was fast,” he laughs, stepping aside to let you in. “Did you run down the hall?” 

“I thought I told you to shut up,” you shoot back. 

“And I thought I told you to make me,” he smirks, reaching for you at the same time you reach for him, practically mashing his teeth against your lips as he pulls you in for a kiss. Despite what he just said, he’s kissing you, too eager to wait for you to do what he demands. 

It’s rough and messy, all teeth and tongue, both of you doing your fair share to keep the other silent. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say speechless, because Mingyu’s definitely not being quiet, moaning into your mouth, and you’re certainly whining loud enough for the other rooms to hear you.

He presses you back into the door, chest to chest, hip to hip. You tilt your head and he follows, chasing your mouth, as if he’s needing another taste. Your hands roam over his biceps, his shoulders, his neck, covering every inch of warm skin that’s exposed, and he slips his arms around your waist, holding you impossibly tight. Not for one second do your lips part. This is the type of kiss you’ve always read about in your favorite stories - the one that makes your knees weak, makes your head float, makes you forget everything but Mingyu. 

It’s delicious. It’s amazing. It’s every superlative you can think of. But it’s not enough. You want more. Part of you wants to tell him to get on with it, take you to bed, because you’re here to make him eat his words by eating you, but the other part isn’t about to quit kissing him any time soon. 

Thankfully, Mingyu takes care of your dilemma by eliminating the choice. Without warning, he bends his knees and lifts you, big hands secure on your thighs to hold you close to him. Okay, now it’s like one of your stories, the way he lifts you like you’re lighter than air. You’d swoon if you weren’t so busy licking into his lips. All that time in the gym is really paying off

He carries you to his bed, displaying his impressive thigh strength by slowly lowering himself into a sitting position, bringing you into his lap. You loop your arms around his shoulders, desperately seeking his mouth, as if the 0.2 seconds between kisses might kill you, which, honestly, it feels like it might, and you’ve never been in this situation before, making out with the man of your dreams, so for all you know, it will, so why risk it? 

“Stop me if I’m going too fast,” he says between kisses. 

“You can go as fast as you want,” you reply, without even a second’s pause. “Just don’t stop.” 

“Damn, and here I was worried I was coming off too excited,” he grins, face lighting up in delight. Then he kisses your cheek, whispering against your skin at your offended huff. “It’s okay, I like how needy you are for me.”

“Shut up,” you groan, but you know he felt the way you shuddered, so you give up the weak protests and start kissing him again, twisting your fingers in his hair to keep him close. 

Mingyu finally stops laughing when you take his bottom lip between your own, sucking and licking at the plump skin. With a groan, he digs his fingers into your sides, and he starts to guide you back and forth, rolling you over the eye-catching bulge in his sweatpants. It’s a sight that makes you clench, thinking about how much you want to sit on it now, just pull him out and ride, too needy to feel him inside you to even take your clothes off.

But again, you want more. You want what he’d promised earlier.  

He nips his way down your throat until his mouth latches at the base of your neck, sucking and biting, and you whimper, squirming in his hold. “

‘Gyu, please!”

“Please what?” 

He doesn’t lift his head, too absorbed in sinking his vampire-like canines into your soft skin, not sharp enough to pierce, just hard enough that you know you’ll have bruises blooming there tomorrow, little souvenirs of this moment. 

Please everything, you think. You want it all, whatever he’s willing to give, you’ll take. You’re feeling greedy as fuck right now. 

“I want what you promised me.” 

“Hold on,” he intones seriously, right before laving his tongue over a fresh mark. “Let a man at death’s door enjoy his last moments.” 

“Oh my god, you’re so stupid,” you groan, grabbing his face and smashing your lips together. He’s just - just such an idiot, such a stupid sexy idiot and you want him more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life.

“Fine,” he says after a few minutes of frantic making out, a cheeky grin spreading across his face, hands circling around your ass, squeezing as he pulls you closer. “Time for my last meal.” 

He kisses away your embarrassingly pleased moan, and then he maneuvers the two of you around so he’s lying on the bed on his back and you’re straddling him. As he watches with rapt attention, you peel off your shirt. Since you’d been dressed for bed, you hadn’t bothered to throw on a bra. Judging from Mingyu’s expression, you made the right call.  

“Pretty,” he breathes out, wide eyes finding yours, and you have to take a beat, have to take a moment to sit and let the reality of the situation wash over you. The two of you are here, together, in this hotel room half a world away from home. Both wanting this. It’s clear to you now just how eager Mingyu’s been since you walked in. He wasn’t lying - he wants you just as much as you want him. 

With this new understanding, you stand up to slide your shorts and panties off in one go, before straddling him again, and lowering yourself for another kiss. Immediately, his arms are around you, gliding down your back, all the way to your bare ass, taking the biggest handfuls he can. 

“You drive me insane. So pretty, so hot.” 

Mingyu’s words kick the simmering heat in your gut into a full blown fire. You moan into his kiss, grinding yourself against him. One of his hands grips your side, helping you chase the friction, while the other slips between your bodies. When his fingers brush your inner thigh, he lets out a strangled groan. “Oh fuck, you’re so wet.”  

“Your fault,” you gasp, lips fervently pressing against his, licking at the seam of his mouth until he allows you in, so you can roll your tongue over his like you roll your hips. 

“Then allow me to make it up to you,” he grins, long fingers cupping your mound, trapping the heat there in his palm as he rubs it against you. You keen, thighs already twitching. You’re going to lose your mind before you even get to his face. 

You’re not alone in that feeling, as he suddenly reaches for your thighs, urging you to crawl up his body. “Get up here, please,” he begs, flat out begs you, and you slide forward as fast as you can. You need his mouth, right now.

Hovering over him is a little surreal - MIngyu’s big brown eyes are gazing up at you in a perfect replication of your favorite daydream, only it’s so much better than you’d ever imagined, because the expression he wears is one of complete awe, like he’s the one living out his fantasy. Again you feel bold, so you run your fingers through his hair, nails lightly scraping over his scalp. He moans quietly, low in his throat, like he’s trying to hold it in, and your mouth quirks in a half smile as you kneel. 

“Nice knowing you, ‘Gyu.” 

He hums a happy note, lips vibrating lightly just as your cunt reaches them, and you moan quietly. You don’t settle all the way down, because as much as you were playing along with this whole death-by-pussy dream of his, you are slightly worried that you might actually suffocate him, if not because of your weight than because of your dire need, that you might get too lost in the aching desire that’s building inside you, spurred on by the way he’s brushing the lower half of his face and down your folds, just breathing you in, teasing you with his touches but not giving you what you so desperately want. 

“‘Gyu,” you whine, tilting your pelvis forward, to catch his tongue as he traces your inner thigh, leaving a trail of saliva behind. He blows a puff of air across the wetness, sending goosebumps running at the cooling sensation. 

When you try to shift again, he’s quick to wrap his hands up around your hips, holding you still. Not hard enough to hurt, but strong enough to let you know - he’s in charge now. 

“Stay still, pretty,” he murmurs, tenderly pressing a kiss into your skin. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my promise. Cross my heart, remember?” 

With that reminder, he pulls you down further onto his face. His tongue slides into you, nose bumping your clit, and you whimper, hands flailing at your sides, seeking something to cling to, finding nothing but the warm air around you. The pressure on the sensitive bud combining with the wet hot muscle plunging between your slick folds is overwhelming in the best way.

“‘Gyu, oh, that’s so good!”  

Mingyu nods his head vigorously, nudging his nose around, letting his tongue drag up and down your slit. It almost feels like he’s agreeing with you, backed up by the way he grunts brokenly, this deep rumble in his chest that gets strangled halfway through his throat. 

You’re not sure at what point you start thrust your hips. Mingyu helps you find the right pace, big hands guiding you forward and back, forward and back, until you feel the rhythm all the way from your ears to your toes. 

As his mouth slides up to suckle on your clit, his left hand also snakes upwards, cupping your right breast, thumb rolling over your puckered nipple. You shudder, nerves sizzling like power lines, lit up by his every touch.

“‘Gyu…” Mingyu’s mouth pulls another whine from you. You glance down, catching the furrow in his brow, the sweat dripping down his temples. “Oh my god.” 

“Mmmmphf,” Mingyu agrees, or so you assume, unable to understand anything he might be mumbling into you. A particularly sharp suck on your pulsating clit makes your back arch, and Mingyu’s hand falls from your chest, disappearing behind you. 

The sudden rustling of fabric draws your attention. You glance over your shoulder, only to whimper when you catch sight of Mingyu’s hand stroking his erection, band of his sweatpants hastily shoved down, stiff cock so flushed it brings a matching heat to your neck. 

If you were more limber, you’d reach for him, give him a helping hand, but you can’t stay twisted around for long, not when Mingyu’s tongue makes you refocus on his mouth. It’s too difficult to think about anything else right now but the way he keeps plunging inside you, using the thick muscle to fuck you shallowly. 

You can’t stop mewling like a cat in heat, rutting back and forth over Mingyu’s tongue. Even in your daze, it doesn’t escape your attention that Mingyu’s absolutely pussy drunk at this point, depraved moans buzzing endlessly against your most sensitive spots because he refuses to detach his mouth from you long enough to let them escape. Every muffled note reverberates deep in your core, joins the tense chord that’s building inside you to a crescendo. 

“‘Gyu, please.” 

At the sound of your plea, Mingyu stops stroking himself, bringing his hand around to find your clit, middle finger drawing circles around and around and around. 

When you double over, hands sinking into the plush bedding on either side of Mingyu’s head, he grunts, tipping his head to the side so he can speak. “You okay?” 

“Fuck, Mingyu, ‘m good,” you giggle, suddenly hit by a burst of glee, perhaps due to the lack of oxygen in your head, since all the blood in your body is concentrated in your clit right now. “I’m having an amazing night.” 

Mingyu hums again, sounding very pleased, and you meet his gaze, and suddenly you wish his phone was nearby, so you could snap a photo, because this look - hair mussed and clinging to his forehead, pupils blown, nose to chin coated in your glistening wetness - this is a look worth capturing.

“Yeah, me too,” he says, chest heaving as he catches his breath, and the sincerity in his voice steals your own away. If you had any nerve, you’d confess something right now, something you weren’t planning on telling him tonight or tomorrow or maybe ever. But you keep silent, only breathing a tiny exhale of surprise as he slides out from under you, and nudges you onto your back.

Mingyu folds you in half easily, because you’re giving no resistance, letting him shape you the way he desires, and then his mouth is on you again. Now that he's lying facedown between your legs, he’s able to get some much-desired friction without using his hands, grinding his neglected cock into the bed as he concentrates on you. 

His tongue glides over your throbbing nub again, and then his right hand ghosts over your slit. You whimper a soft “Please,” and that’s all he needs to slide his finger inside. The intrusion has you squirming, urging him silently to go deeper, and to your relief, he obliges. But he also locks his other arm over your legs, holding them so you can’t keep bucking your hips up. 

“I said, stay still,” he mumbles, with no anger or heat behind it, just amusement, laced with a slight tinge of cockiness. He knows he’s frustrating you, judging by the curl of his lips as he plunges his finger in and out slowly, way too slowly, teasing you with what you need most. You try to press your hips down onto his hand, to make him glide faster, but he just leans into you slightly, big arm stopping your movements. 

Your whine is beyond petulant. “Don’t tease me!” 

“Pretty, I promise you, when I tease you, you’ll know.” 

And then he adds his middle finger, curling both, pressing on the most sensitive spot on your inner wall. Over and over, his fingers flutter, massaging until starlight bursts behind your eyelids. 

“It’ll be something like this.” 

He withdraws his hand.

“Gyuuuuuu.”

If he was slightly cocky earlier, he’s fully arrogant now, face breaking into a wide grin while he laughs. “Wow, so whiny. You do want me bad.” 

“I swear to god if you dohhhhHHH-”

You break off in a moan when he lowers his face again, loudly lapping at your wetness. Clever fingers alternate between scissoring and stroking, following the changes in your breathing, and you hope that he’s close to being satiated, because you’re teetering on the edge of your climax, only the slightest bit more stimulation necessary to push you over. 

“Mingyu. Mingyu, I’m gonna cum.” You open your eyes, raising your head enough to look at him, to watch with a dropped jaw as he buries his face in your cunt, his own eyes closed in ecstasy, and oh, that’s it - “Oh god, I’m gonna cum!” 

Your warning cry - though clearly appreciated by Mingyu, who groans in answering refrain, hips humping the bed furiously - is ultimately unnecessary, given how hard your walls suddenly clench around his fingers. He doesn’t stop his ministrations, fingerfucking you through your orgasm as your lower half trembles beneath his heavy arm. He holds you in place as best he can, sweetly kissing your clit, while you wail and writhe, pressing your palm into your mouth to keep your cries from waking the rooms around you. 

Eventually your tremors slow, turning into occasional twitches, before your body finally relaxes. Mingyu continues to lap at you, every pass of his tongue getting lighter and lighter, until he lifts his head. He’s the perfect image of lust, eyes dark and desirous, and you claw at his shoulders, needing him close again. 

“Kiss me.” 

He wipes his face with the back of his hand, smearing you over himself more as he rises up to meet you. His cock is hard between you, and you moan, knowing that you did that, that he got this turned on just from eating you out, and extend your fingers to wrap around him.

The unbidden sound he utters when you take his cock and slide it through your soaking folds, coating it in your wetness, is the filthiest sound you’ve ever heard.

“Careful, pretty,” he pants, looking down at your hand. Under his close gaze, you circle the head of his cock before rubbing your thumb over and around the slit there. “‘M close.” 

“Wanna make you come, ‘Gyu,” you tell him, and he hisses, hips bucking into your grip. 

“Fuck.” His long fingers cover yours, guiding you into a faster pace. “But I’m gonna make a mess.”

“Do it. Make a mess.” The need to make him completely fall apart takes possession of you, makes you say things you’ve never said to anyone else. “Come all over me.” 

Mingyu whines, chin dropping to his chest. He’s barely blinking as he stares at your entwined hands. 

“Pretty… don’t say that….”

“Please, ‘Gyu.” All shame has fled your body. “I want it.” 

No further encouragement is needed. Mingyu grunts a few times before he’s painting your stomach in so much white, in little drops and big splashes, doing exactly what you told him, eyes rolling back in his head as he does.

When his high abates, he sits back on his heels, gazing at the mess he created, all the sticky sweat and semen that covers your body. A delirious thought comes to you. Is the sight beautiful enough for him to want to take a picture? 

“Wow,” he murmurs after a moment, shaking his head. “You’re even prettier when you’re covered in me.” 

His dead serious expression is enough to break the haze of lust hanging over you. You throw your arm over your face, too flustered to look at him. “‘Gyuuuuu!”

“Changed my mind, I’m calling you ‘whiny' from now on.” The bed shifts as Mingyu rises. He laughs all the way to and from the bathroom, laughs even harder when you glare at him, reaching for the towel he holds. He surprises you by nudging your hand away. “Let me.”  

His touch is so gentle as he wipes away his mess, then your own. When you’re both clean enough, he lays on his side, draping his arm over you. “Think you can sleep now?” 

Oh, you can sleep. You’re feeling satiated in a way you haven’t for a long time, and now that the rush has worn off, you could knock right out. You should probably go back to your room, ride this calm wave right into sleep, not let yourself get too excited at the thought that this vacation might be the best one ever.

Instead, you grin, sliding your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck. “Yeah. But I don’t want to.” 

“Oh?” Mingyu’s smile mirrors yours. “What do you wanna do instead?” 

“I might have some ideas.” 

He lets you pull him down for a kiss, humming eagerly.

“Tell me what you want, pre-”

A sharp rap on the door startles you both.

“Dude, don’t you dare!” Minghao hisses through the wood. “We’ve been out here forever!” 

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[foxmulderautism]

the thing about WS beaulix brainstorming is i don't know if i'm going to or even should write the multiple sex scenes in my head but the problem is that apocalyptic world really does give so many more interesting opportunities for Sex Locations

[forhyune]

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・908 / 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・hyunjin x gn!reader / 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲(𝘀)・domestic fluff, established relationship, being hopelessly whipped for one another hehe

𝟭𝟭:𝟯𝟲 𝗣.𝗠. — Hwang Hyunjin is no stranger to compliments.

How couldn’t he be, when his grip on every stadium is one of titanium, when he looks and sounds like a figment of a sweet dream, when he is all that he is? And he loves the flattery. He’ll bow graciously and utter his thanks, his head lowered just far enough to conceal the smirk on his lips that says: oh, I know.

But it’s different with you. Maybe it’s because he’s clung to everything you’ve said to him since the day you met, curating a mental archive of the greatest love he'll ever know. Maybe it’s because he feels the urge to smile just looking at your face. Maybe he's that much of an enamored idiot that your praise makes him feel like he’s touching the sky.

Whatever the reason, your compliments destroy him, and tonight is no exception.

Hyunjin’s head is hovering over the sink, headband holding back his hair, hands slathering cleanser over his skin, when his phone goes off. It’s unusual for him to receive emails so late, and he rinses and dries himself with a touch of irritation. Surely it can wait until tomorrow. But the annoyance subsides when Hyunjin starts to read: photos came out early . . . congratulations again . . . will be in touch with next steps.

Behind him, the bathroom door opens, and in walks a figure with tired eyes and a matching headband over their hairline. Hyunjin feels arms circle around his waist and a familiar warmth press up against his back. “I ran out of face soap,” you mumble.

Without looking up from his screen, Hyunjin picks up his cleanser and holds it by his hip, so that you only need extend your fingers to snatch it away. You place a kiss on his cheek as a quick way of thanks, bringing a small, helpless smile to his face.

The next few minutes are spent in silence, save for the sounds of your washing. It isn’t until you glance in the mirror and see your boyfriend’s fascination with his phone that you notice something’s up.

“What’re you looking at?” You hum, curious.

Hyunjin’s reply is casual. Too casual. “The photos from the Versace shoot came out early.”

At this, you whip around to look at him. Your face is illuminated with a smile that stretches from ear to ear, the fatigue in your eyes replaced with pure anticipation. A mysterious warmth begins to spread through Hyunjin, starting in his chest and traveling as far as his cheeks, dusting them pink with embarrassment. (And so Hyunjin’s destruction begins.)

“Show me,” you demand.

Hyunjin tilts his screen in your direction, finally unable to quell the proud grin that he’s been biting back for so long. You nestle into his side and wrap your hands around his tricep, as if looking to hang onto something for emotional support, but nothing could've prepared you for what you see: silky dark hair pinned back by a pair of white sunglasses, facial features so ethereal that they rival the sculptures of Michelangelo himself, jewelry and suit jacket dull in comparison to his golden complexion, all rearranged into poses and expressions so confident and effortless that one would think he’s been doing this for years.

It is too much for you.

The noise that comes out of your mouth is terrifying—a mixture of a moan and a gasp except you’re being mauled by a mountain lion, or something—and Hyunjin starts to laugh, the forceful, involuntary kind that seizes his entire being.

“Are you kidding me?" You let go of his arm to grab hold of his phone with both hands, bringing it within inches of your face. "Is this real life?”

“What sound did you just make—?" Hyunjin is now sliding down the wall, barely able to get his words out. "Wait, I can’t breathe, stop—”

You ignore him, and Hyunjin genuinely thinks he’s going to dissolve when he sees that you’ve zoomed in far enough for his face, just his face, to take up the entire screen. “This can’t be real,” you mutter. “You can’t be real.”

“Shut up, you idiot—”

Hyunjin suddenly feels a pair of hands on his cheeks, and you start littering kisses all over his face, first on his forehead, then his temple, then his nose, his jaw, weaving words in between to form a sentence: you are the most beautiful man in the whole world, Hwang Hyunjin. He disappears into a new fit of laughter, his cheeks sore from how hard he’s beaming, his ears burning crimson. He feels like he might burst, he’s so happy, so in love.

You then pull away for a breather, and whatever plea for mercy Hyunjin has prepared goes forgotten when it occurs to him how close the two of you are, with you basically straddling him and wisps of your hair tickling his face. And you look stunning right now, barefaced and blushing and radiant. His laughter dissipates at last, leaving behind only a helplessly fond smile that turns his eyes to crescents.

“My prince,” you whisper, bumping your nose lightly against his. “Mine.”

He physically cannot go a second longer without kissing you, leaning in and sealing his grin against yours with the intensity of an oath. Yours. Forever.

“Thank you, baby."

(The truth is that Hyunjin destroys you first. It is only natural that you return the favor.)

𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

© 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘅 (est. 090323) · all works are pieces of original writing and all characters and relationships are purely fictional. please do not repost or reuse for any reason.

[dksfml]

Love 119 [Part One]

part of my paramedic!jungwon series. [part 2]

pairing: paramedic!jungwon x doctor!reader genre: workplace tension, constant bickering, fluff (trust me) word count: 2.7k summary: jungwon and you made it a habit to constantly be at each other's throats, especially in the emergency room. while he barked orders, you fired back just as fiercely. but once the doors closed, the tension shifted into a warm intimacy that only you two knew. author's note: self-indulgent fic because i've seen no one writing this trope

The late afternoon sun was just beginning to dip behind the skyline when the call came in—an emergency at a construction site on the outskirts of the city.

Jungwon barely had time to glance at his watch before he was in motion, his team falling in line behind him as the sirens wailed and the ambulance tore through the city streets.

Arriving at the site, chaos greeted them. Workers were clustered around a man lying motionless on the ground, his hard hat cracked and discarded nearby, dust and debris littering the air. Jungwon’s jaw tightened, taking in the scene in a flash. This wasn’t good.

“Let’s move,” he barked, his tone sharp but calm, his team already spreading out as they grabbed the necessary equipment from the ambulance.

He strode forward with an authoritative air, his well-built frame and broad shoulders drawing more than a few eyes from the construction workers, some of whom were openly staring at him, their faces filled with a mix of concern and awe.

“Step back, please,” Jungwon said firmly but politely, the workers quickly making way as he knelt down beside the injured man.

His dark hair, just a bit tousled from the rush, caught the light, and the sharp angles of his jawline seemed even more pronounced against the backdrop of the gritty site. His team watched him with admiration; Jungwon always exuded this calm, confident charm that somehow made even the most panicked scenes feel manageable.

Jungwon quickly assessed the man’s condition. The patient was unconscious, his breathing shallow. One of his teammates handed over the stethoscope, and Jungwon listened intently to the faint sounds of the man’s breathing. His brow furrowed.

“Possible head trauma. We’ve got low oxygen saturation,” he muttered under his breath, signaling for the oxygen mask as his hands moved swiftly yet delicately over the man’s body, checking for fractures and injuries.

His every move was precise, commanding attention—not just because of his skill but the way he carried himself. Even in the face of an emergency, he looked collected, like he was born to handle the pressure.

"Jungwon," his teammate called from the side, holding the patient's chart. "No significant external bleeding. We’ve got a weak pulse though, around 130, BP's borderline. We need to get him out of here fast."

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed as he nodded, quickly making a decision. “Let’s secure his airway first and immobilize his spine. We can’t risk any movement.” He made the call as he smoothly slid the oxygen mask onto the patient’s face, adjusting it with a gentleness that contrasted the urgency of the situation. His fingers brushed over the man’s wrist, checking his pulse again. A slight frown creased his forehead.

With practiced ease, his team set up a backboard to stabilize the patient, while Jungwon prepared to radio the hospital. His deep voice echoed through the dust-laden air, crisp and calm. “We’re looking at a possible internal bleed or brain injury—trauma to the head, decreased GCS. Get Y/N on standby. She’ll want to know.”

He tapped his earpiece, dialing straight into the hospital, his tone switching effortlessly into that of a strict professional.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice filled with authority as he spoke into the receiver, “we’ve got a situation here. Male, late twenties, unconscious after a fall from height—GCS is 4. We’ve administered oxygen and immobilized his spine, but he’s unresponsive. Internal injuries are likely.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, before your voice came through, crisp and all business. “Vitals?”

Jungwon rattled off the numbers, his tone growing sharper as he outlined the gravity of the situation. “BP’s dropping fast, pulse is weak, pupils uneven—one’s blown. It’s not looking good.”

“Get him here as fast as you can,” you replied, your voice steady. “We’ll be ready when you arrive. I need him in trauma two for imaging, and you better give me a detailed report when you get here.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes subtly, though no one else could hear his exasperation. “Of course, Doctor. Just make sure the room’s prepped.” His sarcasm was impossible to miss, but before you could retort, he was already motioning for his team to get the stretcher ready.

“Let’s get moving,” he said, standing up in one fluid motion, his wide shoulders casting a shadow over the patient as he signaled for the transfer. His team lifted the man onto the gurney, Jungwon guiding them every step of the way. Despite the intensity of the moment, there was something about the way he commanded the situation—his deep voice, his piercing gaze, the way he moved like a force of nature—that made even a frantic scene seem a little calmer.

Jungwon was the kind of guy people listened to, the kind of guy people looked up to. Even with the weight of the situation hanging over him, he held his head high, taking charge like it was second nature. His team moved quickly, securing the patient in the ambulance as Jungwon gave one last glance to the scene before climbing in.

“Let’s go,” he said firmly, and with the wail of sirens, they sped off toward the hospital.

Jungwon stormed through the emergency room doors with a sense of purpose, his jaw clenched as he guided the gurney toward the trauma bay. “28-year-old male, head trauma, GCS of 4, possible internal bleeding. Move it!” His voice boomed with authority, eyes scanning the room as the ER team sprang into action.

The chaos of the emergency room was nothing new, but today it seemed more charged than usual. The tension was thick as the nurses hurried to get the trauma room prepped, doctors barking orders as they readied themselves. And at the center of it all was you—focused, sharp-eyed, already gloved up and waiting.

The moment Jungwon and his team wheeled the patient in, your eyes met his, a silent exchange of understanding mixed with the tension that always crackled between them in moments like this. Not that anyone would’ve noticed—your constant bickering was practically a feature of every shift.

You stepped forward, your voice cutting through the noise of the room. “Trauma two is open. Let’s get him in fast!”

The team followed your lead, transferring the patient from the gurney to the hospital bed with swift efficiency. Jungwon stayed close, hands still gripping the rails of the stretcher as if he was unwilling to relinquish control.

“You took too long with the vitals report,” you said, throwing him a sharp glance. “We could’ve been in there five minutes ago.”

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed. “We did take the vitals. Maybe if you paid attention, you’d know that.”

“Excuse me?” you shot back, your gaze never leaving the patient as you worked to stabilize him. “I don’t need a paramedic trying to tell me how to do my job. We had a plan, and your delay didn’t help.”

Jungwon glared, his voice low and clipped. “Maybe if your plan didn’t waste time on unnecessary scans, we wouldn’t have needed a second round of intubation last time.”

Your hands froze for a split second before you caught yourself. You threw him a withering look. “This again? You think you can waltz in here and play doctor, Jungwon?”

“I’m not playing doctor. I’m trying to make sure you don’t screw it up.” His tone was biting, but professional, and the tension in the room rose instantly.

One of the nurses stepped back, shaking her head. “Here they go again.”

You didn’t back down, leaning closer as you adjusted the IV line. “How about you leave the doctoring to me, and I’ll leave the paramedic work to you? We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Jungwon took a breath, his expression unreadable for a moment, his frustration barely contained. “Fine. Just don’t mess it up.”

“Same to you,” you retorted, not missing a beat.

Before Jungwon could respond, one of the nurses interrupted. “Dr. Y/N, patient’s BP is dropping.”

Instantly, you refocused, the banter dropped as quickly as it had escalated. “Let’s get the trauma panel done. We need to stabilize him before moving for imaging. Prep the fluids.”

Jungwon watched you work, his arms still crossed, but he didn’t say another word. Despite the constant arguing, there was no denying that you are incredible at your job. Even in the most high-pressure situations, you were in complete control.

You worked together in tense silence, the only sounds in the room now the soft beeps of the monitors and the quiet shuffling of the medical team around them. Jungwon’s team lingered just outside, waiting for their next call, though they couldn’t help but glance back inside the room occasionally, accustomed to the combative exchanges between Jungwon and you.

As the patient’s vitals finally stabilized, you took a step back, letting out a quiet breath. “We’re clear to take him to imaging now. Good work, everyone,” you called to the team, your voice steady once more.

Jungwon uncrossed his arms, walking past you toward the door. “You’re welcome,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You narrowed your eyes at his back but said nothing. You didn’t need to. Your argument had run its course for now.

Thirty minutes later, with the patient stable and prepped for surgery, you stepped out of the trauma room, pulling off your gloves. Jungwon was waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, that same tight-lipped look on his face.

“Everything go okay, or did I miss something else?” he asked, his voice loaded with sarcasm.

You glared at him. “Yeah, we managed just fine without your commentary, thanks.”

“Good,” Jungwon muttered, pushing himself off the wall and adjusting his jacket. “Maybe next time you won’t waste so much time arguing.”

“Maybe next time you’ll do your job and get out of my way,” you shot back, your voice sharp.

“You love being in control, don’t you?” Jungwon’s eyes glinted, his voice dropping low as he stepped closer. “Can’t handle someone else calling the shots, huh?”

You crossed your arms, your gaze unyielding. “I don’t need to handle anything, least of all you.”

“Trust me, I’m not asking for much,” he replied with a smirk, his voice oozing with challenge.

You scoffed, brushing past him. “Try asking for less.”

Jungwon shook his head with an exasperated sigh as he watched you walk away, but his lips twitched ever so slightly. The others on their teams didn’t even blink. This was just how the both of you were. They were used to it by now—the biting remarks, the challenges, the constant back-and-forth. Every time Jungwon’s ambulance showed up, it was only a matter of time before you and him were at each other’s throats again.

Hours later, the hospital had quieted down. The rush of the afternoon was over, and most of the staff had gone home. You and Jungwon had managed to avoid each other for the rest of your shifts, though your earlier argument still hung in the air like static.

You finally peeled off your gloves after your last appointment and scrubbed your hands clean, your mind replaying the events of the day. You were tired, drained even, but there was something about that last spat with Jungwon that wouldn’t stop gnawing at you. Maybe it was the way he always had a smug retort ready or how he never backed down from your challenges.

Shaking your head, you let out a sigh. “Annoying paramedic,” you muttered under your breath, grabbing your coat and heading out of the ER.

Your apartment wasn’t far from the hospital, a quiet space tucked away from the noise of the city. By the time you have arrived, your exhaustion had fully settled in, your body craving rest.

You pushed open the door and was greeted by the sound of faint rustling from the kitchen.

“Rough day?” a familiar voice asked, soft and warm.

You smiled, the tension from earlier melting away. There, standing in the kitchen in the same paramedic uniform that had driven you crazy just hours ago, was Jungwon. His hair was a little disheveled now, his expression soft and boyish, the strict leader of the paramedic team completely gone.

“You have no idea,” you murmured, walking over to him, your eyes catching on his broad shoulders, still defined under the crisp lines of his uniform. Jungwon turned around, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat when you see his easy smile, so different from the sharp tone he used at work.

Without another word, Jungwon wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. The scent of antiseptic still clung to his uniform, mixed with the faintest hint of his cologne. You closed your eyes and let yourself melt against him, the weight of the day slipping away. You buried your face into his shoulder, feeling the strong muscles beneath the fabric, and sighed softly.

“You’re lucky I put up with you,” he teased, reaching for your hand and pulling your close. “Even after you yelled at me for no reason.”

“I didn’t yell for no reason,” you protested, but your voice had lost all its sharpness, softened by the warmth of being home. You leaned against his chest, letting out a deep breath. “Okay, maybe I did. But only because you deserved it.”

Jungwon chuckled, his arms wrapping around you more tightly. “Sure, I deserved it. You really hate me that much, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no heat behind it as you melted into his embrace. “The worst,” you muttered, though your fingers played with the collar of his uniform.

Jungwon smirked, resting his chin on top of your head. “Good thing we’ve got the whole night to make up for it, then.”

“You’re still in your uniform,” you mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant. But inside, your mind was in chaos. His broad shoulders. The way he held you. The authority he exuded at work seemed to linger here, too, but only just enough to make your heart race.

Jungwon chuckled, his hand moving up to cup the back of your head. “I thought you liked me in uniform.”

You groaned, your cheeks flushing. “Stop it. I’m tired.”

“Liar,” he teased, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His own softened as he took in your face, the familiar tenderness filling his gaze. “You love it.”

And he wasn’t wrong. As strict and commanding as you could be at work, here with him, you couldn’t help but feel weak in his arms. You were whipped for him in every sense of the word, even if you would never admit it out loud.

Jungwon kissed the top of your head, his earlier bravado fading into a gentle affection. “Come on. Let’s get you out of these scrubs and cuddle.”

You let out a soft laugh, the kind that only he ever got to hear. “You’re the one who’s going to change first. That uniform’s distracting.”

“I knew it,” he grinned, but without missing a beat, he started peeling off his jacket, revealing the tight black undershirt beneath that highlighted his lean muscles. You had to look away before you lost yourself completely.

As you settled onto the couch, your limbs tangled together in the quiet of their apartment, the world outside felt a million miles away. In here, there were no patients to save, no colleagues to impress, no reputations to uphold. It was just the both of you.

Jungwon nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his earlier strictness replaced by a cuteness that only you got to see. “You’re such a pain at work, you know that?”

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “You’re not so easy yourself.”

And just like that, the bickering, the tension, all of it faded away. Because here, in your shared apartment, away from the chaos of the ER and the expectations of their coworkers, you were just you and Jungwon—no titles, no arguments. Just two people who loved each other, even if you never let anyone else know.