#but no that was asking way too much apparently

[beloveds-embrace]

(Poly 141 x medic reader, where you might as well be the sun to them)

The phrase started as a whisper.

It drifted through the base like smoke curling around corners, impossible to pin down but impossible to ignore.

“Here comes the sun.”

It bounced off walls, passing lips in hushed tones, slipping into conversations as a half-joke, half-omen. At first, the 141 didn’t pay it much attention. Soldiers had their quirks, their superstitions- rituals to keep them sane when missions dragged too long and they smelled more blood than earth. But this one stuck.

Price furrowed his brow the first time he heard it. Ghost only tilted his head slightly, filing it away. Gaz grimaced and muttered something about troops getting weird ideas. Soap, though- he took notice.

He’d caught it more than once before a mission, said like a prayer or maybe a warning. He’d asked around, but answers were vague. “You’ll know when you see it.” That’s all they’d tell him. It irritated him to no end.

Then the mission happened.

It was supposed to be a clean extraction. A quick in-and-out, but things went sideways fast. Soap had been covering the team’s six when the ambush hit. A sharp crack split the air, followed by the searing pain in his side. He hit the ground hard, blood soaking into the dirt, a familiar, burning ache travelling through his body.

“Soap’s hit!” Gaz’s voice barked through comms, panic threading through the static.

“Pull him out!” Price ordered.

But the line fizzled and died. Soap’s world narrowed- gunfire, shouts, and the taste of copper in his mouth. He couldn’t hear the others anymore. The ground felt colder than it should have. He pressed his hand against the wound, but it was bad. Really bad.

This is it, he thought. This is where I die.

The edges of his vision blurred. He barely noticed the figure sprinting toward him until a flash of bright red and orange, a blazing fire, pierced through the smoke and haze.

Like the sun.

You hit the ground beside him, all motion and precision, your gear unlike anything he’d ever seen. Bright red and orange covered your tactical vest and helmet- colors that didn’t belong in a war zone. Colors that should’ve made you a target, a dead woman walking.

But instead, you looked like salvation.

“Stay with me, Sargeant.” You said, voice sharp and steady. You weren’t panicked- not even a little. It was comforting.

Soap stared, wide-eyed, as your hands worked quickly to stop the bleeding. He should’ve been paying attention to the pain, to the gunfire, to anything else- but he couldn’t stop looking at you.

“What the hell are ya wearing?” he rasped, because that was apparently the only thought his brain could form.

You didn’t look up. “Bright colors make it easier to spot me. Medics don’t have the luxury of hiding- we have to be seen when it counts.”

“It’s bloody ridiculous.” he muttered- and then sucked in a sharp breath as you tightened the bandage.

“Maybe,” you said, finally glancing at him. “But it got me here, didn’t it?”

Soap’s heart stumbled. Your eyes were sharp, focused- but there was something else there too, something warm. Something steady.

Here comes the sun.

It hit him all at once. That’s what the others meant. It wasn’t just the colors. It was you. The way you moved, the way your voice cut through the noise, the way you didn’t hesitate for a second.

“Stay awake, Sargeant.” You ordered, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t have a single smart remark.

Much later, he woke up in the med tent, groggy but alive, and immediately found himself staring at you again.

You were restocking supplies nearby, your bright gear an almost comical contrast to the sterile white walls. The moment you noticed him looking, you crossed the room.

“You’re awake,” you said, checking his vitals. Your voice was softer now, calm and patient. He felt like he could melt. “Good.”

“You’re real.” He blurted out before he could stop himself.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “What?”

“Thought I was hallucinating.” He gestured vaguely at your vest, a grin cracking on his lips. “I mean, look at ya.” Lovely. The sun has never looked better.

Your lips twitched, like you were holding back a smile. “I get that a lot.”

Before he could come up with anything else to say- anything remotely smooth- the tent flap opened.

Price, Ghost, and Gaz stepped in, their eyes immediately landing on you. And for once, Soap wasn’t the only one caught off guard.

Gaz blinked. “You’re… bright.”

“Easy to spot.” You said, beaming.

Ghost stared at you for a few seconds longer, peering, before he spoke. “…You’re the sun.”

Price studied you for a long moment as well, then nodded like something clicked into place with a sigh. “Makes sense.”

You, on the other hand, looked confused and unsure, tilting your head once more in the way kittens do.

Soap couldn’t stop staring. He barely even heard the others talking, answering your confusion. All he could think about was how you’d shown up when he thought he was done for- and how you’d looked like a fiery star in the vast expanse of a cold, dark sky.

You glanced at him again, eyes sharp and warm all at once, lips quirking in a delicate smile while Gaz talked with you.

Here comes the sun, he thought.

(… would it be possible to cradle the sun, such warmth, in his hands?)

[mywritersmind]

MARKS ON YOUR BODY - LN4||OP81

summary : In which it starts with strip poker and ends with questions about a specific hidden tattoo and some secret piercings. Or, Lando and Oscar are both hot for you and let you know it.

listen up : zakbrowndaughter!reader 18+ not fully smut but pretty suggestive (at least for me who doesn’t write smut lol) i’m blushing. STRIP POKER PHOTO INSPIRED!! tramp stamp and tits pierced??🙂‍↕️

words : 1425

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“Alright Lan, You wanna stop?” Oscar eyes Lando who’s in pants only. The only way Lando would lose strip poker is if he distracted me too much with his body.

He laughs, “Fuck no!”

“Fuck yes.” I throw down my cards and yawn, “I’m bored of winning.” Oscar had so many pieces of outerwear that he’s lost multiple times but still is wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

Strip poker is my game apparently, maybe the possibility of the guys being naked fueled my fire.

“I swear you’re cheating.” Lando shakes his head.

Oscar’s laughing as I scoff, “I do not cheat! Just accept defeat, Norris.”

He leans against the table, “I’m not losing to you, Brown.”

“I think it’s too late for that, Lando.” Oscar fiddles with a card in his hand as I lean my head back. Apparently, my hair moves with me and Oscar’s brow shoots up, “You have a tattoo?”

I blink, “Uh yeah.”

“What!?” Lando practically screams, “Let’s see.”

I move back my hair to reveal the tattoo that’s behind my ear, it’s a tiny 8 for the number I grew up racing with. “That’s hot.” Lando nods as Oscar hits his arm, “I want to get a tattoo.”

“No you do not!” Oscar argues as Lando sends him a dirty look.

He turns back to me, his arms crossed against the table so his biceps pull my attention, “Did it hurt?”

I shrug, “Yeah, but some of my others hurt more.”

Lando’s jaw drops, “You have more? How did we not know this?”

I laugh again, “I hide them from my dad.”

“Really?” Oscar asks, seemingly surprised at my sneaky nature.

The corner of my mouth pulls upwards, “You wanna see the rest?”

His eyes are deep as he nods and taps the card against the table. “I’m assuming they’re easy to hide.”

I sigh and hook my finger to the bottom of my shirt, pulling it upwards. He's right, of course. All of my tattoos aren’t easily seen by my father.

I pull my shirt until I reach my sternum. Lando’s smile dulls as his eyes zero in on my skin, clearly not wanting to miss anything. I have a star design that goes in a line with little details around it.

Oscar leans his head back against the headrest, biting his lip and checking me out. I don’t think he’s ever looked hotter.

Lando’s hair is a mess but in the sort of attractive way that makes you want to pull it. The two of them are my greatest desire with bright orange caution tape put up by my father.

Zak Brown hates when I'm with the two of them, no matter which, he doesn’t trust me. But coming back from the FIA awards, they offered me a ride since we were all going back to england, so it was only polite to accept.

I drop my shirt and I swear I see Lando’s mouth fall into a frown. “Damn… didn’t know you went against daddy’s orders.”

I smirk, “He hates tattoos…Thinks they’re trashy. Which is ironic because...” I stop myself before I can go on, trailing off and grabbing my water to play it off.

“Because what?” Oscar asks.

“Um…” I don’t really know what to say and I feel quite overwhelmed with these two men staring at me.

“You have one more. Don’t you?” Oscar’s trying to hide his smirk but is shit at it. Lando looks to his teammate, then me.

“Now we have to see.” The curly haired man stretches his arm on the table, his muscles rippling and making me bite my lip.

“Okay.” I situate myself so I'm sitting on my feet. I pause, looking at both of them for a second. The whole thing is so oddly erotic and ridiculously hot.

I turn around in my seat, pulling down the back of my sweats ever so slightly so my tramp stamp is in view. I look over my shoulder to see their reactions because neither of them say a thing.

Oscar is staring, face blank and directed at my lower back. Lando’s mouth is open just the slightest bit, his arm draped over the back of Oscar’s seat. It’s not huge, just thin lines that make up a butterfly and some swirls to compliment it.

“Fuck.” Lando whispers, Oscar looks at him but doesn’t tell him to stop, just mumbles along with his friend. “Yeah.”

“You like it?” I know they do. I’m not blind.

The two are staring at me like i’m fucking edible and the way they look right now, I might be. “I’d be an idiot not to.” Oscar says as I turn back around, my shirt still pulled up and my hair to one side.

“I think this is the first time Lando’s been speechless.” I joke as his eyes meet mine again and his cheeks go pink. “Am I making you nervous, Norris?”

I expect him to roll his eyes or scoff, but he just breathes out and says, “You’re really hot, Y/n.”

“Can’t argue with him there.” Oscar wipes a hand over his mouth before tapping the table, “I wanna see it closer.”

I realize that he means he wants me to sit on the table. “Not even a please?” I tease but I'm already turning and setting myself down on it.

I’m about to adjust my pants but Lando’s hand does it for me. His skin is cold and holds my hip as his fingers dip below my waistband.

“Why a butterfly?” Oscar asks, leaning against the table to get a better look. I lean back and rest against my arms as they look.

“Thought it was cute.”

Oscar laughs a bit, “How often do you mark your body because it’s cute?”

Lando slides out of his seat, moving into mine so I'm facing him. He doesn’t even ask, just slides a hand onto my hip and another on my shirt, pulling it up to see my sternum.

Oscar switches with Lando so he’s now holding the back of my sweats. I let my eyes train down Lando’s chest… his abs… his arms. He’s fit as fuck and the way he was acting during strip poker, he knows it.

I go back to Oscar's question, realizing I got distracted by Lando in front of me. “Very often actually, piercings too.”

This prompts Lando to push my hair behind my ear, admiring my jewelry, “How many do you have?” He sounds almost out of breath.

“Twelve.” His fingers drift over my earrings, counting.

“You only have five on each, though.” As soon as Lando says it, I hear Oscar shift in his seat.

I don’t even wait for Lando to catch on, I just grab his wrist and have my shirt go up with his hand. Lando lets out a noise, close to a whimper.

He stares at my bare chest, the only thing on me is my jewelry decorating each nipple.

I hear Oscar stand, his hand gripping my hip tighten as he gets closer. He’s looking over my shoulder, I lean back a bit so he has a better view of my tits.

Lando’s hand is resting on my neck, pushing my shirt against my skin, I can feel his pulse beat faster under my fingertips.

Lando’s gaze shifts to Oscar as the brown eyed man stares back at him. I feel like they’re having some telepathic conversation that I can’t understand, until Oscar looks back at me.

His eyes are darker, the air filled with tension. As my eyes flick to Lando, I see his chest rise and fall. I get it now.

My hand slips to Oscar’s face, his jaw and cheek warm against my touch. I hesitate purely to see how his breath hitches, then I kiss him.

Lando swears as Oscar’s tongue dips into my mouth, he freezes between my legs. I break the kiss with Lando, hooking my leg around his waist to pull him in closer.

“Are you still nervous?” I whisper as Oscar moves his lips to my neck. Lando looks like he’s dreaming, his head turning side to side slowly as I smirk.

He kisses me, softer than Oscar at first but he becomes sloppier when I start being affected by Oscar attached to my neck.

The aussie mumbles against my skin, “This your end goal all along? Strip poker… tattoo tour… fuck?”

I lean my head back and laugh, “No. I guess I'm just lucky.”

[vicariousresearcher]

Neighbour!141 and how they get your attention.

Neighbour!Price who is constantly offering you help. Sees some furniture boxes at your door and is offering to put it together for you. No? Well surely you need some tools at least, make it all easier. No no he doesn’t mind truly. He doesn’t want you trying to fix everything up with just an allen key now does he?

Shovels your side walk, up to your door even. When you come to him the next day all apologetic and saying that you were just about to do it, seriously he didn’t need to. He just brushes you off saying that ‘birds don’t need to be out doin that.' It‘s okay, he was doing his anyway. 

Listening when you complain about your shitty landlord who has yet to do anything about your faulty water heater. You’re in those shorts he’s only seen through the window, arms crossed and rambling as he thumbs at the valves. 

“It’s a no go bird. You gotta buy a whole new heating element and get it put in dere. If you’re needin to, you can shower at my place till this gets figure’d out ya?”

Neighbour!Kyle who honestly you see more outside of your neighbourhood than in it. You have no clue how but you two always end up in the same place at the same time. 

Grocery shopping? Oh he's here too, it has the best deals on produce! Excursion? Oh he just wanted to see the new exhibit at the aquarium just like you, great minds think alike. Eating something in your favourite cafe during your lunch break? He slides in the seat across from you with a playful smile saying ‘how its nice to see you here neighbour’. 

You don’t even know he slipped a tracker in your purse during one of these bump ins.

That's how it starts. A friendship with a man you apparently have so much in common with. You have to with how much you see him at your favourite places. Even that niche little diner that you love as soon as you mention it he’s finishing off its name and talking about how their sweets are so good.

“What do you mean you haven’t had any? Want me to grab you some next time I go-actually no how about we just go together. I need to see what else you’ve been depriving yourself of. Come on, we’ll go in the evening when it’s nice and quiet so it’ll just be us.”

Neighbour!Johnny who sees the sweet thing living next door and knows he needs to get his hands on you. But he’s smarter than those pretty eyes and dumb grin would let you think. He wants you to come to him. He just needs to prove what a prize he is first. 

So he finds every chance possible to workout outside. 

Deliberately does his stretches for his morning run where you’ll be able to see while you make your coffee for the morning. Absolutely chuffed when he makes eye contact with you while he’s mid shirt pull. The way you go bug eyed when caught ogling has him ready wanting to ask if you liked the show.

Now, god forbid you have a dog. He’s making friends through the fence, coming up to your door offering to take the sweet thing on a walk if you want. Truly he would love to have a running buddy please let him take your pupper out. It becomes normal enough that you don’t even bat an eye when he’s offering to take your baby out when you’re not home. 

“I don’t mind taking my boy out once in a while. His mama’s busy but I’m not. Where’d you say you keep your outside key?”

Neighbour!Simon who quickly learns that he can’t offer to help you round because it comes off as….creepy. He’s the one you think is going to tag you with a tracker or follow you to work. The one that has you holding your keys between your fingers when pulling in at night.

So he takes a different approach. Needy, confused, and helpless. A military man entirely unacquainted with domestic duties.

He’s pathetic in a stuck racoon kind of way. You know you shouldn’t trust him but the way you’ve heard his smoke alarm go off 3 times in the time you’ve been here has you messaging if he wants some of your supper since you made too much. You catch yourself adding far more while cooking just so you have something to drop off to his doorstep. 

You don’t even know how it happened but now you’re in his kitchen teaching him how to make some easy meals with your chicken marinade recipes. Something he won’t burn or over salt. He’s got you rambling away, so blissfully unaware. Safe in his home, so trusting of him now.. He’s made so much improvements with you, no more scurrying away the minute he’s a couple feet away. 

“‘m sorry for needin so much from ya. If there's anything I can do just message me ya? Don’t matter what time, I’ll come. Anything you need.”

[ceilidho]

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 6 masterlist

-

The interior door slides open when Gaz pulls down the lever on his side, fitting into the recesses in the wall until there’s nothing between you. He’s the same and yet entirely different with nothing separating the two of you; more corporeal, undeniably flesh and blood. You can feel it now—the heat of another body in close proximity.

His stare penetrates you to the root, eyes so dark that you can’t look away. It’d be easy to get lost in them, like falling into a black hole, body stretching out into infinity, even the smallest subatomic parts of you torn apart. Expressive eyes, the kind you might look at and think that there’s someone behind them worth knowing. But the sharp angularity of the intelligence there makes your skin crawl. 

Farah finds her voice before you do. “Who are you?”

Gaz breaks his stare to glance at her, his frozen smile suddenly warming. “We haven’t met; I’m Gaz.”

When he holds out his gloved hand, Farah only looks at it instead of taking it, disbelief warring with her common sense. You wish you could hear the thoughts running through her head. 

“You can see him too?” you whisper to her.

Her head snaps in your direction, dark brows already furrowed. “Of course I can. What are you talking about?”

It’s perhaps impossible to explain without making yourself sound insane. More insane, in any case. But with the proof in front of you now, you can’t deny any longer that Gaz is real; that after days spent worrying about the state of your crumbling mental health, the very cause of your concern now stands before you, witnessed by someone else. You’d laugh if you didn’t feel faint. 

Because he is real—all six feet and two inches of him. Close enough to reach out your hand and touch. His skin looks buttery soft; if you were a foot closer, you’d almost be tempted to take his hand if only to see if your fingers would pass through.

Without warning, the intercom suddenly crackles to life again and a familiar voice blares from the speaker. “Panel secure. Headed back now.”

The sound of Nikolai’s voice sends a jolt of electricity up your spine. Even Gaz glances over his shoulder at the door and the vastness of space behind it. There’s nothing there, but his thickly accented voice asks for confirmation and you know it must be him, not a trick of the comms system. You stumble back until you hit the wall behind you.

“Kolya?” you hear Graves respond sharply, his voice still carrying through the ship over the intercom. “Shit, is that you? Do you hear me?”

“Черт побери. Yes, I hear you, mother hen,” Nikolai laughs in response. His laughter is a crisp, hollow sound over the intercom, like crackling blue electricity. “On my way back now. No need to pluck all your feathers out.”

His nonchalance is, frankly, unreasonable for the amount of time elapsed since he last checked in with the crew. 

A whole body comes into view this time, an astronaut waving to you through the window of the exterior door. Even from the other side, you can tell it’s Nikolai, the sheer size of him apparent. 

“Alhamdulillah,” Farah breathes, pulling the lever down for a second time to initiate the return sequence. 

Like deja vu, you watch as the first set of doors open and Nikolai slowly makes his way into the airlock one slow step at a time, the man looking no worse for wear. Beside you, Farah whispers something that you miss. The doors slide shut noiselessly behind him, and again you watch as a man in a spacesuit undergoes repressurization, the tensing of his shoulders making his discomfort with the process apparent. 

He already has his helmet off before the second door even opens. “Like I said, easy peasy. Can someone get me a coffee now?”

It’s almost too much for you to digest in such a short period of time, your emotions slingshotting between losing Nikolai and finding a strange man floating in the middle of space and then hearing the Russian man’s voice again like nothing happened. Lost time, or gained time. 

He must pick up on the way you and Farah simply gape at him in stunned silence.

“Something the matter?” Nikolai asks, a thick caterpillar eyebrow arched. A second later, he registers the other man in the hallway and grins. “Ah, you met Gaz. Nice guy, huh?”

“You know him?” Farah asks, her incredulity apparent.

“We met outside. I sent him in to get warm.”

You’re properly dumbfounded now, staring at Nikolai with abject disbelief for giving someone permission to board the ship without the commander’s permission. 

The footsteps of your commander and his second echo as they race down the hallway from the cockpit, the metal clunking under their boots. Louder and louder until they reach you, coming to a halt just a few feet away.

“Didn’t think I was gone that long,” Nikolai murmurs, stripping out of his spacesuit at the same time. Without a word, Farah helps him tuck it back into the storage locker he originally took it from. 

The two men stalk forward the remaining distance and when you look over at Graves, you can see the worry and relief writ large across his face, his attempts at concealing his emotions only partially successful. 

“What the fuck happened?” Graves barks, his expression stern until his eyes land on Gaz standing peacefully in the middle of the corridor, and then something shifts. A brief uncertainty clouding the pale blue of his eyes. “Who’s this?” 

Gaz lifts a gloved hand in greeting. “Name’s Gaz.”

“Found him outside wandering around,” Nikolai booms, slinging an arm over Gaz’s shoulders in an obvious show of fondness. “Poor bastard couldn’t find his crew.”

“Just wandering around in the middle of nowhere?” Graves asks, cocking a brow, skepticism thick in his words. 

Gaz smiles sheepishly. “It’s my fault. I got a bit turned around.”

Graves hums, mulling over the information. “…Turned around, huh?”

“Yes, sir. Looked away for a second and then my group was gone.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant at all.”

“No, sir. Not at all.”

His deference is second to none. You could almost imagine yourself believing him, swept away by concern for his welfare. 

There’s a difference though. You’ve had the benefit of several days of acclimation. 

“Sir—commander,” you interject, swallowing when Graves turns his attention on you, the microexpression that flits across his face betraying his displeasure at being interrupted. “I’m sorry, but this makes no sense. I don’t see how…well, how he could have survived out on his own. I mean—” Your eyes flick towards Gaz. “I’m sorry, but none of this makes any sense to me.”

Graves’ lip curls up. "What doesn't make any sense?"

"Well, should we have brought him in? This just doesn't seem like protocol—"

“I don’t get your point, doctor. Should we have just left him out there to die? I thought you had that whole Hippocratic oath to uphold.”

None of this makes any sense to you. Apart from Farah, they’re being entirely too cavalier for happening upon a man in the middle of nowhere. There should be talk of heading back to Earth or quarantining him in the brig. 

“It’s not about that,” you croak. 

“I don’t understand you, doctor. You of all people should want to help.”

But he’s the man I’ve been seeing for days, you almost scream, but the blatant disapproval in Graves’ eyes makes you hold your tongue. You know your instincts aren’t wrong. Basic science isn’t wrong. Even if his spacesuit were able to provide basic environmental protection and life support, the longest a human might be able to survive after becoming untethered from their ship would be just under nine hours. 

You don’t know why this isn’t registering as strange to any of them. They act as though there’s nothing at all unusual about a man floating in space without any spacecraft within fifty million miles of him. As if this were just something that happened from time to time, and not an unprecedented anomaly. 

“Well, you could probably do with some shut eye after your trip, I reckon,” Graves says, clamping a hand down on Gaz’s shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “We have a spare bunk near mine—bit cramped, but I’m sure you’ll make do.”

Gaz tips his head in thanks. “I’d appreciate it.”

“And—sorry, forgot to ask, but are you good? Not feeling faint or sick or anything? I know our doctor’s a little prickly, but whatever you need, she can help with.”

The weight of Gaz’s gaze makes your body feel leaden. 

“All good for now,” he says, still smiling serenely. His stare never wavers, smile never dips. “But don’t worry, love. I’ll come find you when I need you.”

Nikolai’s arm drops from his shoulder and Graves leads him off down the corridor to recuperate in his new room. The scream is buried in your throat; if you try to cough it up, only blood and mucus will come out. 

You can only watch helplessly as they walk away, Farah gone by the time you remember to look for her. 

After that, hours pass by without any sight of the man who recently boarded your ship. You don’t see much of anyone in fact. Hadir eats lunch around the same time as you, but his conversation is oddly circulatory, muddled, like he can’t keep his thoughts straight. He mentions the same thing twice and doesn’t seem concerned when you politely remind him that he already told you. He also doesn’t seem to register your words when you tentatively broach the subject of Gaz’s sudden appearance. 

Hadir shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “Better for us anyway. Could be nice to have another warm body around here.”

“Don’t you…don’t you remember what I told you the other day?” you prod, pushing your potatoes around with your fork, your stomach in knots. “When I told you I saw someone outside?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s who I was talking about,” you whisper, as if concerned about being overheard. “I saw Gaz out there. He must have been out there…for days at least.”

“Ah,” he says, mildly contemplative. “Funny, that.”

The conversation feels like a dead end because it is, and you abandon it not long after when you realize that though Hadir is responding to your words, he doesn’t seem to be understanding them. It’s like you’re talking to an automaton, something designed to give you a response but not engage like a human would.

Even that thought seems wrong somehow. You shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of things about your coworkers. 

Back in the medical unit, you pick up the stool that fell to the ground on your way out earlier and take a seat, sipping periodically at the ice cold coffee still sitting on the table. Your mind goes blank for some time. Different than earlier though—not the blankness of concern and paranoia, but the blankness of complete stupefaction. 

It gives you some time to think, but no matter how many times you run through the events of the day in your mind, you keep coming back to the same questions. The same questions with no answers. 

Appetite a no show, you figure it’s better to just retire to your quarters for the evening. 

In bed, you read the same paragraph of your book three times before it sinks in. You can’t concentrate on anything. The same phrase on a loop, your real thoughts swarming like locusts and drowning out the narrator in your head. 

A knock at your door startles you, accidentally making you crinkle a page of your book with your thumb. You bite back a curse, smoothing the page out and calling out a frustrated one second when the person on the other side of your door knocks again. Impatient much. 

You open the door, expecting to find Graves or Nikolai on the other side, only for you to balk when you’re met with the sight of Gaz towering over you, his forearm braced against the doorframe. 

“Hi,” he says after a beat of silence. 

“…Are you lost?” you ask suspiciously. 

“No. Thought I’d stop by before I turn in for the night.”

Something occurs to you the longer you stand so close to him. It’s been lingering in the back of your mind since the interior doors to the airlock slid open and he boarded the ship, a thought hidden under its own afterbirth, placenta and membranous fluid soaking the ground beneath it. A thought that, to this point, has escaped your notice, hiding away like a prey animal. 

And it’s that: Gaz doesn’t have a smell. When you inhale, he doesn’t smell like anything you’ve ever smelt before. No lingering traces of body odour or sweat or soap. You breathe in and it’s like you’re standing in front of an empty doorway staring out into the empty hallway. 

But he does have a scent. 

It doesn’t register to your nose, not a scent that your olfactory senses can detect. Nothing like that. Instead it hits you like a memory, like a feeling blooming in your chest. Palo santo and orange blossom; the sound of a tennis ball hitting a racket; an aerial view of an Olympic pool and someone swimming laps, their body stark against the blue; white florals and a masculine voice laughing. 

His scent is a delicious rush of wonder and elation, a dopamine spike. You crane your neck to meet his eyes and honestly you’d forgotten how beautiful he is. An Adonis; over six foot and body corded with muscle. Lean waist and wide shoulders. The most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, sculpted from something divine, a substance not found on Earth but in a more heavenly realm. 

You rock forward on your heels, pulled like a magnet towards his lips. His lips gently part, anticipating yours before they’ve even met.

Your hand hits the wall and reality comes back to you. Solid metal under your feet and an aluminum composite under your hand. White, sterile walls. In the hallway, the lights dim as the night cycle commences. You have to physically shake your head to rid your mind of any thoughts of Earth. It’s still there though, on the periphery of your senses; a dream world that you might get lost in if you were to look for too long.  

Something is very wrong. 

You rest back on your heels and move your hand until it hovers over the button to close your door. 

“Unless you’re sick, I can’t help you.”

“I’m not sick, love.”

“Then what do you want?” you bite out, overtly hostile now. 

He smiles but he doesn’t blink. Then his eyes flick up, studying the room behind you, his gaze roving over the walls and furniture, scrutinizing your space. Examining the clothes strewn over your bed, the little knick knacks and oddities that make your room yours. 

“Just wanted to see what it looked like from the inside,” Gaz finally says, and your blood goes cold. 

With that, he pulls his forearm off the doorframe and straightens to full height. 

He makes it a few feet away from your door before turning around to look back at you. “Night, love. See you in the morning.”

[sepdet]

Merry Shitscram, Tumblr!

(transcript below cut)

Guess what I borrowed from Mom's stacks while visiting?

I won't cap the whole thing, but at least I can provide you with some selected excerpts for the next week. Yes, this IS that edition.

Transcript below.

Chapter One

FOR THE THIRD consecutive night, Captain James T. Kirk awoke with a gasp of surprise and something akin to fear clinging to the side of his throat. He blinked once, then struggled to sit up, leaning against the head reted and his gaze settled on the chrom. Pet, y was shortly after 3 A.M., Ship Standard Time, but he was wide awake and knew he would have little hope of getting back to sleep before the alarm demanded his attention at six.

Releasing the breath he'd been holding, he replayed the recurring dream in his mind, wondering why it should have disturbed him so deeply... and so often.

After discovering no logical explanation for its cause or its unprecedented effect on him, he tried passing it off to the fact that the Enterprise had been on routine patrol of the Romulan Neutral Zone for nearly two months-an inexcusably boring mission. But with Romulan Fleet activity increased for no apparent rea-son, he accepted the fact that he was bound to be a little edgy.

After another deep breath and a shake of his tousled hair, he slowly lowered himself back into the warm nest of covers, and closed his eyes; but as expected,

1

he was only pretending to sleep when the First Shift duty alarm sound of less than three hours later.

stifling a yawn, Kirk entried the Deck 5 turbolift to discover the ship's first officer studying him with a lifted eyebrow.

"Moring, Spock," Kink said with a sheepish grin, wishing he'd taken the time for a cup of coffee before presenting himself publicly.

The Vulcan's head inclined in greeting, "Captain," he said formally. The doors closed and the lift began its familiar horizontal motion, but the Vulcan continued to study his friend. "Is everything all right, Captain?" he inquired presently.

"Just fine, Mister Spock," Kirk replied. "Why do you ask?" He wondered if his eyes were a trifle more red than they'd appeared in the mirror.

The eyebrow climbed higher beneath the long black bangs. "You seem... unusually distracted," Spock observed after a questioning moment of silence.

So much for dismissing the matter, Kirk thought. Spock's scrutiny was never escaped easily. "Would you believe me if I told you that the invincible Captain Kirk has insomnia?" he asked with a smile.

"Indeed," Spock murmured. Kirk was normally a very private individual; but now the hazel eyes seemed alight with a combination of embarrassment and mischief. The Vulcan decided not to mention that he himself had been having disturbing dreams for at least a week. "I trust you have not sought relief from Doctor McCoy?"

Kirk shook his head. "For a few hours of lost sleep?" But the twinkle left his eyes as a frown found its way to his face. "I don't know why it should bother me at all," he said, feeling some need to explain himself. "But ... never mind, Spock," he added as the nocturnal images returned to haunt him. "It was... just a dream." Trying to change the subject, the smile returned to his face. "Another human shortcoming, eh, Spock?"

2

Something in Kirk's too-casual tone caused the Vulcan to look at him more closely. "Would you care to discuss the matter in more detail, Captain?" he asked, momentarily wondering why he didn't dismiss the subject as Kirk was attempting to do. Yet he realized that the captain's normal reservations concerning his personal life did not extend to him, just as he understood that the reverse was also true.

Kirk glanced up from where he'd been studying his boots, and felt the familiar telepathic door swing open between himself and the Vulcan. It was something which had formed between them over the years, something which had saved their lives countless times and made them brothers. He did want to discuss it, but only with Spock.

McCoy would, as the Vulcan was fond of pointing out, dispense a handful of pills and an hour of friendly advice; and though Kirk valued the doctor's friendship, he wasn't in the mood for a full battery of psychological tests to determine the cause of a simple recurring dream. He chanced a quick look at the Vulcan as a plan of action took shape in his mind.

"I haven't had breakfast yet," he began, finding an excuse he needed. "But... I'm sure you have, Mister Spock. After all," he continued with a broadening grin, "Vulcans never ever miss breakfast, right? You have to keep those thought-wheels well oiled and in perfect working order." He studied his first officer's lean frame. "And you never gain an ounce either!" he added with a look of mock-disgust, remembering Mc-Coy's warnings to cut back on the meat and potatoes and settle for a salad once in awhile.

The Vulcan brow lowered as Spock observed his captain's nonchalant approach. "I have not eaten this morning," he stated in straightforward contrast to Kirk's roundabout endeavors, "and I would be pleased to join you." His eyes seemed to lighten as he studied the casual way Kirk was holding in his stomach. "And we need not inform Doctor McCoy as to the menu."

3

[pomefioredove]

Can I have number 20 sugar cookie with marshmallows and chocolate chips?

malmal... I've missed him

order #20, sugar with marshmallow and chocolate chips

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ something untrue

tropes: roommate AU, fake dating characters: malleus additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu

In your defense, it was only one lie.

Just one, insignificant, little white lie!

And you thought Malleus would understand. That one boy from potionology just wouldn't give it up, following you around, grabbing at you, asking you out no matter how many times you said no.

He had cornered you, demanded a reason you wouldn't go out with him, and you had panicked.

Just one lie.

It wasn't so unbelievable- you and Malleus already spent so much time together- and even if it was, the boy was too shaken to say it.

He hasn't bothered you since.

You had washed your hands of the whole affair, and then patted yourself on the back for your thinking.

Guilty as you felt for using your closest friend as jerk-repellent, it was only one lie, and Malleus wouldn't even know!

...But... apparently...

Everyone else would.

That little jerk told his little jerk friends about it, and they told theirs, and one of them told his lab partner, who told Cater, and now...

...Well, now, you're "dating" Malleus.

He just doesn't know it yet.

And it's made your temporary living situation in Diasomnia a little awkward. For you, anyway.

"Pleasant evening," Malleus says, looking at the foggy sky. Not a single star, and yet he's just as enchanted.

You nod, tongue-tied and quiet.

You had invited your friend on this walk to talk to him about the lie, and now you can't even talk at all.

"You're quiet. Is something bothering you? Are you cold?"

Malleus is looking at you now. Your eyes avoid his, and you pretend to admire the crumbling, mossy stone wall you're walking along.

"...No,"

"Are you feeling unwell?"

"No,"

"We can turn back, if you would like,"

You bite your tongue. You're grateful he doesn't bother with technology or gossip. The rumors haven't yet reached him. Malleus is, somehow, the very last person to know that you are "dating".

"I'm alright. Just... uh, thinking about potionology class,"

Which is sort of true, in a confusing way.

"I see. Are you struggling?"

You sigh. "Yes," with more than just that.

"Hm. Perhaps we can study together," you meet his eyes again. He's smiling. It's sweet. "It would be my honor to assist you in whichever way I can."

He's sweet.

You can't keep lying to him.

You swallow your fear, and look at him, refusing to let yourself shy away now.

"Malleus," you say, firmly. "A few weeks ago I... said something untrue about... you. I shouldn't have. And I'm very sorry. I know it's wrong to lie, and I shouldn't have done it, but- well, I told someone that you and I are-"

You hesitate.

"-romantically... involved. Dating. It came out before I could stop it, it just feels- felt right- I-I'm sorry."

He stops. And for a long moment, he says nothing.

You can only imagine what's going on behind those piercing green eyes. Is he mad? Is he offended? Is he hurt? Have you just completely ruined your bond with the only friend here that loves you unconditionally-

"Child of man," Malleus says, his tone soft but serious. You feel a chill go up your spine.

"...Yes, Malleus?"

Again, he says nothing. Though, this time, he only seems to be looking for the right words. He cradles his chin in his palm, looking at you with softened eyes but a raised brow, both gentle and confused.

And then, he speaks.

"Are we... not already dating?"

[lesbiansforboromir]

Alright, I was holding off for journalistic integrity but now that I've seen the WotR film I can make posts about it without restraint.

Jesus christ the racial politics of this film are atrocious. Some character might as well just tell Wulf 'not to play the race card'. Wulf is a liberal snowflake who blames racism for all his troubles and can't pull himself up by his bootstraps and he is also brown-skinned and obsessively pursues our PORCLAIN white dainty-drawn female protagonist with both romantic and murderous intent. Oppression of dunlendings by the Rohirrim exists only in Wulf's head apparently, though it can be tasted in every spat 'dunlending' perjorative that comes from Helm or Haleth's mouth. But Hera has absolutely no racism within her of course! She refuses Wulf because she doesnt want to marry anyone and Wulf just assumes it's because his dunlending blood disgusts her, so entitled of him!

But also maybe the racism is '''justified'''? If it exists? Which it doesn't! But IF it did, don't worry because ONCE AGAIN all the dunlendings are just greedy, clutching, unwashed, skull wearing, violent barbarians with no unique culture to speak of and no reasons to be making war on Rohan except to sieze what isn't theirs (ignoring the fact that it totally was theirs until Rohan seized it from them and OH BOY are we ignorin' that) And the only dunlending we see not frothing at the mouth for violence or showing any introspective depth at all is General Targg who is the mouthpiece with which we get to hear 'the girl (Hera) is right' whereupon he is promptly killed by Wulf.

Oh but of course, what else could Helm have done? Freca was some greedy FAT man (boy does everyone love calling him fat, happy to lean into THAT aspect of canon) whose lands were too prosperous for his own good (hang on isn't keeping your lands prosperous the platonic ideal of lordship?) And he called a 'Witan' (no he didn't, he came to one of the regular councils of lords that Helm called himself) just to make a scene about how Helm was going to marry Hera to a lord of gondor which is bad because Gondor has some nebulous hold over Rohan so Hera should marry Wulf instead (literally none of that, Freca simply asked Helm to wed his daughter to Wulf, his son, a completely normal and legitimate political strategy to secure a better relationship with the King's family since Helm already mistrusted him for having dunlending blood. Freca is a lord of Rohan, he is rich, he traces his ancestry back to King Freawine, this could not be a more reasonable suggestion in canon.)

SO OBVIOUSLY Helm had to get angry and call Freca fat again (true he did do that) and THEN claim that Freca only wanted his throne (there was never any suggestion of this in the books, it was just the offer of marriage which insulted Helm) to which Freca answered "Old kings that refuse a proffered staff may fall on their knees," and Helm is like okay lets take this outside.

And now THIS change is actually so important in understanding the extreme nature of the Rohir/Helm favouritism that is the main focus of this film. In the film Helm pretty much immediately takes Freca outside, he reassures Frealaf that Freca just needs to be shown his place, this is the only way to settle the matter, if he doesn't embarass him here then Freca will try to take his crown and slay his family apparently, his hunch ig etc etc. Freca punches Helm three times in full view of the whole of Edoras including Freca's two men who came with him, then Helm punches him back and he is knocked out cold and dead by the time he hits the ground. Film!Helm does not realise he has done this and tells Freca to get up, Wulf realises his father is dead and threatens Helm with revenge, swords are draw against him which he tries to calm before Wulf attacks him. Helm incapacitates Wulf, his sons draw THEIR swords and Helm exiles Wulf for drawing his sword on his king. Messy right? Like not a good thing to do, generally brawling with your lords is a bad idea full stop, but if you fear for the lives of your children then idk maybe it's excusable? And then it's just an unfortunate series of events right? And Freca was rude and insulting to a king in his own halls, heat of the moment etc etc

I feel so comfortable in telling you that Helm murders Freca in cold blood in the books, fully intending that to be the outcome.

He does not take him outside initially, Book!Helm tells Freca that this marriage dispute isn't important and they will deal with it later. And then;

When the council was over, Helm stood up and laid his great hand on Freca’s shoulder, saying: "The king does not permit brawls in his house, but men are freer outside"; and he forced Freca to walk before him out from Edoras into the field. To Freca’s men that came up he said: "Be off ! We need no hearers. We are going to speak of a private matter alone. Go and talk to my men!" And they looked and saw that the king’s men and his friends far outnumbered them, and they drew back. "Now, Dunlending," said the king, "you have only Helm to deal with, alone and unarmed. But you have said much already, and it is my turn to speak. Freca, your folly has grown with your belly. You talk of a staff! If Helm dislikes a crooked staff that is thrust on him, he breaks it. So!" With that he smote Freca such a blow with his fist that he fell back stunned, and died soon after. Helm then proclaimed Freca’s son and near kin the king’s enemies; and they fled, for at once Helm sent many men riding to the west marches.

(Appendices, 'The House of Eorl', emphasis mine)

I think we can all agree that forcing someone out of your city, isolating them away from their fellows with threats of violence, telling them you will break them, killing them in one blow and then proclaiming their kin your enemies and forcing them to flee to escape a murderous pursuit, is pretty clearly premeditated murder. There is not much nuance here, Freca tresspassed over a line with Helm that Dunlendings are not allowed to cross and Helm killed him for it.

And listen like, the description of this whole story within the appendices is barely more than three pages. This is not an obscure missable aspect of the tale, nor is it outside of what rights they had to adapt. The choice was made, actively, ONCE AGAIN by the Warner Bros cinematic universe makers, to drastically alter book events in order to sand down any immorality within Rohan's narrative, especially where the Dunlendings are concerned. And in the end the only 'mistake' Helm is allowed to learn and grow from is some nebulous and trite 'not believing enough in his daughter' schpiel, which needs to be the subject of a whole 'nother post actually.

And what's agonising is they COULD have done it like they were so close, there are multiple moments where me and my friend watching were like struck!! With grief! Over how impactful this moment could have been if only the racism actually existed as an acknowledged theme in the story. If only it was something Hera had to come to terms with, if only IT was the true driver of these horrors to the point where it's Avatar, Hera's father, a man who loves her and whom she has loved all her life, turns into a cold icey ghost of brutality, far more vicious and barbaric than the people he so reviles, and reveals to her the terrible truth of his actions and motivations. It's agony I tell you.

Anyway I did not like the film.

[trippinsorrows]

midnight sun

authors note: don't ask. don't ask. don't ask.

words: 1.8k

warnings: angst, domestic violence

song inspo: 'faithfully' by journey

And bein' apart ain't easy on this love affair Two strangers learn to fall in love again I get the joy of rediscovering you

Pressure.

A constant, almost soothing, irreparable thing. A loyal companion that hasn’t escaped nor forsaken him for as long as he can remember. The perpetual weight of responsibility that was assigned to him the day he entered this world, and something that will remain with him until the day he leaves it.

Whenever the fuck that’ll be.

At this rate and with his luck, not for a very long time.

“Did you know that the average person has four bad days per month?”  An overheard question.  Something Roman has to scoff at. Whatever sample that was used that produced such a statistic had to have been the fucking soccer and yoga moms. The ones who consider Starbucks being out of fucking pumpkin spice the definition of a bad day. “Adults also apparently smile 15 to 20 times per day.”

Another random fact that’s overheard, except it’s something that Roman realizes is much closer than he initially realized. The proximity does not align with something that’s in earshot. More so something that’s right in front of him.

“I don’t know if I—if I really believe all that, but—”

With a heavy sigh, he lifts his head, ready to lay into the poor, unsuspecting soul. “Why are you fucking talking to—”

Two abrupt stops. Two interruptions. Two complete collisions. 

A second round.

Years. Almost twenty, and yet the instant his eyes lock with hers, he knows, and judging by the way she drops the notepad in her hand, she knows, too.

It’s been some time since he’s felt so thoroughly shaken, but that’s exactly what he feels in this moment.

“Solana?”

Not that there was any doubt before, but the tiny gasp that leaves her mouth is all the confirmation he needs that this is most definitely her. 

Her eyes. So big, brown, and inquisitive. Once filled with an abundance of hurt and pain, an ideal match with his all that time ago, is no longer the same. Something different. There’s some trace of happiness. Yet, there’s something almost disingenuous about it. Like, it’s a poor attempt at camouflaging what was felt so long ago.

What might still be felt.

“Roman….”

His jaw clenches. It’s been so long since he’s heard his name leave the mouth of someone like her. Soft. Innocent. Kind.

None of those non-physical things about her have changed. He can tell that even in this brief, unexpected interaction. 

Naturally, his eyes move over her, noticing her hair is no longer long and cascading down her back. It’s short, barely brushing past her shoulders. Lighter. It suits her.

Her body is filled out, shapely, womanly, heavy in the desired areas. And the minute her mouth curls into an almost hesitant smile, he finds himself pleased that that has remained unchanged.

She always had such a soothing, beautiful smile.

“I—what—what are you doing here?”

A good fucking question considering he has a million and other things on his to-do list and not one of them includes sitting in this random coffee shop he drove past on his aimless drive. 

“I mean,” she laughs nervously, hand to her face, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, that’s—that’s a silly question. You don’t have to answer—”

“I was driving and saw it. Wanted coffee.” Not necessarily a lie. He does now want coffee but not necessarily when he chose to park his Maserati and enter into the quiet, almost wholesome shop. “You work here.” A statement. Not a question.

Nodding, he’s much more pleased than he should be to see her smile grow. “Well, technically, I—I own it, but—”

“You own this place?” To anyone else, it’s perhaps a silly thing to “ask” given she just said as such, but for him, for them, it's so much more.

Her smile is bright, a light that contrasts the still unhealed bruises on her face as she shares with much more hope and optimism than anyone in their situation should have, “I want to own a coffee shop some day.” Looking over at him, consciously or unconsciously scooting closer, she challenges, “guess what I’m gonna name it?”

A bitter scoff leaves his mouth. He rolls his eyes but still gives it a go. “Sunshine’s place or some shit like that?”

Her giggle is a respite from the heaviness of the past two weeks. The only escape he’s found in this hell hole. And not just the facility. 

“No. I’m gonna name it—”

“Dulce’s…..” Roman pulls himself from a memory buried so deep, he doesn’t know how he was able to retrieve it. “You always said…..” 

“Yeah…..” she answers in a low voice, pushing back some of her hair, a nervous habit he sees still exists. But, it’s not the habit he’s focused on. It’s the diamond on her finger.

An engagement ring. 

“You’re engaged.” Another assessment. One that shouldn’t stir up whatever the fuck is brewing within him.

For a second, she looks like it’s a surprise to her as well. And, he sees it, catches the brief glimpse of an attempted escape. 

That sadness. A feeling that doesn’t quite escape a person, not to the extent she felt.

That they both felt.

Still feels, clearly.

For her, at least.

Maybe.

“Y—yes. Ummm—”

“Solana.”

Another voice introduced to the conversation. Male. Gruff. Infuriating. Roman cuts his eyes to the out of shape man who looks like a recovering alcoholic and someone who doesn’t need to be talking or even around her.

“Cody’s waiting.”

Cody?

But, Roman doesn’t have time to think too much about that ugly ass name. His focus is back on Solana, Solana who has suddenly shifted from slightly timid to downright terrified. She’s grasping at the material of her apron. “But, I—I thought he said I could work all day tod—”

“Plans changed.” A rude, coarse interruption that has Roman’s jaw ticking. Just who the fuck is this man and why does he think he can talk to Solana like that?

“Don’t you see we’re in the middle of a fucking conversation?” A much too late entrance into whatever this is, but an arrival nonetheless. “Leave.” 

For some reason, it seems the man only now decided to pay attention to just who she was speaking to, a recognition that has his eyes widened as he turns back to Solana, poorly whispering, “do you know who the fuck this is?”

“Kevin, please. I’ll—I’ll be out in a minute.” It ticks him the fuck off that she’s practically begging this motherfucker, a man who Roman doesn’t even know but would love to put a bullet in.

Just might after today.

Kevin scoffs and shakes his head. “Your mistake.”

He says nothing else, turning to walk away, Roman standing to possibly commit murder when Solana moves her hand in front of him, as if trying to stop him.

“It’s—it’s fine. My—my fiancé is here.”

Roman looks down at her, still completely unnerved by her complete shift in demeanor. Her fear is practically palpable.

“Solana….” He sees her eyes shut as her name leaves his mouth. “What’s going o—”

“It—it was good to see you, Roman,” she cuts him off, forcing a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “But, I—I have to go.” And it’s as she turns to walk away, he makes the mistake of grabbing her wrist. Instant regret fills him when she jumps but something else as well.

Suspicion. 

Solana has always been jumpy. He’s known that from the day they met at that god-awful place so many years ago. But something about the fear that courses through her, is stamped on her voice, feels….different.

He drops his hand, stating in a low voice. “Give me your phone.”

Her eyes widen. “Roman—”

“Please.” A word no one on this goddamn earth could torture out of him, but something that so easily rolls off his tongue for her.

Obviously confused, her expression remains torn even as she reaches in the pocket of her apron, pulling out and unlocking her phone. He takes it from her, ignoring that strange feeling when their hands touch.

Moving fast and thinking quick, he programs his number, choosing an unsuspecting name, one he knows she and only she will recognize. 

Handing it back to her, he instructs, “you need anything, you call me.” It’s not preferred. What he’d prefer is to walk outside and snap that Kevin and this Cody person, if he’s outside too, necks. Would prefer to tell her to just stay with him. But, it’s too much. Much too much given how long it’s been.

And yet, they seem so easily falling back into routine. 

She’s still visibly nervous, holding her phone in her hand instead of placing it back in the apron. Another pained smile followed up with, “goodbye, Roman.”

He doesn’t say it back, almost refuses to. Just watches as she moves to the back of the shop, coming out a few minutes later, apron discarded, purse on her shoulder, nearly rushing out without sparing him a glance even if his gaze never leaves her.

Solana is only able to barely slide into the back of the SUV, the door held open by an irritated Kevin when she’s yanked by her hair.

Piercing blue eyes stare down at her, his other hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing tightly but not enough to completely restrict speech.

“Where the fuck were you?!”

His voice is harsh and angry, as is the look in his eyes. She opens her mouth to try to respond when he instead smashes her head into the window. She winces but refuses to cry out in pain even when his fist collides with her jaw. Her eyes clench shut, Solana already tasting the blood forming in her mouth.

“When I tell you to come, you fucking come, you understand me?!” He shouts, once again grabbing a fistful of her hair. 

Nodding helplessly, she forces out an answer, ignoring the blood leaking out the corner of her mouth. “Y—yes, sir.”

He scoffs, a cruel, wicked smile on his face as he takes pride in his work. In her terror. “Pathetic,” he hisses, shoving her away. Solana moves as far into the corner as she can, forever grateful when he pulls out his phone and initiates a phone call like nothing happened.

It’s stupid and risky and something she most definitely shouldn't be doing, but Solana can’t stop herself from also pulling out her phone and scrolling through her contacts, moving to the R’s only to find nothing there.

There’s an emptiness that accompanies that realization that makes no sense. A sadness that fills her at the thought that he didn’t, but…..the look on his face, so handsome and strong, the fact that he even asked….he had to.

So, she continues to scroll, carefully assessing for each stored contact, stopping when she sees it. Emotion fills her for a completely different reason, reading the single word that carries such weight and meaning.

Journey

[vieoeil-riae]

yourself and I

steb/gn!reader

warnings: masturbation, caught masturbating (steb), hand jobs, eye contact, praise kink, submissive!steb, aspects of nonhuman genitalia (a lot more precome), porn with plot, mutual pining, childhood friends to lovers, selectively mute!steb, sign language (BSL), steb the bf hater as a treat, 18+ MDNI, 4.4k words

synopsis: You find familiar help when spiraling rent prices bite you, it sends Steb spiraling into guilty realisations of his own.

read on ao3 | ao3 profile | ao3 collection

Rent in Piltover was always extortionate. An arm and a leg, as well as your firstborn child would just about get you a dingy flat in the worst spot imaginable. You’d grumbled over it relentlessly, slowly being driven mad by flat after flat that you considered as being ‘alright’ ending up well out of your price range.

You’d confided in your childhood friend of course, silent, seemingly unbothered by everything, but an amazing listener once you looked just an inch past his quietness. God was it a relief, relationship drama; philosophical tangents; ranting about rent prices; even the most vulnerable secrets were safe in Steb’s capable hands.

It was only natural that years of sticking together and staying by his side — especially when people tried to oust him for his appearance and apparent dislike for talking — would foster the safe feelings between you. He was a haven of understanding.

“I’ve lost my flat, I’m losing my boyfriend, I’m so cold,” You grumbled, nearly yelling as your hands moved in time with your words — years of watching Steb sign to you baked into your habits, “and I have no fucking money!”

The two of you had been walking back from a hole-in-the-wall pub, somewhere where the food was cheap and the atmosphere was cozy. You’d fought to pay your share of the bill, insisting on not troubling Steb, and were promptly reminded that neither of you would ever be in debt with each other with several firm hand gestures. In short, he paid.

His ears had swivelled down at your words, not from the volume, but because he was concerned. He’d taken you out mostly as a way to console you when you’d shown up at his door with a tight lid on your emotions, but a sheen of tears clinging to your lash line.

Two weeks to find another place, was what you told him, and his frills had flared — a sharp twinge of his eyebrow evidence of the way he felt deeply irritated on your behalf.

Your boyfriend was another topic he knew intimately well. Too well. He didn’t like him, to say the least. Self-centred, lazy, stupid. A myriad of insults towards that man could be dredged from his mind, but not shared; not out of respect for him but for the sake of not upsetting you too much. You could do better, without question, he wasn’t against you losing him if he was being honest.

Steb had draped his coat over you despite the chill that brushed over his skin and walked you all the way back home, quietly and logically rolling around ideas on how to help.

The next day, you were surprised by the sight of your best friend standing in your doorway well past dark when you finally came home from work, ears pricking at the sound of your footsteps. 

You could always stay with him, if you wanted?

And who were you to say no, you’d agreed quickly to sharing his space — a look of relief washing over your face. He really would’ve asked sooner if he knew that was the expression you would’ve made.

At the same time, maybe he shouldn’t have asked at all. 

It was only natural that years of being so close had led him to be… partial to you. It made sense because to him, you’d always been ‘good’ in every way in his eyes; even the ugly parts, because they were yours, and you were beautiful, full stop. No, he’s not being biased, you just were — it was objective.

It had been a lingering thought in the back of his mind for years, coated in the plausible deniability of simple familiarity and friendship until the feeling’s cloak was lifted by the new, constant proximity to you. 

You were everywhere all of a sudden. Your clothes were in his laundry hamper; your favourite foods were littered about the kitchen cupboards; he could smell you on the couch cushions — his frills fluttered as they nearly tasted the scent of your damp skin after you showered.

When exactly his feelings had become more than friendly, he wasn’t sure, maybe they’d always been that way, but it was starting to drive him mad.

You’d tell him about arguments you and your boyfriend had more and more frequently, his heart clenching at the thought of you being shouted at, cock woefully jumping at the thought of you shouting back. It was a guilty feeling, mind split between feeling the lewd ache of it and watching the curl of your lips, not paying the attention he ought to.

You’d wear pyjamas around the house, his heart growing warm and fuzzy at your comfort, biting the inside of his cheek when he eyed the sliver of skin revealed when you reached for anything on a high shelf. He blinked and caught the thoughts by the neck, you weren’t a piece of meat. But god, the stretch of your skin looked heavenly.

You’d touch him even more — from little brushes of your hands on his hips to gently shuffle him out the way to melting into his arms on the couch after a long day — his heart throbbed at the closeness, so did the rest of him. He prayed you never noticed the way his breathing picked up.

Steb tended to do the washing, a task off your back, a good distraction from your wonderfully consuming presence until he found himself blushing around your underwear and feeling like a pervert just for touching them, more so when he caught himself thinking much too hard about where the fabric had been pressed all day. He groaned quietly.

Fresh out of the shower, you looked like temptation; water still dripping down your collar bones and beyond until it finally met your towel. His eyes traced the droplets when he was sure you weren’t paying attention. You brushed your teeth together, he’d watch the way you’d gag brushing your tongue. Every action, completely innocuous until his mind decided it wasn’t.

It was wrong, so very wrong, to… sexualise you. You were his friend, not an object — you were spoken for as well. A confusing mix of possessiveness and a deep desire to hole up in a cave for several months swirled in his chest every time he thought about that. He couldn’t have you and his mind refused to help him stick to that, so he lived with a clenched jaw.

Guilt followed the way he enjoyed domestic moments with you, and it was getting ridiculous. It felt like he was barely treading water when all he was doing was washing the dishes while you dried them, two trains of thought blaring as he stared at stray water trickling down your bare forearms. Your hands carefully wiped the water off of a knife, your hand pulling the dishcloth up and down so smoothly, Steb blinked hard and tried to swallow the feeling in his throat.

It was like his birthday came early the day you’d finally had it with your boyfriend.

You’d stormed in, cursing up a maelstrom of swears and insults under your breath, collecting up trinkets and books and several hoodies before dumping them into a ratty bag. He watched you carefully, frozen in his place, leaning against the kitchen counter with a lukewarm cup of tea in his hands.

Admittedly you were, crudely put, hot when you were pissed, but admiringly eyeing the sharp way you moved around his flat came second to his concern for you. Steb rounded the counter, crouching a few feet in front of you so you could see his hands ask what had happened.

You’d seethed, the angry scrunch of your brow just a little less appealing when directed at him.

“You, with me. Now.” You’d gestured to the door with a harsh jab of your thumb, leaving no room for argument, though there wouldn’t have been a need for one anyway — he very much didn’t mind doing what you told him to.

He’d trailed you all the way to your boyfriend’s house and waited just at the gate while you pounded on the door. His ears pricked towards the conversation, admittedly (and guiltily) quite nosy about the ensuing spat. The door creaked open and god, how did a guy like that ever catch the eye of someone like you? Maybe he was being too judgemental…

“Your fish doesn’t like me.” Your boyfriend muttered, throwing an irritated glance over your shoulder at Steb.

“No, he doesn’t, and I don’t either.” You dropped the bag on the threshold, not flinching at the sound of something inside snapping. “Take your shit and don’t talk to me again, prick.”

You turned on your heel without another word. It was petty, maybe, but Steb used the last few moments he had before being dragged off to send a thinly veiled, judging glance at your now-ex-boyfriend — the almost stoic, but not quite, look sending your ex into a fit.

More softly, you’d confided in him later that night the words that brought everything to a close:

“‘Too much.’” You’d paraphrased to him, sat with your knees tucked to your chest on the window sill next to him. You looked so ethereal in the moonlight, his heart broke at the thought of you — someone he thought so dearly of — being treated with such dismissal.

He held you tightly, tracing kinder words into your back as he let your tears silently wet the scruffy collar of his well-worn jumper. You breathed in the smell of him, fresh but kind of salty like the sea breeze, until you relaxed entirely — enjoying the feel of his chest against yours, not knowing he was doing the same.

It became harder to distract himself from you after that, there was one less layer standing between him and giving in, one less layer of guilt when images of your nude body flashed through his mind, or how you’d feel; your hands, your lips, your mouth. It was like the blush on his cheeks never went away when you were around.

Though fantasising about you would be perverse, he got off, his palms and sheets a slick mess with the exertion, just trying to get rid of the aching before you got home. His wandering thoughts kept taking him back to you.

What would you sound like? Feel like? He knew from your rants how you liked to lavish your partner with affection, would you do that for him? He fought the image of your hands on him, giving himself to you, losing when he could almost feel your hands replacing his, saturating his senses with a burning pleasure.

His ears burned, hearing echoes of your words spin around his head. You called him beautiful and meant it, you called him a good man too — maybe you’d rescind that if you knew what his palms were doing, but the memory of your half-lidded, content eyes searching his gazing fondly into his made him sigh and arch into the feeling of his hands.

When you looked at him it was like the veil of his isolated existence dropped, like you were in his head and knew every thought like it was your own. You understood him, cut him slack he’d never give himself, but would you still offer him that if you knew? His heart clenched at the possibility you would, heady and electric bolts of want panging through his core.

He sucked a sharp breath through his teeth, thumb stroking over the wet tip of his cock, trying to drown himself in the sensation — brows pinched in focus. If he just got off then maybe he could look you in the eye without the risk of you seeing how badly he wanted you.

He didn’t notice you’d come home, though.

You’d been excited about leaving work early, finally knowing what it was like to feel excited about the person waiting for you when you got back. Maybe it was rude to have a thing for your best friend who kindly let you stay with him, rude to play with how you remembered small moments and reimagine them so intimately.

But it was Steb of all people, kind, sweet Steb. Resisting the pull felt more impossible than ever. Maybe it was rude to be looking for him in the guys you dated, it was definitely why the last try failed — stoicism wasn’t dickheadedness when it was Steb, Steb was just calm to the untrained eye. 

You’d finally admitted to yourself that the man you wanted was the one sharing a flat with you. You just didn’t want to ruin what you already had, you doubted he’d leave you forever but the thought of a new gap between you made your heart ache. 

So you flustered awfully when you’d quietly walked past Steb’s bedroom. The slick sounds escaping through the crack in the door were obvious, especially with the lewd sliver of him you could see through it. You ached, you probably weren’t the cause of that and by all means ought to stop looking.

But you, basally, were greedy. Nature halted you in place, staring at Steb desperately stroking his cock.

It was pretty, he was pretty, you wanted to touch him, find all the little faces he could make. Maybe noises too, wouldn’t that be delicious? You were caught up, breathing heavy, unable to look away — tunnel vision set on the way his pre-come glistened in the low light because god, there was so much of it.

He yelped, snapping you out of the spiral you found yourself in, eyes locking with his through the crack. Getting him to make a noise that loud was a feat in and of its own, you couldn’t help but wonder if you could get him to make a similar one another way.

Maybe it was bad that he throbbed at the thought of you coming in, but the thought of you touching him was the only thing that sent a pang of heat through his gut for months, sent his frills fluttering. Shame, mild fear, and unrelenting desire coalesced in a fizzing way that made his cock jump between his slick palms.

You spoke before you thought, interrupting the way his still sticky hands came up to frantically sign apologies at you. “Can I help?”

Far less suave than you wanted, it came out desperate. You had the decency to look mildly surprised at your own words, especially when Steb’s jaw dropped; an intense blush coating him all the way to his shoulders, a shiver running down his back.

You had to control yourself when he cautiously nodded, shedding your jacket in the hall outside, gripping the door far too tight as you stalked towards him. Guilt weighed heavily in his eyes, you were familiar with the look, he blamed himself for a lot of things, but you wanted it gone.

“What’s with the face?” You questioned lowly, leaning over his bare body. It felt unfair, but the down-turn of his ears and now flattened frills sent a wave of satisfaction through you. “Imagining something bad?”

You watched his eyes widen, a caught look that bordered on panic splaying across his features as he turned to look away, but you weren’t having it. You pinched his chin between your fingers, turning his burning face back to you.

His index finger pointed towards you, your breath caught in your throat. He saw your surprise and started to fumble apologies, shaking fingers just barely cooperative enough to twist into the right words. You snorted lightly, the situation hitting you. 

You leaned in.

“I imagine you, too.” You whispered against the shell of his ear, breath ghosting the sensitive tips through a smile and you felt his own breathing hitch against your neck. Your breath nearly burned, the world seemed to stop entirely at your words. The image of you touching yourself, his name falling from your lips, burrowed its way into his mind. Did you feel like he did, carnal, utterly perverse but as sharp as a live wire ready to snap?

He shivered against you, the thin, sensitive skin of his collar bones brushing against the material of your shirt.

You pulled back with a smirk, “why’d you stop?”

He blushed impossibly hotter as you knelt on the bed in front of him, eyeing him hungrily. You knew why, there was no way you didn’t, but you loved to tease him, prod him, make his hands spill his thoughts. You did it for conversation, to get in his head, you were doing it to force his hand and make him say what he wanted. A lewd twist, a new face of your affection.

‘You.’ His index finger pointed at your chest again.

“You can keep going, I’m not stopping you.” You shrugged off your shirt, the planes of your body revealed softer than your words. Steb was transfixed, finally seeing your skin a new light after all the years between you, not simply imagining it. You hummed. “But you’re considerate, aren’t you?”

He swallowed, pride blooming in his chest despite not knowing where you were going. 

“You always think about what other people are thinking, what they could think. You don’t want to scare me off, is that it?” You probed, drawing in closer, never looking away from his eyes even when your hand found purchase on his thigh. Warmth flooded his chest, his ears twitched, and almost guiltily, he looked away from you as if he were afraid of how well you could read him.

“You can’t scare me off,” you whispered into his ear, hand trailing up the inside of his thigh — the delicate kisses of your fingertips making his cock twitch, “you don’t know how long I’ve wanted you.”

Your hand missed his cock, caressing his pelvis and drifting up as you continued to talk. “Wanna know something, Steb?”

He nodded shakily, shivering as your hands skimmed his sensitive sides.

“I think I’ve been looking for you for a long time. I look for your eyes when I’m interested in other people, do you know what I’m saying?” Your fingers brushed his nipple, pinching enough to make him draw a sharp breath before dancing up his chest. He shook his head and you cupped the back of his neck. “I’ve been looking for you this whole time.”

You cupped his jaw, “I wanted you the whole time, because of course I did, how could I not?”

He could feel the weight of your stare, the honesty of your want, as well as the way his frills pulsed along his cheekbones. You wanting him seemed almost incomprehensible, but he wouldn’t deny you; the pooling of anxiety in his gut turned warm, nearly salivating at the thought of finally getting what he had always wanted.

He watched you carefully as you leaned in again, knee wedged between his thighs, barely brushing his throbbing cock. 

“May I?” You asked sweetly, eyes darting to his lips and back up again. You, so willing to act, waited for him — you always cared. When his lips met yours it was like a jigsaw had fallen into place, the warmth of your lips against his, sweet and real, made everything make more sense.

You pulled away, murmuring adoringly. “You’re so soft, I like that, I like you.”

Kiss-drunk, you dove in for more, pressing Steb towards his pillows. Your hand brushed the seam where his fins met his scalp and he shivered into the hot press of your bodies, hips bucking his cock into your thigh. You spoke against his lips, calling him all sorts of pretty words, your other hand trying to memorise the feel of every inch of skin it could find.

You hand found the base of his cock, hard and slick, and you hummed happily into his mouth. You withdrew far enough to get a good look at his eyes, admiring the misty, deep blue of his blown-out pupils. “Can I touch you?”

“Please.” Steb whispered, quiet and sort of raspy with disuse, but the keening pitch, the almost-broken quiver made his desire so evident. His hand moved with his word out of habit, the back of his fingers brushing the underside of your jaw as his flat hand moved down from his chin, and changed direction to cup your jaw.

“God, you’re so good to me, you’re so good.” You breathed, hand wrapping around his shaft, squeezing lightly and reveling in the way it made his shoulders jump. He was right to have imagined your hands feeling better, the lack of his control made the sensation taste sweeter, the feel of your hand giving his cock and experimental pump — careful of the frills — burn hotter.

“Fuck, you’re wet as hell, how long were you at it before I got home?” He let out the quietest whine at the strain in your authoritative voice, rutting into the twist of your hands over his cock frills. “You know, it’s kinda hot to think about you getting off on me. How long have you been pent up?”

Steb’s eyes rolled back, third eyelids stuttering over his foggy pupils as a needy thrum passed through his body. You watched his muscles twitch, his head roll to the side slightly, before you took his chin between your fingers and forced his eyes back to yours. “Don’t look away from me now, sweetheart, isn’t this what you wanted? What you’ve been wanting for a long while?”

A strangled noise caught in the back of his throat at the hungry way you looked at him, eyes dark and lidded and there was a pull to arch into you, showing you everything he could. He could goad you just as well, there was a sharp, intoxicating kick to watching you react to him; no wide, greedy pupils or heaving shoulders at the sight of his writhing were lost on him.

There was a swell of lewd pride in his chest and groin knowing he could make you like this, a thought just as enjoyable as the feeling of being under your hands. And it was nice to give you what you wanted, to scratch an itch deep in you with his body — there was an element of you using him like that that made the frills on his cock flutter.

He hissed at the feeling of you changing pace, watched your eyes trail down to his flushed cock and the sensitive frills decorating it, your fingers ghosting the very edges of them — sparks dancing along the trail your fingertips made. 

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” You asked, more of a statement than anything, but your voice sounded so clear. Steb’s stomach tensed at your words, a wave of excitement cresting over his shoulders — it was like he could feel your words. 

Your hands flattened his frills on the next downstroke, putting garbled words and heavy breathing in his throat, humping into your hand as his hands — frantic — grasped your bare shoulders. The heat of your skin below his palms added to the tense burning climbing its way up his spine.

“Mm, yeah, hold on like that. You don’t know how much I like it when you touch me.” You softly spoke over the vulgar sound of your hand pumping his cock. He was swimming in feeling, every honeyed word you uttered stuffed cotton on his head. Sweetly, in loving contrast to the lecherous rub of your hand, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You don’t know how much I’ve started to enjoy coming home.”

Steb shivered, eyes fluttering shut at your words and squeezing harder at the wave of sensitivity they brought. 

“It’s because you’re here.” You whispered into his skin, worshipful and adoring in each syllable. You smiled, pleased, at the feeling of his hips bucking with more instinct — chasing his peak in your hands. 

You stole the sense from his mind, kissing away his doubts as cascading reassurances of how much you wanted him, wanted this, and loved seeing him come apart fell from your lips. You brushed your lips over the frills of his cheekbones, bursts of you dancing on the edge of his mind in a way he could never describe, but couldn’t get enough of.

Your eyes looked endless when you pulled away, a shudder passing through his taught body at the way you regarded him so deeply. You didn’t go far, never stopping your hands, only enough to see his eyes. His leaking tip throbbed.

“I love you.” You told him quietly, almost bashful despite your sensuous touch. Tender, so tender and intentional, you meant what you said. The debauched, glazed look in your eyes sending a shiver through his spine — turning the pooling heat in his gut fizzing with the approaching peak of ecstasy.

“Don’t hold back, Steb.” You ordered softly, aware of the violent jerk of his hips, the choked whine he made when you matched his bucking; the hand stroking his cock hitting every sensitive ridge, the other lost to the bare stretches of skin it could reach.

He jolted, hissing as he came, curling towards you; unintentionally rough, your teeth clacking as he kissed you, frenzied, urging, trying to feel more of you. Your hand worked until he twinged away from your touch, you let him, still caught up in the thrill of watching him writhe because of you.

He panted, eyes refocusing on yours, a gently searching expression crossing his brows. You licked off some of the slick, white come from your hand, snorting at the surprised, then flustered, face he pulled.

“What?” You giggled, fondly eyeing your work. Steb really did look pretty splayed out like that, frills still fluttering with the aftershock, cheeks hued with effort.

He pointed to himself, then pulled a face that seemed to be part of an internal debate you weren’t privy to; like he was looking for permission somewhere. His ears flushed and flicked down.

Steb’s hands crossed flat across the skin just below his collar bones, then pointed a slightly shaky finger towards you. 

‘I love you.’

Your eyes widened in shock of the obvious, and any impulsive words were smothered on your lips by a heartfelt kiss as his pointed finger turned into a hand reaching to cup the back of your neck. Uncontrollably, insuppressible, you smiled into it, heart jumping at the feeling.

“Took us long enough, huh?” You teased, making Steb chuckle quietly. You were pulled in, bare torso to bare torso, and kept close to his skin — feeling the beat of his heart against yours.

A/N: lol died for a bit sorry about that, anyways merry christmas! (half of you have probably read this already 💀)

banner cr: @/anitalenia

[skzhocomments]

143 - being stuck at the office during Christmas with your asshole boss/coworker AU - Seungmin (Stray Kids)

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Request me a story

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Writing Prompt 143 - being stuck at the office during Christmas with your asshole boss/coworker AU - Seungmin

4.7k words

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“Hey, sweetie!” Mia hears as soon as she picks up the phone, putting it between her ear and her left shoulder as she’s skimming through a million files at once.

“Hi, mom!” She replies, her mother’s voice bringing a soft smile to her lips. She misses her, and home, and the life she had before moving to the big city and struggling to make ends meet while trying to make a name for herself in the cruel world of the law.

Mia’s been working as a paralegal ever since she finished law school, as she decided it would be a good idea to get some experience with working on actual cases before taking the bar exam to become a lawyer. She wasn’t entirely sure of which career path she would take after law school, so getting certified for this seemed like a good idea.

One year later after working for various small lawyers, she landed a job at a big, prestigious firm and got assigned to be the assistant of one of the greatest lawyers of their firm – who apparently never got along with anyone and would fire them on the spot.

The firm was desperate, because Kim Seungmin is their strongest asset, he rarely loses cases, if ever, and he’s such a perfectionist, there’s simply no arguing with him. The moment he steps into the court room, he dominates it. Every person who’s worked with or against him respects him, and getting such a reputation is close to impossible in such a big city.

In other words, Kim Seungmin is exactly what Mia wants to become.

“How are you, baby? Have you been good this year? Will Santa come with presents or with coal tomorrow?” Her mother asks, excitement audible in her voice, and Mia lets out a chuckle.

“I don’t know! At this rate, Santa can come with whatever he wants, he won’t find anyone home.” She laughs slightly, a soft sigh making its way past her lips.

“Don’t tell me, are you still at work?” Her mother asks almost accusatory, and Mia can clearly picture the frown on her face and the deep lines on her forehead, partly because of her age, but mostly because of her certainly repulsed expression.

“Yeah, had to work on this big case…”

“You’re not even a lawyer yet! Why do you have to work during the holidays? Your asshole boss should do the hard work instead!” Her mother whines, and Mia knows that once she starts, she will never finish. “That’s why I keep telling you to get married and let a man take care of you! You never listen to me!”

“As much as I love you, I would never be able to endure that.” Mia laughs, and as soon as the words leave her lips, she hears her mother tut.

“It’s Christmas Eve! What do you mean you are still at the office? It’s 9PM!!!”

“I know, I know, but my boss is also here, and I- oh, shit! Sorry mom, gotta go!” She ends the call immediately as she hears the small ding the door makes as soon as someone enters a correct code and it opens.

One thing about their office is that everything is very safe and computerised: door codes with facial and fingerprint recognition and cameras everywhere are only a few of the things Mia had to get used to when she started working for Mr. Kim.

Another thing she had to get used to is the fact that Kim Seungmin loathes her being on the phone with a passion.

“Were you on the phone again?” He rolls his eyes as he enters the office – his. Mia only has a small desk in the corner of it since she’s helping him out with all his cases.

“Sorry, Mr. Kim. It’s Christmas, as you might be aware, and my mother called me.” She lets out a fake smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and then she switches focus to the papers in front of her again.

“Oh, I thought Christmas is on the 25th, but maybe they changed the calendar while I was too busy keeping people out of jail.” Seungmin smiles back in mockery, clear annoyance in his tone.

He’s such a workaholic, which means that Mia is also worked to the bone, as she has to be there every time he is. She made the mistake of not picking up the phone one single time in a whole year because it was midnight and she was sick, and that almost got her fired, so ever since, she always makes sure to be in his office at all times when he’s actively working on a case.

When he’s working on cases, he is simply always there, cramped at his desk and reading all sorts of files, and Mia has to match. He makes sure to give her a lot to search through, and impossible deadlines, so she doesn’t even recall how many all-nighters she pulled because of him.

It's safe to say that Kim Seungmin is also exactly what she hates.

“Well, as I said, Mr Kim, I’m sorry, but some of us have families that are very insistent on not working Christmas Eve, Christmas, New Years, and any other bank holidays.” She smiles again.

“If you dislike it that much, you can go home.” Seungmin says with a shrug, but Mia doesn’t believe it one bit.

“Really?” She raises an eyebrow then looks at him, but he is already at his desk, his head buried behind mountains of papers.

“Yeah. And don’t bother coming back after the holidays.”

“There we go.” She chuckles slightly. “I was wondering when our streak would end.”

“Our streak?” This finally takes Seungmin’s eyes out of the papers.

“Yeah. You haven’t tried firing me in exactly 5 days. It’s a new personal record.” Mia replies, a smile playing on her lips, and Seungmin rolls his eyes.

“I’ve never tried firing you.”

“Uhm, yeah? You did.”

“No, I didn’t. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Mr. Kim, you know better than anyone that in order to be a lawyer you need to get your facts straight. I’ve been working for you for exactly 350 days today, and you’ve threatened to fire me 407 times. Oh, actually, 408, including tonight.” Mia says matter-of-factly, and Seungmin can’t help but let out a chuckle and shake his head.

“Did you keep count?”

“Of course, I did. You have a reputation, you see? I needed to cover my tracks.” Mia shrugs, but Seungmin is seriously impressed. He can’t believe it. He’s still laughing.

It takes him a little bit to calm down and get his composure back, but once he does, his lips form a straight line, and he begins speaking again.

“Mia, this time I’m serious. I thought you would’ve gotten used to me in 350 days. If you truly dislike my working style, you are free to walk through that door.” He points to it, and this truly makes Mia frown.

“No… I do like your working style… It’s just that, I’m pretty sure that we’re the only ones working at this hour on Christmas Eve.” She replies, then returns her eyes to the papers thinking his words over.

Kim Seungmin is insufferable, she hates working overtime, she hates pulling all-nighters every other week, and she dislikes how bossy he is, but working so closely to him, she realised exactly 320 days ago that she really, really likes him. It took her a month to figure out his likes and dislikes, and that how he acts directly contradicts what he actually means when it comes to interpersonal relationships.

She likes a lot of things about him. Most things, actually. She likes his determination and how serious he is about his job, she likes how he’s always pushing her to do more, to learn more, and she’s truly learnt so much from him, she doubts she would have any trouble passing the bar exam and working as a lawyer in the future. He inspires her to do better, and she does; she’s been doing her best ever since she started working for him.

Kim Seungmin is the person she loathes the most, while simultaneously being the person she admires the most.

When he fails to say anything back to her, she sighs again and asks quietly, almost in a whisper, half-hoping he’d hear, half-hoping he wouldn’t.

“Do you truly want me to quit? Don’t you think that… we work well together?”

He hums softly, letting her know that he’s heard her, and then randomly stands up, going towards her small desk and snatching the file she was reading from her hands.

“You know what, Mia? You’re right. It’s Christmas Eve. Let’s go home and relax and come back on the 27th. We deserve a break.” He smiles softly, and this takes Mia by surprise completely.

“What?” She asks baffled. “Are you joking? I still have to read-”

“It can wait. The court hearing is on the 15th of January. There’s plenty of time to prepare. Let’s go and rest.” Seungmin says, his eyes soft and a small smile in the corners of his lips, and Mia’s mouth is on the floor.

Turns out she doesn’t know him as well as she thought, because she would’ve never in a million years expect this from him.

“O-okay…” She stumbles on her words confused. “Let me just pull out my charger.”

“Alright.” Seungmin walks to the hanger to grab their coats, while Mia is bending over to reach the outlet behind her desk.

She struggles for a little while, because the outlet is slightly damaged. Maintenance was supposed to come and fix this last week, but they’ve told them that it’ll happen some time after Christmas, so she ought to be very careful.

As she pulls out her charger though, a breaker trips, making the whole room go dark.

“Oh, no! Fu- I mean, damn!” She curses out loud, realising she most likely caused a power outage.

“What happened?” Seungmin sounds slightly alarmed. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, but I think I caused a short circuit or something! How do we turn the power back on?”

“Shit, I told maintenance a million times to come fix that stupid outlet. You could’ve hurt yourself.” Seungmin replies, grabbing his phone and turning on his flashlight. “No worries, I’ll call the maintenance emergency number. You sure you’re okay?”

He approaches her and looks at her hands, and she almost hears him let out a sigh of relief when he notices that she is, indeed, fine.

“Yeah.” She nods, taken aback once again. He is too nice. Way too nice.

Who is he and what did he do to her asshole boss?

She sees him put the phone against his ear, but no one answers.

“Damn, why isn’t anyone working?” He mumbles under his breath.

“It’s Christmas Eve.” Mia replies, and he throws her a snare.

“Let’s try the door. Should still work. Or… there must be a generator or something to turn the power back on…”

Mia nods and heads towards the door to try the knob, but unsurprisingly, it doesn’t budge. Without the security measures and fingerprints and face recognition systems, they are locked in.

“Mr. Kim, the door is not opening.”

“Alright…” He scratches his nape.

“Maybe there’s a key, or something?”

“I don’t think so… I wasn’t given any.”

“Then… I guess we’re going to spend Christmas Eve together after all.” She chuckles. “Oh! Which reminds me!”

Mia hurries to her desk before she has time to change her mind, and pulls open the first drawer, pulling out a medium sized box. She looks unsure at Seungmin, but she shakes her head slightly and closes her eyes tightly, handing him the box.

“This is a gift… for you.”

“For me?” His eyes widen. “Really? What is it?”

“Open it and see. Well, you can actually open it tomorrow, or… or actually, give it back. You’ll hate it, it’s nothing important-” She tries to snatch the box back, but with the desk between the two, Seungmin easily gets away from where her hands can reach.

He hastily opens the box and pulls out a winter scarf in multiple shades of blue and white, soft to the touch and extremely beautiful.

“Thank you, Mia. You shouldn’t have bothered, though.” He smiles, bringing it closer to his face and smelling it. It smells just like her perfume.

This brings another smile to his lips that Mia fails to see in the darkness, with his flashlight turned away from them.

“Oh… it’s alright if you don’t like it, you don’t have to accept it…” her voice falters. She is quite certain that he hates it, but she’s spent hours making it, so she’d rather take it back and wear it herself with how much money and time she invested in the whole knitting process.

“I love it.” He says, making her eyes widen.

“You do?”

“Mhm.”

“Oh…”

“Thank you, Mia. It’ll be very useful this cold winter.”

“I’m glad you like it…”

“Then…” Seungmin hesitates slightly, before placing the box down on her desk and going back to his coat, rummaging through the pockets and pulling out a small box. “I also got this for you… I mean, I just happened to see it in a store, and I remembered catching you look at it on your computer a while ago, so…”

Mia is completely shocked when he hands her the box and she opens it, revealing a Tiffany gold necklace adorned with a few small diamonds; very beautiful, very expensive. Something she’s been eyeing for months, the first present she wanted to get herself once she would pass the bar exam and become a lawyer.

“Mr. Kim… this is… this is insane! I can’t accept it. I gave you a handmade gift, and you-”

“Wait, this is handmade?!” He grabs the scarf again, his mouth falling open. “But it looks perfect! I thought you bought it from somewhere!”

“No… I just love knitting. I can’t accept this gift, it’s too expensive…” She hands him back the box, but he shakes his head and refuses to take it.

“Mia, I’m… really grateful for your work this past year. I just wanted to show my gratitude somehow, but I always end up treating you badly and acting like an asshole. I’m sorry for being hard on you. I don’t actually want you to quit, or to fire you.” He confesses, and Mia smiles.

“Alright… Thank you, Mr. Kim.”

“Seungmin.”

“What?”

“Seungmin… that’s my name.”

“Yeah, I’m aware, but-”

“I’ve been calling you Mia for months. Why do you keep calling me Mr. Kim?”

“Because I’m a professional?”

“And I’m not?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I’m just saying, Mr. Kim feels a bit… cold?”

“Alright… uhm… Seung-Seungmin.” She stumbles on her words again, because saying his name feels very unnatural, but also very pleasant, like it just brought them closer.

She blushes to herself and is grateful for the darkness of the room for once.

“That’s better.” He smiles back. “So… I think we’re going to be stuck here until tomorrow morning. Maintenance should come at around 6AM, as they do every morning. The holidays aren’t an exception.”

“I won’t ask how you know that.” Mia says with slight mockery. She also knows it, in fact, since she’s also stayed that late, and even later, with him.

“What do you want to do?” Seungmin asks all of a sudden, and she is unsure of what to say back.

“Maybe we could… work?”

“No… we’ve worked enough. I already got out of that mood, so I don’t think I could focus back on it.”

“I’m sorry. We’re stuck here because of me…” Mia pouts.

“Don’t worry about it. However… since 6AM is very far away… should we go on the sofa and talk, or something?” He suggests, so Mia stands up and nods, and both make their way towards the large sofa in the middle of the room.

The sofa is usually reserved for resting when they both stay up late in the office and need a quick break, so it accommodates both with little issue. There would even be enough space for both to lie down, provided they would press their bodies against each other, but Mia doesn’t want to ponder too much on this thought, because it makes her heart race and her cheeks an even brighter shade of red than they already are.

“Can we maybe… turn the flashlight off?” Mia asks

“Sure.” He says without missing a beat, turning it off, and they are now in complete darkness, aside from the soft dim light coming from the large windows.

“So… what should we talk about?” Mia asks.

“Well, what about…”

And so, they begin discussing about their past cases, sharing inside jokes and laughing their hearts out. Instead of being totally work-focused, however, their discussions quickly become light-hearted, they start delving on personal matters, and soon enough, they end up discussing about their hobbies in a lot of detail. They go over books they’ve both read, theories, TV shows and films, and then about what they like to do in their scarce free time.

With each and every word they say, Mia can’t help but notice how many things they have in common. Both of them are career-driven, ambitious, have similar interests, and it feels like they could talk for ages without exhausting conversation topics.

“Mia, I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while…” He says all of a sudden, and her breath hitches in her throat.

“What…?” She asks with hesitation.

“I think you are ready to take the bar exam. You should pursue your dreams and become a lawyer, because you’ll make a damn good one.”

Hearing his words, Mia feels her eyes water. She didn’t know how much she needed him to say it, how much she needed that validation from the one person she admires the most.

“Really?” She asks hopeful, wishing she could see his expression.

“Yes. Really. I think… I think you’re going to nail it. You should register for the next exam session. I looked it up, and it’s in February. There’s plenty of time to prepare, and I’ll also help you study if you get stuck somewhere, although I doubt you’ll need me.”

“Thank you, Seungmin…” She says, but suddenly, they feel way too far apart. She decides to launch forward and throws herself at him, her arms going around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. “This means a lot to me.”

“Mia… can you promise me something, though?” He asks, and she tries to pull back, but his arms also go around her waist, pulling her closer to him; so close, their bodies are touching. If he would lean back, she would fall right on top on him.

“Yeah…? What is it?”

“You will go and pass the bar exam, and then… will you come back to me? Not as an assistant… as a partner.”

“Are you … are you serious?” This time she succeeds in pulling back, completely taken aback. It seems he’s full of surprises tonight.

She’s heard from the very beginning that Kim Seungmin prefers working alone. He dislikes training others, or having to share his ideas, or having to be patient with someone else – and yet, he wants to keep working with her right by his side?

“I am, yes. I feel like… this is where you belong, you know? Next to me.” He says, the last part a bit quieter, but she hears it nonetheless, and her heart does its thing to beat faster again.

“Yeah… if you’ll have me, Seungmin, I will always be by your side. I’d love to work cases together, as lawyers.” She smiles, her arms still around her neck, his hands now steadily on her waist.

For some reason, it feels natural to be so close to him, to feel his hands on her body.

“Great… I just wanted to get that off my chest.” He smiles back, and she almost misses it because of the dark.

For some reason, it feels natural to lean in and press a kiss against his lips.

.

.

.

Until it doesn’t.

What the fuck did she just do?

“What the fuck did I just do?” She asks out loud, immediately separating herself from him, realising how much she’s crossed the line. She should’ve never kissed him, she should’ve never-

“Something I really, really liked.” Seungmin cuts off her train of thoughts, and the words don’t register in her head before his lips crash back against her.

And so begins a long battle fought with lips, and hot tongues, and spit, and moans melting into each other’s mouths, and his body falls on hers, her back pressed against the sofa.

His weight on hers is perfect, his kisses are perfect, he is perfect.

“This is so inappropriate” Seungmin says hastily, his breath ragged, as he separates himself from her slightly and pulls on the tight knot of his tie with one hand to loosen it.

“You are so inappropriately hot, why do you think I stick around?” Mia chuckles, her breathing matching his, as she rises her head a bit to kiss his neck.

Seungmin lets out a loud moan as he forces her back down, under him, and her hands fiddle with the buttons of his shirt as she begins undoing them one by one, as quickly as she can.

Kim Seungmin is everything she wants to be, and everything she wants to have. And she will have him tonight, on this very sofa they’ve spent countless of hours on, in this very room they’ve smiled and laughed and fought and came up with plan after plan to win their cases.

“You’re so funny, Mia, but look at you melting.” Seungmin counters, his hands moving under her shirt, his fingers dancing on her skin and stopping right on top of her bra. He is quick to move them under it, to cup her naked breasts and play softly with her nipples.

Mia thought about Seungmin many times, although she always tried to not think of him in that way, but even so, every time she imagined him like this, she never thought he’d be so gentle with her if they were to ever cross the line between professionalism and desire.

“You’re so gentle, Seungmin.” She says out loud confidently, but her skin is all prickly, and she’s already extremely stimulated from his soft touches. She doesn’t even think she could handle anything more, not when mere hours ago, she couldn’t even say his first name out loud without stuttering.

“Don’t you like it, love? Do you want more?” He asks almost tauntingly as his hands disappear from under her shirt and his mouth connects to her neck, his teeth biting into the soft and sensitive skin between her ear and her collarbones, as one of his hands travel in her pants, touching her pussy and teasing her entrance.

“Oh, God.” She rolls her head back, giving him more access as he’s spreading her wetness around.

She’s already so wet, it’s embarrassing.

“You want me so much, huh?” He whispers in her ear, putting one finger inside, and her hands instinctively move on his back pulling the fabric of his shirt.

“Let’s get undressed.” Mia says breathless.

“You have to be more polite than that if you want me to do anything.” Seungmin chuckles, making her let out a loud whine.

“Please, let’s take off our clothes! I want you so fucking bad, and you-”

“And I also want you so much more than that, Mia. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve wanted to bend you over my desk when you’d speak back to me. God, you’re so hot.” He bites her neck again, making her moan and clutch his shirt’s fabric tighter.

He inserts another finger in her, pulling them in and out and curving them upwards just right, and just as she feels close to letting go, he takes them out of her, leaving her confused and slightly dejected.

“Why-”

“Let’s get you out of these clothes, hm? Since you’ve asked so politely.”

“Fuck you.” She curses, clenching her legs just to try and get some of that friction back.

“Maybe some other night, love. Tonight’s my turn to fuck you.”

He removes his shirt that Mia has so conveniently unbuttoned earlier, then helped her out of her blouse and pants.

Laying back naked on the sofa, she looks at him expectedly, her eyes more adjusted to the dark, enough to see his perfect silhouette as he unbuttons his pants and takes out his cock. She doesn’t hesitate to spread her legs apart, and he doesn’t hesitate to compliment her for it.

“Such a good girl.” He smirks, settling between her legs and pressing his hard-on against his entrance, letting himself enter her deliberately slowly, letting her feel every inch of his cock, getting used to the stretch.

He curses once he bottoms out into her, and as he begins moving, he tries to stay buried inside, his hips only buckling in and out slightly, rubbing against her sweet spot.

“Fuck.” She curses as well, her head rolling back once more, and his lips connect instantly to her neck.

The way he’s fucking her feels so intense, so passionate, and it’s hands down the best she’s ever had. Her hands move once more to his back, fingernails digging softly in his skin as he grunts in her ear, his movements becoming faster, more erratic, but still precise enough to make her come undone in mere seconds.

She clenches around him, her legs start shaking, and her toes curl from the pleasure. Hearing her so fucked up, feeling her warm body under his, he can’t help but let out soft curses against her neck as he fucks himself into her faster and faster, until he also lets go, painting her walls white.

“You are so fucking perfect.” Mia says breathless as he pulls out of her and kisses her lips.

“And so are you. Damn, Mia, you’re just… you’re incredible.”

He kisses her once more before standing up and heading to his desk to grab some napkins, helping to clean her up before she can head to the bathroom attached to their office.

“Thank you…” She says, feeling shy all of a sudden, as if she wasn’t moaning for dear life under him minutes ago.

“Damn.” He curses again with a shake of his head. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I was planning on asking you on a real date once you passed the bar exam and were no longer my subordinate.”

“You can still take me out on a date when that happens… and before, and after that as well.” She says blushing, and he caresses her head gently.

“Mhm. I will.”

“So… what does this make us?” Mia asks in a breath.

“Definitely a couple. God, this is so inappropriate.” He chuckles.

“Yeah, it is. How dare you take advantage of your power, hm?” She asks jokingly, pulling him into a kiss that he is quick to reciprocate. “Especially after you’ve been such an asshole to me for 350 whole days.”

“Technically, 351 since it’s way over midnight.” Seungmin replies with a smug grin.

“Ah, there is the asshole.”

“I’ll never stop being an asshole to you, even when we’re married and have 3 kids. Hope you know what you signed up for.” He chuckles.

“I know, I know. But that also means you have to know what you signed up for. No more working on holidays! I’d rather we go on some cute dates, maybe travel somewhere…”

“Which reminds me. Merry Christmas, Mia.” He smiles and kisses her lips again, this time softer, and tenderly.

“Merry Christmas.” She kisses him back, and she feels happiness bubbling in her chest, next to all the butterflies flying erratically in her stomach.

Turns out that Kim Seungmin is not that much of an asshole, and she has some big feelings for him, which make her more excited than ever for their future of working next to each other, for now as lawyer and assistant, and in a few months, hopefully, as equals.

~The End~

~

Hope you enjoyed this short story!

If you want to request a Oneshot, send me a number between 1-2675 and who it should be about, and I'll do my best!

Love,

Storm

[schlatt-love-bot]

Shy Schlatt x Reader Headcanon

First time meeting edition!

To everyone else, Schlatt appears to be a large grumpy man, intimidating those around him

He didn’t necessarily help this narrative when he openly picked on his friends around other people, and generally had a brooding attitude when he was in public

This all seemed to melt away the moment he laid eyes on you, though 

Smaller in statue, you would’ve fit perfectly in his side, tucked away under his arm, which kicked in his primal urge to become your protector

He noticed you during a Chuckle Week shoot, vaguely remembering how Ted mentioned that a college friend of his would be helping set up shots and other things during filming this week

He barely listened as Ted explained who you were, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, watching as you untangled some cords from Ted’s backpack

Apparently Ted called you over, as Schlatt barely noticed you talking as you introduced yourself, sticking out your hand to shake, looking up at him confused as to why you weren’t shaking his hand 

“I..I take it you’re not a hand-shaking greeter?” 

“O-Oh, uh…sorry toots, it’s not that I’m not a hand-shaker, I was just…lost in some, uh, thoughts. The name’s Schlatt, nice t’ meet ya.” 

You giggled at the encounter and walked away, while Ted let out an exasperated sigh 

“This is going to be a loooong filming week if you keep up that act, Schlatt.” 

Schlatt grumbled and playfully smacked Ted, telling him to shut up among…other choice words 

…ultimately, though, Ted was right. This was indeed the longest week of recording Schlatt had ever done, and it was all due to the pretty little dame behind the camera

Schlatt noticed when you would tune out of the conversation being had between him, Ted, and their guest, which is when Schlatt would become increasingly grumpier, even borderline aggressive at times

If you were listening, though? That man tried his hardest to act cool, but ultimately stumbled over his words and showed a bit too much of his softness

“Schlatt…buddy, my eyes are over here…” Connor, this episode’s guest, began to tease, causing heat to rise in Schlatt’s cheeks as he sent eye daggers in Connor’s direction

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Maybe if you were actually talking about anything interesting, I’d be a better listener! Ever think of that?”

He heard your stifled giggle coming from behind the camera and in turn beamed with pride 

At the end of the week, Schlatt grew grumpier and grumpier, knowing he would have to leave behind this pretty little thing to go back to New York, and Ted could sense it

“Yknow, if you want to leave with a good taste of LA on your tongue…(Y/N)’s totally into you, too. How? I’m not sure. I don’t know why anything with two legs and a pulse would want to go out with you, but she mentioned in passing the other day how ridiculously sexy she thought you were. Go for it, man!” 

Annoyed by Ted’s implications, his ears still perked at the thought of you finding him attractive, so back into the studio he went

He caught you while you were packing away some of the set props, trying to balance yourself on the seats to collect as many Sriracha and A1 bottles you could manage before you began to lose your balance 

“Woah...you gotta be more careful there, toots. Don’t want you to go hurting yourself, now. Can I…can I help you?” 

The way he held you in his arms made your heart stop, and your lack of response made him think you thought he was being a creep by holding you for so long

He quickly placed you back down onto the ground, clearing his throat, before pulling at the hem of his shirt looking for the words he wanted to say 

“So…I…uh, my flight outta here doesn’t leave until tomorrow night so…I was thinkin’...maybe you would wanna, I dunno, grab a bite to eat tonight?” 

He refused to make eye contact with you, one hand snaking around his neck, making you giggle

“Sir…are you asking me on a date?”

“You said it, not me…” 

“Well…” 

“Okay fine, it’s a date. Will you?” 

“Absolutely.”

"Cool, awesome. Here's my number, I'll...uh...pick you up at 5?"

"Sounds perfect, Schlatt."

He didn't want to show just how excited he was about it, (but he totally did) but he was absolutely geeked that he got a chance at a date

You might've caught him giving himself a little pat on the back as he exited the studio, not thinking you were paying any mind to him

ooooohhh!! i just love the idea of a softie schlatt!! i feel he's not portrayed as a softie or as shy very often, so i figured why not try my hand at it!! hopefully you all enjoyed!!

[ughsecondblogsdontwork]

I don't watch a whole lot of television, so maybe I'm missing some perspective, but I've never seen a TV show where the Main Character was a fat gay man (or person in general, I'm not crazy enough to think they'd ever try to pull this with a fat lesbian for instance) where neither his sexuality or fatness were 1. An overt problem in the narrative or 2. The butt of routine or mean-spirited jokes. What We Do In the Shadows was awesome in so many ways, but it was also awesome because I got to see a gay and fat person do all kinds of shit as a main character without being constantly questioned or degraded for being fat! I really, really love Guillermo. He's a vampire slayer! An action hero! He looks cool, cute and sexy all at once in his action scenes- I love watching him grow as a character and stand up for himself, I love his jokes, he's really such a great character! So this final season sucked, right. Like this final season was total shit ass, I'm sorry. I'm so disappointed. I feel so let down. There are a million reasons why it sucked, but right now I just feel sad because of how everything turns out for Guillermo and the queer and fat representation in the show. First of all, it really threw me for a loop when the show opened with crazy fat jokes about Colin Robinson. That obviously did not land for me at all and why would it land for wwdits viewers? We are following a show where we are emotionally invested in a fat MC and we don't have a *problem* with fatness- so why would I think it's funny that Colin Robinson "got fat"??? Make it make sense lmao.

And I don't know why the fuck Nandor and Guillermo's entire relationship was abandoned. Did every single writer jump ship and get replaced by someone who's never seen the show or??? Well, it feels like a punch in the gut for a few reasons:

This show is supposedly "queer". Every known vampire is queer and Guillermo is gay. But the only consistent relationship is Nadja and Lazslo, which isn't a problem obviously we love them, but would it kill the show for there to be...? More visibly queer relationships? It's a show that insists its gay over and over again in word but not action. I don't care if Nandor and Lazslo like to fuck each other silly offscreen, and Nadja is also supposedly queer in some way, off screen- everything is conveniently off screen. Nandor and Guillermo did not *need* to get together, but the lack of explicit acknowledgement is weird. It just is.

Also, it would just be nice! Like am I crazy? Is it too much to ask for? To see a fat MC be in love and in a relationship not in spite of their appearance but just bc the other person likes them? I feel like every show with gay couples as main characters is a romance based show that is mostly About them getting together. Wwdits is so much fun because it's about so many things! But why couldn't this be *one* of those things? Can you think of a single show in the world right now where a fat queer main character is in a relationship and their looks or their sexuality are not the key point of conversation about the relationship? I can't! This was the perfect opportunity! Nandor and Guillermo fell into a well established relationship trope that had nothing to do with appearance or sexuality, and people who like that trope were naturally drawn to it. Why did they just spit on the whole thing? It makes no fucking sense.

Any response like "well sometimes unrequited love is a good plot" "X needed to grow and Y relationship was bad" "It's better this way because of XYZ" "It would have been toxic" this is a silly tv show about murderous vampires. Guillermo is also a murderer. There is just no possible way that a relationship between Guillermo and Nandor would have ruined the show lmao. It would have been fun! Remember when TV comedies were about being fun! I sure do! Apparently asking for a fun gay relationship between the queer main characters of the "queer TV show" is just too much to ask- better luck next time! Honestly, I feel so bitter lol. Bitter and sad. A show this fun and a cast this good deserved a waaaaay better ending all around. This post isn't even touching all the other weird shit and quite a lot of objectively bad shit that was wrong with the season

Before anyone gets all weird about my use of the word fat if you're not familiar with that, I am fat and I think fat is a neutral word and am trying to normalize the usage of it instead of substituting it with shit like "plus size". Fat is not an insult in the context of my words lol

[sports-on-sundays]

Oh...! Maybe you can make a part 2 of the fic Mama's Boy when they're on date or make a new one with the same trope because this is so cute and I can't stop reading it! 😆

mama's boy / Héctor Fort / Part 2

Summary: Héctor x best friend!reader - Héctor takes you on both of your first dates, his clear, awkward, huge crush on you funnily apparent. Link to Part 1!

Requested?: Yes! Thank you!

"...Héctor...?!" Lamine suddenly says louder, gently slapping Héctor's shoulder, snapping Héctor out of his deep thoughts. "Did you just hear any of what I just said?" the seventeen-year-old asks in slight exasperation.

"Uh... yeah, of course," Héctor replies, looking at the younger guy like a deer in headlights.

"Then what was it?"

Héctor sighs. "Alright. Maybe I didn't hear you. Sorry. What was it?"

Lamine shakes his head. "It doesn't really matter. Not really, in any case. But what's your problem lately, man?"

"What do you mean?" Héctor asks a bit too defensively and quickly.

"I don't know. It just seems like you're always zoned out and stuff. Is there anything going on?"

Héctor sighs, shaking his head, standing up to go. "No, no, it's nothing. Just got a lot on my mind. Anyway, I've got to go now. Bye, Lamine!" and he leaves before the boy can press him any more on the subject.

Because the truth is, he does have something on his mind. Something really big. And he hasn't been able to get it off his mind literally all week.

But it'd be awkward to tell Lamine the thing that's making him literally check out of conversations is all centered around a girl. And if Héctor knows Lamine enough, he also knows Lamine would never let him live that down.

Well, tonight is his date with you. Ever since he asked you out about five days ago now, at your house, in your room, all he can focus on are the nerves of that. You, the girl he's known for years, the girl that's always been so close yet so untouchable. He is taking you out on a date.

And you actually like him back.

Just the thought of that makes his chest tighten. How on earth is he going to survive a date with you, no matter how excited he is for it?

"You've been awfully quiet this car ride," Héctor's mama says in the car seat next to him.

Héctor sighs, shrugging. "Yeah, I guess so..."

"Aren't you excited for your date?" his mama says kind of teasingly, giving him a little nudge.

"Of course! I guess I'm just..." he trails off.

"You're just a bit nervous, but that's something you'd never admit to anyone out loud, huh?"

Héctor just smiles awkwardly, shrugging, and lets his silence be the answer to that question. After a few seconds, he sighs, unbuckling his seat belt, and saying, "I just hope I don't screw it all up."

"Hey, trust me, Héc. Look here for a second," his mama says.

He looks up, meeting his eyes. "Yeah. What?"

"You won't screw it up. I'm sure it'll go great. You've known that girl since you were both born. And I have, too, by the way. And if there's one thing I can tell, it's this: she likes you just as much as you like her. She's just less of an awkward idiot about it!" His mama laughs, giving him a little pat on the shoulder.

"Hey!" Héctor snaps back, unable to keep the smile from breaking out on his face at the tease from his mama.

She gives him a little pat, saying, "There's my boy's real smile. Now, go on, and have fun, Héc!"

He smiles and nods, getting out of the car, feeling a lot better than before.

Héctor replayed this scene in his head over and over, all week, perfecting it every time, until he was sure what he would do and say, in order to be perfectly smooth and charming, without being too corny, either.

The scene where you would walk up to him, and he'd take you inside the restaurant, and you'd sit down, and it would all go just the way he wants it to.

But all the sudden, as he sees you walking towards him, he feels his heart begin to pound in his chest, and the moment you reach him and say happily, "Hey, Héctor!" all other thoughts and plans of what he would say next fly right out of his head.

His mind goes blank, and instead of the smooth comment he thought he'd make right here, he just smiles stupidly and says, "Hi. I'm glad you came!"

You smile softly. "Well, I am, too. Let's go inside."

So the two of you walk in, and Héctor internally beats himself up at how much he's 'already messed up.' At least according to himself, that is.

So in an effort to fix his mistakes, as the two of you are escorted to your table, he suddenly gently slips his hand into yours and looks at you with a sweet little smile.

You smile back, blushing a bit, and squeeze his hand gently.

That's when he blurts, "You look really good today. I mean, like... I mean, you look beautiful... Uhm..." he clears his throat. "You look good every day, obviously, I mean. I just mean to say... you look especially pretty today."

You smile, feeling how awkward he's being. But regardless, you think it's cute. He's cute. And he's being sweet. So you say simply, "Thank you. You don't look so bad yourself." You can tell he's tried to look his best for this. His clothes are perfectly ironed, his shoes clean, every hair on his head perfectly in place. You can't help but smile softly when you think about the effort he must've put into all that as you both sit down across from each other.

You both begin looking over the menu, and as you do this, you say with a little smile, after you catch him giving you little glances for the fourth time, "You really like me, don't you?"

He smiles a bit and says, "There's a lot to like about you." Finally! Something that was at least half-smooth! his brain screamed, like as if he'd just scored the winning goal. Which is actually quite funny, considering the situation itself.

You smile and say, putting a hand to your chest, "Why, thank you!"

And he grins back at you, his eyes softening in some sort of deep affection that further tells you just how down bad he is for you.

"So, what are you going to get?" Héctor asks, beginning the small talk of the night, which, honestly, you're thankful for.

As the date goes on, though, you both settle into being more and more comfortable with each other, until it seems at the end you've both forgotten this was supposed to be any different than any other time you've just hung out and had fun with each other.

Until the time for you both to get going is nearing, and suddenly Héctor, apparently getting a newfound spark of confidence, reaches across the table to take your hand in his own. You look up, watching him inhale slowly, before meeting your eyes with his own and saying in a gentler, more serious tone than the teasing one that had lingered most of the evening between the two of you: "So... have you liked it?"

You smile as each of your hands seem to naturally entwine in each other's. "Liked what?"

"Tonight. Our date."

You beam. "Oh, Héctor, I've just loved it."

"Really?" he asks, his eyes sparkling.

"Don't you know that any time I get to spend with you is amazing? Come on now, Héctor," you gently tease.

He beams back at you, squeezing your hand.

That's when you finally feel comfortable enough to ask the unabating question that's been on your mind all week: "Héctor... how long have you liked me...? You know, in this way."

He seems hesitant. Maybe slightly taken off guard. But he doesn't let go of your hand, and after some silence, finally responds with, "The truth is, it's been longer than I've even known."

You can't help but laugh a bit at that, maybe a little nervously, saying, "What does that mean?"

Héctor smiles softly. "It means that I'm starting to think I've felt like this towards you for years. Like, at least five."

Your eyes widen at that as your heart rate begins to quicken. "Oh... my goodness, Héctor, that's so sweet...!" It really is. Hearing those words from him is so... touching.

He smiles awkwardly, glancing away from your gaze, before asking, "How long have you liked me? I mean, you do like me, right?"

"Héctor! Of course I like you! I like you a lot!" you exclaim, liking the way he happily looks back up at that. "I mean, I guess it hasn't been as long as you, but I've probably liked you for, like, at least eighteen months now."

He seems to be satisfied with hearing that, and says, "It kind of seems perfect, doesn't it?"

"What does?" you ask, your expression softening further.

"The way we've known each other... forever. Our families love each other, we have the same interests, we know all the little things about each other. It's almost as if..."

"...we're meant to be?" you finish after he trails off.

His eyebrows happily shoot up. "How'd you know that's just what I was going to say?"

You chuckle. "I guess we're just on the same wavelength, too, on top of it all, huh?"

He squeezes your hand, before daring to bring your hand up to his lips and gently kiss it, saying, "I guess we are, my princess."

You stare in awe at him, suddenly feeling like he's just shot you in the heart with an arrow of love, regardless of how cheesy that all seems. You can't help but giggle and tease, "Oh my God, Héctor. I didn't know you had that in you!"

He beams, admittedly seeming quite pleased with himself.

Soon, then, he pays for the meal, and the two of you stand up to head out. As you walk, Héctor links arms with yours, and once you're outside, he turns to grab your shoulders gently, face you, and look into your eyes. All you can see in them is simple, beautiful, complete joy. It's then that he whispers, "I hope you know... how much this means to me. All of this."

You stare at him. He so... close. It's not like you haven't been this close to him before- you have, many times.

But this time? This time, it just feels... well, different.

This time is different.

His thumb gently rubs your shoulder. The tenderness in his dark brown eyes...

You swallow.

"You're so beautiful... I'm so glad I get the privilege to be so close to you. I'm so glad you're my best friend."

"And I'm so glad you're my boyfriend," you suddenly blurt with a silly little smile, your heart pounding at the words you just let slip from your lips.

His eyes immediately widen. "You... You really want to...?"

You lean in close, gazing up at him, "I'd love to, and I know you would, too."

He grins, before it slowly dies down to a simple, soft, dreamy smile. "I sure would..." he barely murmurs, moving his hand up to gently cup your cheek.

You chuckle breathy as he lean in, tenderly planting a kiss on your cheek, before moving close to whisper in your ear, his cheek almost touching yours, his gentle, warm breath on your ear, "Well, I guess I've got to go now... But I'm excited for next time, huh?"

You grin, whispering back, "Oh, Héctor, I hope you know I can't wait."

He grins back and whispers, "Good. Me neither. Now, bye bye, Y/n!" He leans away again, pecking you on your cheek, closer to your mouth this time, and waves as he starts heading off.

You beam. "Bye bye, Héc!"

And this time, he doesn't seem to mind you calling him that. In fact, he might actually like it. Just a bit.

[wren-kitchens]

i guess i’m human no more

4732 words

joel is extremely used to the vast amount of feathers he finds in their bed (and his mouth) every morning—going so far as to know which yellow feather is from jimmy's wings or grian's (jimmy's have more brown hues in). joel essentially knows their wings off by heart, and has been teased endlessly after that one time he accidentally revealed this fact to grian.  despite all this, there's- there is a bit of a situation. it's- there's a new colour feather.

good LORD this has taken me a while to finish. judas had the incredible idea of watchers/listeners being contagious to people they're emotionally close to in MAY and here I am in december only just finishing the oneshot for it

I did in fact go wild with this one. there are many headcanons and so much bad boys because I love them

CW: body horror, gore

there are too many feathers in their bed.

this is extremely ordinary—in fact, joel would be concerned if there were a normal amount of feathers in their bed, because it would mean that jimmy and grian had just been laying completely still. after sleeping in the same bed as them for a week or so, joel has learnt that this seems to be physically impossible for either of them to do. every single morning, joel has woken up with jimmy and grian sprawled in increasingly unlikely positions on top of him and each other (which is kind of sweet), and at least three feathers in his mouth (which is kind of gross).

that's not even to mention how many feathers they shed when they stretch their wings out. honestly, joel wonders if he should just attach a bin bag to their wings and see just how many feathers they can amass in a single day; it'd be an interesting experiment. although, the most they shed is when they're preening, which- okay, he can no longer get annoyed with them when they leave the piles of fluff on the floor—not since they let him help. now he knows how loopy they get, joel understands why they'd forget to tidy up. 

(joel wouldn’t admit this at gunpoint, but he's never felt so.. okay- it's- it will sound silly, but so trusted, than when jimmy suggested joel help, and grian agreed. there are very few things so intimate than preening, as joel has learnt, and the idea that they would ask him for help with something that personal makes his head spin.)

all of this to say, joel is extremely used to the vast amount of feathers he finds in their bed (and his mouth) every morning—going so far as to know which yellow feather is from jimmy's wings or grian's (jimmy's have more brown hues in). joel essentially knows their wings off by heart, and has been teased endlessly after that one time he accidentally revealed this fact to grian. 

despite all this, there's- there is a bit of a situation. it's- there's a new colour feather.

it doesn’t sound that weird, but- no one else on the server has wings with the pattern on the feathers joel has started finding, so there's no way it just rubbed off someone else and fell off here. it's a kind of orangey-beige, with dark brown marking; something joel knows is not a pattern on anyone else's wings on this server. it could be a weird glitch, if grian or jimmy have different markings on another server, and at some point their wings lagged or something. yeah, that makes sense.

so much sense, in fact, that joel didn't bother telling grian or jimmy about it—which apparently was about to bite him in the ass. 

-

if joel has to spend one more second trying to be diplomatic with scott, whilst being shot looks that very plainly tell him to chill out, he's going to stab someone. especially as martyn and grian are clearly arguing about something or other in the most roundabout way possible, and jimmy keeps backing grian up. joel has no idea what either of them are actually arguing about, and apparently neither does scott, which is only some consolation. also- not necessarily related to this situation, but joel must have slept funny or something, because his back has been aching all day, which is not adding very much to this experience.

"look- I don’t want you to be my ally any more than you want to be mine," joel says, thoroughly exasperated. "but you and your allies seem to be fundamentally immortal in these games."

scott raises an amused eyebrow, clearly entertained by joel's attempts at formality. dickhead. "so, you’re trying to profit off my skill?"

joel scoffs, stretching his neck in the hopes of lessening some of the pain in his back. "you say that like it's a bad thing. you know, I-"

"no- you’re being ridiculous!" martyn interrupts, half shouting and apparently unaware of the commotion he’s causing. "it's downright irresponsible-"

"and what do you think you’re doing?" grian's wings have puffed up in anger. "you realise that out of everyone you could turn-"

"which is exactly why i’m not going to." martyn insists. joel has no idea what either of them are talking about, but it's better than arguing with scott.

jimmy barks a laugh. "there are more than one reasons you’re wrong there-"

"you can’t talk!" martyn jabs a finger at him. "how would you know-"

"how would I know?" jimmy says, voice slipping from indignation to anger. "how would- do you remember, martyn, who turned me?"

joel's back gives a sharp stab of pain, and he winces at it. maybe he pulled a muscle or something when he was swimming up the side of the mansion with building materials. 

scott looks at him. "what are you doing?"

"you- what?" joel glares back instinctively, which scott apparently finds funny. "i’m not doing anything?"

"if you say so." scott turns back to the argument.

joel scoffs, folding his arms- and instantly regrets it as a spasm shoots up his back. void- what did he do to himself? it seems like it's getting worse as the day goes on, which does not happen with muscle strains- as far as he remembers, anyway. scott glances at him again, and joel pretends he hasn't noticed.

" -hen you should know better." martyn's voice is cold, but there's something like regret lacing his tone. joel feels like he’s missed at least five chapters- what are they on about? "you know the risks-"

"you know the risks firsthand, martyn." grian steps forward. "and do you truly think They will take kindly-" 

"of course They won't, but it's not going to happen." martyn hisses.

whatever joel has managed to do to himself seems to be worsening by the second- demonstrated by the pounding behind his eyes that seems to have materialised out of nowhere. cool- great, this is exactly what he needs right now: more pain. he closes his eyes for a moment, in the hope that the lack of light might alleviate the throbbing pain. it does not help at all—in fact, it just makes him feel a little unstable, since he can no longer see where he’s stood. 

he's- wait, what- did joel open his eyes and not notice? that- no, that's definitely- what the fuck? is the game glitching, or is-

"joel?" scott's voice is uncomfortably close to his ear, and joel's eyes snap open (how the fuck could he still see). "are- what-" (why does scott look scared.)

"you- that's not normal." joel's voice sounds so far away from his body. does he have double vision?

pearl looks over at bigb from where she's been laying upside-down against the wall. she says something that looks like, "I have an idea." but no sound comes out.

maybe he just needs to lie down- it's probably fine. it's just- he has some kind of fever- he just needs to have a nap.

grian is too busy trying to stop both himself and jimmy from attacking martyn to notice that anything is wrong.

someone grabs his arm-

joel lists sideways, and scott manages to catch him on instinct before he completely topples over. his eyes- they've definitely not always been purple.

grian looks over, panic rising in his chest like bile as he realises the worst has happened- 

"can- is there-" joel's breath is coming far too quickly- is he even breathing anymore? "I don't-"

someone is grabbing his shoulders, and there are too many faces to even- decipher who it is. he might be on the floor- there's something that could be grass under his hands, and someone is talking- who is talking? joel doesn’t want- he doesn’t like any of this. can he go home?

his mind swims, bursts of colour and movement flashing before him, gone before he even has time to understand what they are. head pounding, faces blur his vision- some he recognises, some he can't even begin to process if they are actually faces by the time they've vanished. people are shouting what might be his name and everything is- there's too much- there's way too much-

amidst the chaos, there's a gentle pressure against his forehead, and all of a sudden-

"I- grian?" joel is- he’s looking at grian. he’s only looking at grian. 

grian's eyes are fading from purple back to black, and he looks so worried, joel is almost embarrassed. "i’m- void, i’m so sorry."

joel's chest is tight with fear, and now he isn't dealing with- whatever just happened, he realises that his back has begun to hurt a lot more than it already was. "what- what the fuck was that."

"it- that was my fault." grian drops his hands from joel's shoulders, and joel immediately misses the warmth, but he’s too focused on how guilty grian looks right now. "i’m- I was reckless- I knew what might happen, but I-"

"what happened?" joel says, almost exasperated. his back is killing him, and he doesn't know what's going on, and he just wants to go back to the mansion and curl up in their bed. "I don't- I don't care whose fault it is, I just- what was that?"

grian looks like he might cry, and that might just be the worst part of all of this. "you- so. you know what I am, right?"

"I- yeah?" joel remembers suddenly that scott and martyn are still here. "I- I know."

"well, that- if I get.. too close to someone, they-" grian's breath catches in his throat, and he coughs. joel wants to hug him, but- even the thought of lifting his arms that high makes his stomach turn. why does everything hurt so much? "it. it happens to them, too."

joel stares for a second, brain sluggish against the pain and overwhelm as he tries to understand what grian actually means. it takes a moment, but it begins to dawn on him. "you're saying- no, that wasn't-" he looks over at jimmy, half expecting to find him grinning. he is more solemn than joel has ever seen him. "that can't be- possible, I don't-"

"what did you see?" jimmy asks, and this is ludicrous, but-

"pearl and bigb." joel's head feels foggy, his spine burning at his flesh. "I- me, but, from scott's point of view. and my eyes were- wrong, I don't-" he takes a breath. "why did you not tell me?"

"selfishness, mostly." grian says softly. "there's no excuse."

"what- I just don't-" joel's breath is starting to feel laboured again as he tries to concentrate on his words and not how it feels as if his back is being sliced open. "why does it hurt?" his voice slips into something so vulnerable, joel is almost thankful that he’s too distracted to care that scott is right behind him. 

for the first time, confusion flits across grian's expression, coupled with a concerning amount of panic. "I- hurt? what hurts?" 

before joel can remember how to string the words together, scott is saying, "I- joel, take your jacket off."

grian looks as confused as joel feels, but scott sounds weirdly serious and joel is in too much pain to argue. "it- I can’t. it hurts to move."

"what's going on?" jimmy says, closer than he was a second ago.

"I would have thought you'd know." scott is saying, and joel is about to accept his fate and hit him when he finishes- "he’s growing wings."

there's a moment in which all joel can think is that he probably should have mentioned those feathers he kept finding in their bed, until there's a resounding squawk of- "what?"

"makes sense." joel grits out, if only because the juxtaposition is funny. if joel can’t commit to the bit in any situation, who even is he? "don't- don't suppose you have potions?"

"martyn, can you grab a golden apple?" scott says, stepping in front of joel—who is not happy that his best bet right now is scott smajor. he’s not so stubborn as to not accept his help though. "grian, help him take the jacket off. cut it off if needs-"

"you are- you are not ruining my jacket." joel manages to look up in order to glare at scott, but he falters as he takes in how concerned scott's expression is. scott notices him looking, and his face turns blank.

"fine- take the jacket off then, or it will get ruined." scott scoffs, turning away to watch martyn grab the apple.

"can you- are you gonna explain what is going on?" grian says, somewhat more desperate than joel thinks he meant to sound. "how is- why is this-"

a spasm of pain wracks joel's body, and he suppresses a scream as he falls forward on his arms, shaking a little. his breathing is heavy again- he just wants it to be over. 

"if I die," joel manages, head swimming. "will- can I just-" he can’t muster up the energy to finish the sentence, but the desperation in it seems to be conveyed. can it just be over?

"I don’t know." scott says, and despite it all, the helplessness in his voice brings joel some sense of vindication. so he doesn’t know everything.

"okay, i’m- i’m gonna take your jacket off." grian says, more panicked than joel knows he wants to sound. "can you- is that possible?"

joel lets grian move around him, barely lifting each arm as grian guides the sleeve of the jacket off his shoulders. as soon as the first sleeve comes off, joel finds himself relaxing ever so slightly at the lack of pressure against his spine. he should probably make that vest bigger.

"why- why is this-" joel can barely manage half of that sentence before the pain becomes too much, but scott seems to understand what he was trying to ask.

"i don't- i’m not sure." scott says, more panicked than joel thinks he’s heard him in a long while. "I just- this kind of thing happened to me in double life, but I still don't understand-"

"oh void." grian says suddenly, and joel has to resist the impulse to turn his head. "I thought i’d- it shouldn't be possible anymore-"

"what shouldn't be possible?" jimmy says, with a sense of urgency joel has never heard from him before.

grian hesitates for a moment, and joel recognises it—grian always does this when he's about to say something either bizarre or embarrassing. or both, more often than not. "the game- it thinks we're soulbound." 

there's a pause as everyone seems to process this ridiculous information, before jimmy says, "it- but why does it hurt? tango grew wings in double life, and he didn't even notice until his shirt got torn."

"there's- it's a.. thing." grian audibly winces as he speaks, as if he knows exactly how terrible whatever he’s going to say will sound and is preemptively apologetic. of course. "the closer soulmates are—like, emotionally close, I mean—the less painful it is- and vice versa. but- the game thinks we're soulmates, which. I assume is- is 'cause we're close. so since we're not actually soulbound-"

"it thinks that must be distance." scott realises. joel is gonna murder someone once he regains the use of his body.

joel groans, dropping his head to the ground in exhausted exasperation. "why's everything so.. weirdwith you?" he manages. 

"i’m so sorry." grian says, voice quiet enough that joel thinks only he was meant to hear it. 

joel is about to tell him not to worry about it when a kind of pain he’s never felt before in his life shoots through his back- and the ripping of flesh is all he can hear, a scream forcing its way from his mouth- primeval and torturous. he’s never felt pain before- he’s never felt death before- there can be nothing worse than this.

it feels like years until joel realises that he is beginning to see shapes again, that there are other noises in the world other than his own whimpers of agony, that the terrible tearing is not all he can feel anymore. there's something that feels like a viscous kind of liquid against his skin, and a sickly sweet smell that he can’t quite name. healing potion, joel recognises as the pain begins to lessen. 

after a long moment, joel finds himself able to push himself into a sitting position- and almost falls backwards as newfound weight pulls him down again. jimmy is in front of him all of a sudden, catching his shoulders and wiping something wet off his face. it could be tears, or blood, or potion—joel has no idea. 

"you- you with us?" jimmy asks, a scared-looking smile on his face, as if trying to reassure joel of something he can't bring himself to trust. "you’re not- you’re feeling better?"

joel nods, suddenly exhausted and more thankful than he realised for the warmth of jimmy's hands against his arms. "you- you guys are such nerds."

jimmy grins, looking ridiculously relieved at being insulted, and there's a soft laugh from next to him that sounds like grian. "yeah?" jimmy says. "how's that?"

"not- not sure if I misheard, but." joel takes a breath, and jimmy squeezes his arm gently. "'think you care about me so much that the game thinks we're soulmates. and you- you turned me into a watcher, or something." joel manages a grin. 

"yeah. you heard right." jimmy says, and there's a rush of affection in joel's chest. "I- do you want to lie down or something, 'cause you look like you’re about to pass out."

joel answers by shuffling slowly forwards and falling onto jimmy—far too tired and in far too much pain to let the embarrassment stop him. jimmy gives a slight gasp of worry, before wrapping his arms around joel's waist, lower than joel expected him to. it takes a second for him to remember that- he has wings now, which are probably in the way of normal hugs. jimmy presses a kiss into joel's hair, and he makes a soft sound of content.

"sorry I took so long." martyn's voice comes from somewhere behind him, more nervous than joel thinks he’s heard him in a while. man, he should grow wings more often if it makes everyone this scared. how's that for a trap? "we didn’t- I wasn't sure you’d be able to eat the apple-"

martyn's explanation is reduced to white noise in joel's ears, and- void, he’s tired. jimmy's heartbeat is audible from where joel is leant against him, and he can almost feel the way his own heart stutters to catch up; he wonders if grian's heart is at the same pace, with whatever this bizarre game has done to deign them unofficial soulmates. he wishes he had enough energy to pull grian into their hug and see for himself if their hearts all beat in unison now.

something occurs to him all of a sudden, and joel closes his eyes. he isn’t sure- and now probably is the worst time to try this kind of thing out, when he has no idea how any of it works, but maybe he can.. do something with this whole watcher thing. 

joel feels as if he’s trying to use a muscle that doesn’t exist—like some kind of phantom limb—but after a moment, grian's face comes into view. it's easier than he thought it'd be. almost like controlling a timelapse drone, but with your mind, and also the video is directly transmitted into your brain. it's pretty cool.

there's a stab of regret as joel stops congratulating himself on such a good job, and actually takes in the amount of guilt etched into every line of grian's face. his stomach drops as he turns (kind of? he sorta- uh. hard to explain, actually) and sees that jimmy is wearing a painfully similar expression. almost scared to see, joel looks at martyn and scott, and is at least vaguely reassured to see that they just look worried. frankly, if joel ever saw scott looking guilty because of joel, he'd have to end his own series. 

"it- it's not your fault y'know." joel manages—more of a mumble than anything else, but grian and jimmy both seem to know he’s talking to them. "'s kinda cool. I should probably thank you."

grian is looking at him- or, maybe his.. watcher drone? either way, he seems to know he’s being looked at. "I am sorry, either way." he says, but he doesn’t look as devastated as he did a moment ago. "I didn’t- I should have told you what could happen."

joel snorts. "if you thought I was about to turn down cool powers and wings, you don’t know me well enough." he finds that it's getting somehow easier to speak, despite being exhausted, and he remembers the healing potion still travelling through his veins. he never thought he'd be this thankful for martyn- probably ever.

grian smiles, and it feels as if a knot in joel's chest has dissipated. "you’re definitely getting the hang of it."

jimmy hums in agreement. "it's not called a drone though." he says, and it very suddenly occurs to joel what a listener must be able to do. "I- did you not already know?"

"how was I meant to?" joel huffs, watching with slight embarrassment as jimmy smiles at it. "you’re a secretive lot."

"so- and I hate to disrupt this," scott suddenly says, and joel suppresses an instinctive groan. "but do you need any more help?"

there's a mischievous kind of look that flashes across grian's face, if only for a second, and joel can't help but feel reassured by the fact that he's getting back to normal. "well- we could use a couple allies?"

scott sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can’t really turn you down now, can I?" he says, and there's a weird kind of tone that makes joel wonder if he’s actually as annoyed as he’s putting on. 

"I just grew wings." joel mumbles, unintentionally quiet but apparently effectively sympathetic, as even martyn seems to be swayed. look at him go. "'can’t just.. throw us to the wolves now."

scott rubs his face with a hand, clearly throughly exasperated at how easily he has been won over. "yeah- okay, fine. we can be allies." 

"thanks." jimmy grins a little, and joel watches as scott softens ever so slightly at it. 

joel opens his eyes, and he’s once again staring into the coral reef, facing away from everyone else. jimmy's hand is in his hair, and his back is only aching now. he’s a little worried to move, in case it all starts feeling abysmal again, but he can hardly spend the rest of his 24 hours on the mean gills' bridge.

"I could carry you." jimmy suggests, and joel makes a noise of concern—thinking about how precarious they've made their base. "that's- yeah, that's a good point." 

"could you try to stand?" grian says tentatively. his voice sounds closer than it was a moment ago, and there's a hand on joel's shoulder that has to be grian's. "the pain shouldn't get too much worse, since the potion has actually fixed a lot of the wounds."

joel wonders if grian can read minds too, or if he just knows what joel would be thinking. he doesn’t think he can read minds, which suggests that- maybe grian just knows him that well. it's a nice thought. 

he pushes himself slightly more upward, regretful as he leaves the warmth of jimmy's embrace- and immediately begins to fall backwards again, once again completely forgetting how unbalanced he is now. both jimmy and grian make noises of panic before joel catches himself before he topples all the way over, and he can’t help grinning despite the twinge of pain the sudden movement shoots through his back- and wings, which is a bizarre feeling. 

"I might need some help not falling over." joel grins, as grian stands up and lends him a hand. "but it doesn’t hurt that much anymore."

"that's good." grian says, a wave of relief overtaking his expression. joel squeezes his hand, and grian smiles. 

jimmy is at his side before joel realises. "maybe we avoid bread bridge for a bit." he says, and joel snorts.

the journey back to the mansion is not nearly as perilous as joel had worried it'd be, considering that it's day and anyone they bumped into seemed to notice the dried blood accompanying the very large wings on joel's back and presumably decided that trying to kill them now would just be rude. the downright murderous looks from both jimmy and grian when someone came a little too close with a weapon, or made just a bit too serious of a threat probably also helped.

instead of attempt to swim with the unfamiliar weight of his newgrown wings, joel elects to pillar up instead. jimmy and grian hover next to him, climbing onto trees and swimming up the water in some attempt to provide a safety net if he falls. admittedly, it's quite sweet- not that he's about to tell them that. he instead settles on insisting that he knows how to pillar up, and praying to every deity that might exist for him not to fall off immediately.

luckily, no one falls or dies or whatever, and they all make it to the top of the mansion in one piece. joel is prepared to pass out in their bed as soon as he reaches it, but he doesn’t really want his bad boys to worry even more at his exhaustion.

as if reading his mind- oh. he forgot- yeah, he can actually do that, can't he? it- anyway, jimmy plops himself down, and gestures for grian and joel to join him—which joel happily obliges. grian almost hesitates, but joel drags him along, and grian doesn't even bother protesting. 

joel lays next to jimmy, and grian—who followed quickly after him—pulls him into a hug. huffing softly, joel hugs back. "it's okay." he mumbles into grian's shoulder. "I promise- i'd say something if it weren't."

"I know." grian half-whispers, clearly fighting tears. "i’m- I just can’t get over- I did this to you."

joel swallows more emotion than he expected. "yeah. but- it's- it's 'cause you care. it's not- I can’t hate that." grian makes a little noise that could be a suppressed sob. 

"thank you." joel can barely make it out, but he can’t help but blink back tears at the honesty in it- from grian, of all people, that means a lot.

his wings are still sore, and moving them sends an ache down his back, but joel finds himself wanting to wrap them around grian. "I just- I also- y’know. care." joel says, kind of hoping it's too muffled for either grian or jimmy to hear. "it's- I like having.. I don’t know, a piece of you guys with me." 

grian sniffles, holding joel tighter. "I- dude, you’re- you’re gonna make me cry."

"join the club." joel huffs a laugh, eyes burning. he buries his face in grian's jumper in the hopes that it'll wipe away any tears that come. 

there's a very quiet clearing of someone's throat next to them—unmistakably jimmy. joel doesn’t even need to look up to know he’s also trying not to start crying, and he blindly reaches out a hand until he finds jimmy's shirt and pulls him towards them both. grian catches on, shifting a little to make room for their bad boy. 

"I- I didn’t wanna ruin the moment." jimmy is saying as both grian and joel drag him into the hug. 

joel can't help smiling as he feels jimmy wrap his arms around him, which- it's embarrassing, but weirdly, he doesn’t even care. "as if either of you could ruin anything." he scoffs, almost to himself. 

there's a kiss pressed into his hair, and grian laughs as joel rolls his eyes (if only to disguise how much he appreciates it). "bad boys for life, right?"

jimmy mhms along as joel grins, "bad boys for life."

[30somethingautisticteacher]

Just a little bit of Christmas Crack

***

"No, no, I definitely have the winner," Hen said. "10-year-old female tripped and impaled herself in the eye with a sharpened candy cane."

The table of seasoned first responders collectively shivered, a mix of horror and professional fascination crossing their faces.

"No way. Mine's better," Chim challenged. "28-year-old man, allergic reaction to eggnog-flavored lubricant."

The whole table groaned at the thought of that.

"How am I the first to mention the Christmas Brawl of 2022?" Eddie asked. "Siblings got into a knock-down, drag-out fight over some Christmas ornament and were throwing punches on the front lawn dressed in reindeer costumes."

Bobby nodded, a wry smile crossing his face. "Now that was a Christmas to remember. I think Eddie may be our winner."

"Not so fast, Diaz," Maddie began. "I think dispatch has got this one in the bag. In fact, just last night we got a very interesting call."

Tommy started to turn red as Buck looked at her with pleading, horrified eyes.

"41-year-old male and his 34-year-old boyfriend decided to have a bit of fun with some Christmas roleplay," Maddie said, her voice matter-of-fact.

The eyes of the table widened, a mix of shock and anticipation.

"Maddie..." Buck begged, his voice a desperate whisper.

"Apparently, the older man was able to put the Santa suit on initially, but his little elf worked him up so much that the pants became too tight to get off."

The room erupted in a combination of groans, laughs, and looks of secondhand embarrassment. Buck looked like he wanted to disappear, while Tommy's face had turned an impressive shade of crimson.

"Don't worry, the 122 got everything all squared away," Maddie said.

"Yeah, but Sal's never gonna let me live it down," Tommy said.

"Deluca was there?" Bobby asked. "Maddie, I'm sorry, but Tommy deserves this win more than you do. Sal will be telling this story as part of his eulogy."

Buck pulled Tommy close, capturing his lips in a kiss that silenced the table's laughter.

"Worth it," he murmured against Tommy's mouth.

"Best Christmas ever," Tommy whispered back, grinning.

[caeliuluru]

reciprocity, the heart

Summary: You get married to your lover, Xavier, an alpha. The both of you bask in the afterglow of your wedding night. Tags: alpha xavier/omega MC, top xavier/bottom MC, female MC, aftercare, FLUFF, but implied (although very obviously referenced) bedroom activities, implied subspace on MC's part

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Pure bliss is all you can feel in the afterglow— your heartbeat in sync with Xavier’s, breaths intermingling in the space of your bedroom. Your hands run down the long, red marks you’ve left on your husband’s back as a result of your lovemaking, while he plants gentle kisses along the fresh bond mark on the side of your neck. 

“Alpha… Xavier…” you whine softly. You’re still coming down from the very high cloud he’s sent you to, mind all hazy and too pleasured to think straight. 

He smiles against your skin, satisfied. “Still sensitive, love?” Another nuzzle across the space between your neck and shoulder. He moves his hands across your sides, soothing you as his knot deflates. The air thrums with the affection between you both. He’s pleased, the smell of lavender and cedarwood in the air. The two of you spend a few more moments in comfortable silence before he decides to move again. 

“I’ll pull out now, okay?” You nod, and you smile at him, dazed, but very much relieved. 

A soft moan leaves your lips as he parts from you, shared release sticking to both your bodies and dripping to the towel you left on the bed. Your hand shifts to squeeze his, trying to ground yourself. God knows what time it is— after all the guests had left and had given their well-wishes, the two of you rushed to the hotel room, with matching rings on your fingers. The nearby late-night cafes near your suite had quieted down, and the few city lights from the window and your nightlamp cast their gentle light across your face.

You’re beautiful, he thinks. He lifts your hand to plant a kiss on your palm. It’s a stroke of luck written in the stars— to see every expression and version of you. He promised to find you in every lifetime, and he’s still in disbelief— you’re right here in front of him. Whether you’re breathless and blissed out, or composed and focused, you’re beautiful. Xavier doesn’t think he deserves the way you look at him— like he’s hung the moon and stars just for you. He would, had he the power to. For now, he can promise this: he’ll protect you, take care of you, and hold you close for as long as he can. The mark and the ring is a promise to make you happy for the rest of your time together. This time, he’s staying by your side.

His eyes sparkle with so much love that you’re taken aback for a moment. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. So instead of asking, you press your lips to his in a passionate kiss, and he chuckles, kissing back.

I don’t deserve this. And yet, you chose him.

“My pretty,” a kiss to your forehead. “Gorgeous,” another to your cheekbone. “Girl.” Right cheek. “My love.” A sweet kiss on your lips. “My star,” Another right on the tip of your nose. “My wife, so good for me.”

“Xavier…” you pull your lover in for a hug, wanting to remain near him. You sigh as you breathe in his scent. If this is what it’s like to be bonded— claimed for life— then you don’t want to let go.

He brings his hand to your face, gently stroking your cheek, and smiles. Because just as much as he loves to bring you to heaven, he’ll be your ground, take you down safely.

“I’ll get you water, okay? Then after that, I’ll draw us a bath, and get you clean. How does that sound?” The words settle into your mind, sinking, before you finally comprehend them and nod. He kisses your palm again before he gets up slowly and leaves for the kitchen.

A few minutes pass. As the fog begins to clear, the stickiness between your legs becomes much more apparent to you.

Ah… what a mess.

And Xavier… he’d come back, wouldn’t he? The air feels too cold, all of a sudden, and you feel a dull ache in your limbs. You stretch your arms a little, adjusting our position on the bed so you can sit up. But you know you couldn’t stand if you tried. Where is he? You want to hold him, and be held in return while your brain is still on its way down from the high you’ve experienced. The left side of your neck stings a little, and you hiss when you touch it briefly.

Right on time, your husband comes into your shared bedroom with a jug of cold water. A look of worry crosses his face, and he immediately moves closer to check on you.

“Are you… hurt? Was I too rough?”

You shake your head and cough before you start speaking. You really could use the water that Xavier brought. “It’s nothing… the mark just hurts a little, but I’m okay. My fault for touching it when it’s fresh.” Knowing how he gets, you give him a reassuring smile.

The frown remains.

“Xavi, I’m okay, I promise.”

To calm him down, you rub your nose lightly against his and release some of your scent pheromones. The familiar blend of vanilla and lavender is a a warm blanket over his worry, wrapping around it and letting him know you really are alright.

“I’ll get you some ointment later,” he quietly says. Sometimes you think he worries too much about you, but nonetheless, you appreciate his care. It’s cute, and very much Xavier, how he still looks out for you in times like these. Xavier then lifts the jug to your lips, and you take the cue, drinking from it. “Careful now, don’t drink too fast.” He lets go of the jug once you grip it yourself. As you drink, he gazes at you fondly, hand lifting to smooth your hair a little. You don’t need to look in the mirror to see that you’re wrecked, love bites all over you, but unbeknownst to you, you’re a picture of satisfaction. Xavier glances at the mirror, then back at you. So, so pretty. My mate. All mine. Does she know I’m all hers?

From the corner of his eye, he spots the mark he asked you to leave on him. It’s not going to last, an Omega doesn’t have the same canines an Alpha does. But it doesn’t matter. He wants you to know he’s all yours just as much as you’re his.

When you’re finished, you set the almost-empty jug on the side table. “Ready?” Xavier reaches out a hand to you and asks. Confused, your eyebrows knit together, wondering if he really did expect you to be able to walk after he essentially pummeled you into the bed.

“I mean, I can try walking— wait!”

Suddenly, his hand loops around your legs and torso, lifting you in a bridal carry, and the two of you laugh as he brings you to the bathroom.

“Idiot.” Your eyes crinkle as you tease him. “Making me think that I’d have to walk when you know I can’t.” Xavier smiles cheekily and sets you down on the edge of the bathtub before grabbing a washcloth, bringing it under the sink. “I’d never do anything of the sort. Now that I’m your husband, you should always presume kindness on my part,” he quips.

“Do you want me to clean you up or would you rather do it yourself?” Always mindful, always caring of your boundaries, even if he wants nothing more than to be close to you.

“I don’t mind. C’mere.”

He then brings the washcloth to your center, cleaning up the worst of the mess. He runs the rag gently, eyes growing just a shade darker as he cleans the evidence of your… previous activities. Cute.

“You’re trying not to laugh.”

“Am not.” You stifle another giggle.

“Mhm. Just as much as hotpot is served cold and you stop staying up late .”

The corners of your lips turn up in a grin Xavier knows all too well. “And the reason why I’m up late tonight is right in front of me!” At that, you squish his face, gently shaking his head. Even if his face is puffed up because of you, his blue eyes gleam with a joy that’s reserved for when he sees you happy.

After you let go of him, he swipes your inner thighs a few more times, then quickly turns to get the bath ready.

You watch him, pouring the bubble bath mix into the water. My alpha, you think. Xavier is all strong and aloof on the outside, when he’s out on missions with you. People at the Association marvel at his mysterious aura and skill in killing Wanderers. Whether or not he clocks in at HQ, you hear people talk about him, about how the Association’s poster boy is so handsome, but barely mingles, asking questions like “How hard does he train?” and “Does he have a partner?” They don’t even know about the off-the-clock trips he takes to the No-Hunt Zone. And now, said most feared hunter is married and mated to you, preparing a bubble bath, making sure the water isn’t too cold nor hot. He reminds you to take breaks, and invites you to read comic books and stargaze when you can’t sleep. Of course, you can’t forget about how he brings you pleasure and pain in equal measure, right where you want it, and takes you back to Earth after. The dim light of the bathroom and the sound of running water add to the lull of the scene. A warm, fuzzy feeling rises in your chest, and you gaze fondly at him. My mate. Does he know how lovely he is?

Absentmindedly, you reach out to trace the scratches on his back, as if to remind yourself that the man you’ve been thinking about is very much real and in front of you.

“Ow,” he shifts slightly. Oops. As an apology, you kiss the red marks softly. “Sorry…”

“It didn’t hurt that much.” “Still. I was just… lost in thought, or something.” He closes the tap, and the two of you get in the bathtub. You adjust to make room for him, backside facing his chest. In the water, his hands automatically wrap around your waist, and he kisses your bond mark again. The two of you ease back into the comfortable lull a shared night bath provides. It’s warm and quiet, the water on your skin refreshing. You sigh. All is right in the world.

“Are you okay?” Xavier pipes up.

“Mhm. Good. Very good, in fact.” You lean back on his shoulder as you soak, trying not to fall asleep as Xavier nuzzles into your neck.

After a while, he squeezes your hands to rouse you from your semi-nap. He adjusts and sits up, grabbing the shower head and shampoo to wash your hair. His hands are firm, yet they rub your scalp in a way that makes you shut your eyes in calm bliss. When he finishes, you turn around to take the showerhead from him.

“Could I… wash your hair too?”

Your partner’s eyes crinkle as he lets out an airy laugh, because of course you’d ask, never content with being the only one doted on in the relationship; it’s fair that you show him how much you love him as well. He hums as you lather the shampoo in his scalp, fingers applying just the right amount of pressure, and right here, he thinks, is home. Anywhere you are is where he’s happy, content — whether the two of you are in the regular life-or-death situations you subject yourselves to as Hunters or are out relishing time as normal people, passing by the park on the way home from a busy day, having dinner together— and now you’re bound together for the rest of your life.

“I love you,” he says softly, and leans his head back.

“Sappy.” You chuckle, and kiss the matching mark on his neck,

“Isn’t it normal for a husband to tell his wife that he loves her?” Oh. There it is, the pout and the puppy dog eyes you know so well.

You wash off the last of the suds from his silvery hair and acquiesce to your adorable husband. “Okay, okay. I love you too.”

The water’s gone cold already, and Xavier kisses your temple before he leaves the tub. You soak for a few more moments before he returns, dressed, carrying with him one of his shirts, your underwear, and pajamas. He carefully dries you off, making sure the towel is especially gentle around your bond mark, and dresses you before carrying you back to the bed. The towel you’ve used and the top bedsheet are in a pile somewhere in one of the suite’s closets, and his suit and your gown are folded somewhere on top of the luggage. He sets you gently on the plush bed, before pulling the covers over you and himself. On instinct, you snuggle into him, cozy.

“Xavier, thank you.”

He responds by pulling you closer and kissing the top of your head. “I should be thanking you.”

“If we keep this up, we’ll never stop.”

“Isn’t that why we got married?” He hums thoughtfully, this time another song, one he had played for you on the piano years ago, as he strokes your hair.

You pull yourself up, nuzzling and sniffing at his neck sleepily.

“I still smell like you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” “Mhm, I just… want you near.”

Any more closer and Xavier is positive that you’ll merge yourself into him, but he remains silent, as maybe the idea doesn’t sound bad at all.

By a stroke of luck, the stars aligned to bring them together, him and his starlight. Your breathing slows as you begin to fall asleep.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You smile. “I love you too, Xavier.”

The two of you drift into the land of dreams.

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A/N: this is the most self-indulgent thing i've ever published. man. anyway stay hydrated friends. merry christmas :3