#i miss my friend who’d watch my game all the time

[wlwreader]

how to move on??

[caramelkoo]

be still my heart — jjk [two]

the one in which Jungkook lets his imagination run wild and you confront Jimin about your past.

genre : childhood best friends to enemies to lovers, physical therapist!reader x hockey player!jungkook, slow burn, smut, fluff, angst

word count : 5.1k

chapter warnings : strong language, kissing, jungkook is again nervous around Destiny. That's it i guess lmk if i missed anything.

a/n : ohmygod the first part got so much love i just couldn't wait to post this. This one is a bit intense. I love my babiest baby jungkook so much. Please enjoy my lovely people and remember you're so loved :> feel free to send asks. kisses.

Jungkook

During Jungkook’s college days, there was a guy named Oscar who’d sit beside him in class with his round glasses resting on his face. He would bunk classes almost every day which led the ever so curious Jungkook to follow him one day in order to find out what’s so special that he’s even willing to bunk classes for? Listen, the nerdy Jungkook thought bunking classes is bad manners. Don’t come at him.

Eventually, he found himself watching Oscar playing the guitar inside the vacant auditorium and he can swear he’s heard nothing more melodic than that. He figured the guy escaped so he could do what he loves. It was his passion.

If someone were to ask him, what’s his passion? Jungkook would say, Hockey. It pumps him up, it brings him back to life. He was born to do this.

He has seen his older brother playing hockey for as long as he can remember but trying the sport for himself? That never came to him, until his brother thought handing out a hockey stick to a 15 year old would be funny.

Newsflash, it wasn’t funny and as much as he doesn’t want to, Jungkook has no option than to give him the credit for him being here. It’s only right. The moment he held that hockey stick it was like the clouds parted and angels started singing.

This life right here is something he has built with hours and hours of practice, diet, diligence and working himself out until he’s a sweaty mess.

It’s not like every other 28 year old’s life, it’s different as well as demanding but every other 28 year old is also not being thrown into the penalty box like him right?

On a good day he would even call himself a conflict-avoidant guy until it comes to his teammates. Then, he’s an animal, ready to tear down every motherfucker who dares to touch them. Dramatic? he doesn't think so.

Yes, they piss him off but they’re a team, it’s a unified responsibility that they have. You stop at nothing to protect your own. The spark of defensiveness is bound to come to the surface given he's the defenseman of the team.

This is why he’s in here, trapped behind this glass shield as he watches the guys do their worst performance till date. The forward of the opposite team tried to get a fight started making Jungkook see red. His instincts led him to act immediately. He had to do something to put an end to it and breaking the guy’s nose seemed like a nice option.

The lions are not an easy team to play with, they’re hard hitters and show no mercy. That’s what coach has been telling them ever since they landed here. Seems like nobody listened. Fuckers.

Sweat drips from his hair as he watches the game, ears filling up with screams behind him.

“Jeon Jungkook I’ll have your babies”

“Jungkook you’re so hot it makes me insane”

“Oh god this man will be my death”

“He can slap me and I’ll thank him”

God help him. The thing is, the shitshow before him is not the only reason behind him being a mess today. Destiny has been… weird lately. At the risk of sounding like a goner, she’s not acknowledging him at all, like at all.

She used to grab the seat in front of him on the plane whenever the team flew for the games but this time she didn’t so much as look at the poor guy let alone sitting before him. Is she hurt because of last time? Did he fuck up again? This proclivity of fumbling every time he’s around her needs to be checked.

“Dude, we couldn’t have held a candle to them.” says Taehyung.

Ah yes, the guys lost the game if it wasn’t predictable enough and now the coach will have their heads on a platter ready to serve. Well, he doesn't want to do that any more than Jungkook himself does.

Jungkook gets rid of his shin pads, placing them on the bench. “Try saying that in front of coach”

“He’ll understand”

Yoongi glares at him, “The fuck he will. He’s been in our faces telling us how wild it might be over there. Who listened? Because you sure not did, Tae”

Taehyung chuckles in disbelief, propping his hands on his waist. “Dude, you’re targeting me as if I was the one breaking noses and all.”

He gives Jungkook a side eye. Oh he’s so gonna get Tae later.

“You might as well have. And as for you,” he glances at Jungkook, "I'll just hope you come back in one piece."

“Alright, cut it out” Namjoon says as he slips into his practice jersey. That’s so like him. Heading straight for practice after a big game, whether or not they win.

He’s one of the most dedicated people Jungkook has ever seen and you can’t generally get a praise out of him like this.

He blocks out their bickering and focuses on getting out of his hockey pants. A sharp pain shoots up in his knee making him cringe. That’s strange. He doesn’t remember his knee getting involved in the ruckus. Anyway, he makes a mental note of letting Destiny know about it and not repeat the same douchebaggery.

“Hey bud, you doing okay?” Namjoon asks as he’s rubbing the painful spot.

He looks up, “Yeah it’s… it’s just a slight pain. Might be a cramp for all I know”

He pats Jungkook’s shoulder in support, a kind smile plastered on his face. “I hope so and hey, don’t be picking fights like that anymore. You understand?”

Jungkook is quick to defend himself. “But that asshole–”

“I know,” he nods, “Just be careful. That’s all I’m saying. Let it be your last.”

He gives up, nodding his head. “Yeah. I’ll resist”

Namjoon is right. Jungkook did not pick a fight and he knows it. He also knows that Jungkook is always ready to come at his players’ defense, however that might be.

After all, it all boils down to a nasty fight on the rink which is nothing to be surprised about. There have been plenty of fights down here, some resulting in broken limbs and some going as far as a person on a stretcher.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Nightclubs are hands down Jungkook’s least favorite spot ever. He hates the smell, he hates the crowd and he hates how loud everything gets. If it weren’t for Yoongi, he would be at home chilling or overthinking. No one can tell.

Although, he’s not sure if he can even call that four walled room his ‘home’. It’s not home, it’s just a place he was given to stay at when he joined the federation and while he’s more than grateful for it, an empty, emotionless space where he only exists in can’t be qualified as a home.

However, he can’t stop wanting a place which is only his. A place he can share with someone he loves, wakeup next to her, cook with her, make memories with her. A home overflowing with laughter and giggles only.

Clearly, that murky ass house can never live up to that expectation not when it consists of a bathroom smaller than his fist, a bedroom which can’t fit more than 3 people at once and a kitchen he, for some reason, can’t get himself to cook in. He believes someday he’ll have that albeit the wait.

“Do you think I’m joking?” Taehyung’s voice is louder than ever before because of the surroundings. Sitting beside Namjoon as his hands fist a glass of old fashioned, he acts like he just spilled the most expensive beans.

He dramatically places one hand on his chest and turns to Jungkook, “Dude, tell him. Tell him how I got my dick pierced last week”

A chuckle leaves him, “Better yet, you can lose those pants and give him a live show”

The guys break out in fits of laughter.

“Don’t act like you haven’t seen my dick already, you twat. I did it for my girlfriend alright? Was this close to tattooing her name too but didn’t,” he holds up his thumb and forefinger to show how much,

“I don’t want my guy to swell and look like I accidentally got it stuck between a door or something.”

From his peripheral vision, Jungkook spots Destiny walking up to them looking like an absolute goddess. She’s wearing a shoulder strapped bodycon dress tonight with her hair curled in such a way that it makes her face look more feminine. He has seen so much of her in those scrubs that she’s doing things to him now. Hold your damn horses, Jungkook.

The poor guy can’t so much as look at her for too long or he’ll get hard. That’s something he can’t allow himself to do right here when all his friends are gathered. They’re never gonna let him live that down.

Maybe, when he’s alone he can fuck his hand with the thoughts of her taking him into that sweet mouth she’s got a bold red lipstick look going on. His cheeks turn crimson and he fights back a smile.

“Hey, guys” she greets them as she tucks a hair strand behind her ear. A gold hoop adorning her. God, she’s trying to kill him. She's like Jungkook’s own version of heaven.

The guys all smile up at her like she just asked them to give her a foot massage. Meanwhile, her eyes never land on Jungkook.

“Jimin, can I steal you for a second?” she hesitates.

“Sure” Jimin places down his drink and stands up. He walks up to her and rests his hand at the small of her back making Jungkook’s smile drop. Nice, he's getting jealous over a kind gesture now. Next thing you know, he'll be ending anyone who dares to breathe in her direction.

Namjoon shakes his head as he follows them both with his gaze. “Am I the only one who thinks they’re fucking?”

Yoongi dissolves into laughter while Taehyung spits out his drink. Almost. Jungkook? He finds nothing funny about it but refrains himself from saying something stupid in the heat of the moment.

“There’s some tension, yes. Can’t say anything about the fucking part though” says Yoongi.

“What do you think?”

“What?”

“Do you think they’re shagging?” asks Taehyung in a hushed voice.

“I think you assholes need therapy” With that he rests his own glass of drink on the table and walks away. Their voices calling out to him become more and more faint as he goes on.

He needs to find out what is it that gave rise to this sudden change in Destiny and if he’s the reason for it. His stomach churns as soon as the thought of her having something going with Jimin crosses his mind.

The guys were joking back there and given their proclivity of joking around, he takes their statements with a grain of salt. Howbeit, he can’t help but wonder the same.

The worst thing of all is he doesn’t have any right to feel this way. She’s not his and she might never be for all he knows. So maybe this is for the best, maybe if she keeps on discounting him like this, it would be slightly easier to forget her. Right?

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Destiny

“What do you think you’re doing? This is a men's bathroom?” A guy who must be in his early twenties nearly pokes his finger in Jimin’s eyes. His gaze darts over to you as he gives you a disgusted look.

Jimin levels him with an intimidating glare, “Why don’t you mind your own damn business and we’ll be good. Yeah?”

He flashes you another appalling look, his nose flaring before he walks out. For a second you might even endorse with the guy but in your own defense, the club is buzzing with commotion and there was not a single space Jimin and you found where you both could have a proper conversation without anyone bumping into you. You spent quite the money on this dress and it'd be bummer to ruin it. It’s insane how crowded it is. So, here you are.

Jimin turns to you, his fingers still laced through yours for the sake of your safety. “I’m sorry for that”

You snatch your hand back. “No it’s totally fine. I mean it’s not usual for a guy to bring a woman in here” an awkward chuckles leaves you.

“It is”

Your smile drops, “Huh?”

“They do bring women in here. Well, let’s just say they do everything except have a talk”

Of course they do. God, this is more awkward than you imagined it would to be. You could die of embarrassment right now but if you don’t clear things up with him, it would be more humiliating to simply exist around him. You roll your shoulders back, plucking up enough courage.

“Let’s discuss the elephant in the room, shall we?”

He steps closer to you, just enough to catch you off guard but not enough to knock the breath out of your chest. There is someone else who's been doing that job lately.

“What elephant Destiny? The one about us having the best time together or how you left me the next morning? Alone and pathetic” he demands.

Well, knock me down with a feather.

Your mouth parts in shock, “I left you? You sneaked out, Jimin and you know it”

You wonder if he’s gonna come clean about that. If he’s gonna stop blaming you and take accountability for once. You guys did have the best time together and as short lived as it was, you regret nothing about that night until this point.

Now that he stands in front of you, accusing you of being so cowardly that you dared to leave him, it makes you question your own integrity.

He takes another step forward, automatically making you take one back as he searches your face. “So where were you when I woke up? Where were you when I reached my hand out and didn’t find you lying next to me, huh?” his voice barely a whisper.

Enough. You wouldn’t have bothered to stop the scream that’s begging to leave you had someone pointed a gun at your head. A gal can only take so much before she snaps.

“I WAS OUT THERE SEARCHING FOR MORNING AFTER PILLS”

The vacant bathroom echoes with your own words. The words you were holding back from saying out loud.

“I went in search of those, Jimin. Apparently, that’s what you’re supposed to do when you fuck each other and not take necessary precautions”

He stills, backing off as if you had slapped him. A heavy silence hangs in the air around you.

Jimin’s eyes flash with barely contained astonishment as he looks around trying to find words. When he doesn’t say anything, you take it as an opportunity to continue.

“You weren’t lying about us having a great time together. I accept that, we did have fun and I don’t regret it which honestly, I’m not so sure of now.”

A quick look of hurt passes through his face before he recovers.

“I was planning on staying back too oh… how badly I wanted to stay back but you have to understand that I was also at the prime of my career as a professional physical therapist. I couldn’t afford having a child, Jimin. Back then even the thought scared me. So, I left for a while, mentally promising you to come back. You were sleeping so soundly and you looked so beautiful and I didn’t want to disturb you—”

Your words come to an abrupt halt as he takes a long step towards you, backing you up against the white wall behind.

It’s not the same, your chest is not rising and falling rapidly like it did back then. Gosh, you couldn’t even speak in front of him. This time you’re immune to his eyes, his closeness and his warmth. Is this what they call healing?

“You should have” his brown eyes flash with hunger, “You should have disturbed me, Destiny. I would have woken up, ate you out, maybe fucked you again while wearing a condom, cuddled you and then accompanied you to the medical store.”

Oh fuck no, this is not happening. You’re not getting yourself back into this situation where he charms you with his mere words and leaves you cold. You deserve better than that.

You push him back with your palms on his chest, “Maybe, but I think I wouldn't have it any other way,”

You look straight into his eyes and nowhere else to make him feel how serious you are, leaving no room for uncertainty.

“Bella, my assistant, keeps saying that everything happens for a reason. It’s written up there," you point your forefinger up, "I feel the same about what went down with us. There was a reason why you left, there was a reason behind me not bothering to wake you up."

A bitter chuckle slips through your mouth, “Although, I can’t seem to grasp why the hell are you here?”

The way your heart is beating inside your chest, you might end up on a ventilator. It’s because you haven’t had much control of anything in your life, this feels particularly massive. This is one way for you to take back control, because it’s your choice and yours alone.

You try not to let the tears spill, “I asked you to spare me a few minutes just so I could talk to you about it but this isn’t how I imagined this conversation to go, Jimin. Regardless of that, I need you to do me a favor”

He holds your gaze. “What favor?”

You clear your burning throat, “I’m requesting you to please not initiate any conversation about our past with any of the guys. That could pretty much cost me my job and yours.”

He offers you a stern nod, “You have my word”

With that you turn and walk around just like you always do and always should when it’s time. Only this time, you don’t feel victorious. Instead, the feeling of utter shock rushes through your body because standing outside is the only person you had been avoiding to say the least.

You flinch. “Jungkook?”

He’s leaning back against the cold wall with his hands inside his front pockets, head hanging low. You can’t make his face out because of the darkness.

He frantically lifts up his head when he hears you calling, looking as surprised as you, “Hey, I— wait, why are you coming out of the men’s room?”

You shift on your feet, folding your hands in front of you. “What? OH !! Well, I had some business with Jimin and this felt like a nice place to.. you know”

You can’t talk for the life of you. How do you explain yourself to him without word vomiting? But then you think better of it and just shake your head.

“You know what? Never mind that. What about you? Why are you standing here like someone just broke your heart?”

No fucking way did you just say that. What is this? A bollywood movie? You immediately feel like you hit a nerve when his face falls, causing you to curse yourself.

He’s silent for a moment before he stands up straight. “You could say that”

“Wait, really?”

Yet again you’re struggling to breathe, a spark of curiosity threatening to rise up. Why do you care about his heart? He’s been all but rude to you every day since you’ve begun working by his side so why would you care if someone put his bloody heart in a blender? You have been assigned to take care of his body, what happens unrelated to that is none of your business.

Except, you do. There is a teeny tiny part of you that cares. Though, you can’t say if it’s the doctor inside of you or something else. Something which could ruin you and save you all at once.

“Who is it?” you ask in a small voice.

His eyes rank behind you and he pulls you close to him by grabbing your arm. You see a man passing by, faltering on his own under the influence of probably the sheer amount of alcohol inside him.

When you look up, you have to swallow a gasp. Jungkook’s face is so close to you, you can almost count his moles. The one under his lips is begging to be kissed and you hold yourself back from grabbing him by his jacket as you kiss the hell out of him.

Wait what?!

He looks down at you, his eyes burning with something you can’t pinpoint. It’s like a mixture of anger and adoration. Soft lips brush your temples as your heart beats out of your chest.

“It’s not safe here. Why don’t you go join Bella? If I break another nose it’ll cost me good”

You lean back, still in his arms. It would be nice if you get out of his hold. You should shove him away too exactly like you did with Jimin but for some reason, you can’t. His hold is safe, cozy. It reminds you of your grandmas cookie recipe. Warm and lovely.

“Another nose? Did you get into a fight?”

He breaks away, turning his back to you but you clutch his forearm as you hold him back before he can bolt.

“You know the PR is gonna make your life a living hell. What did you do?”

His jaw sets instinctively as he looks at you for a moment before speaking.

“Destiny, if you don’t want me kissing that sweet mouth of yours and imprint my name on it for once and for all, get the fuck out of here.” he rasps.

That's it. Flashbacks of that night and that fucking dream consume you. It doesn't help at all that he looks so dashing tonight in all black. Black leather jacket, black pants and his black boots. You're having visions you shouldn't have. They're nice. Farfetched but nice, nonetheless.

You release his hand like it will set you have you combust if you keep holding onto it for even a moment longer. You turn around, with the intent of getting out of his proximity when his voice stops you.

“Destiny”

You don’t turn around because something is telling you if you do, you will never be the same.

“My life turned into a living hell the moment you stopped looking at me”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Jungkook

Jungkook is dying. 

Figuratively, of course.

He should have taken Destiny seriously when she said that the PR is going to make his life miserable once he gets to know about the mess he had made. His phone is buzzing on the kitchen counter. He knows who it is but he doesn’t pick up.

Instead, he just waits until it stops ringing. Jungkook can see it all playing out in his head. He will be called to the PR’s office as soon as he enters the academy and the PR is gonna ask him why he did what he did, Jungkook will then tell him that he's a a man of virtue, he will ask him to repent and tell him to fuck off. Very classic. Been there, done that. 

He drops his head low, palms splayed in front of him. Calling last night chaotic would be an understatement. He said things he shouldn’t have and heard things he hoped he wouldn’t. It was not deliberate, of course. He would like to call it a spur of the moment.

Alright, he was fucking jealous. There he said it. He was jealous of Park Jimin because that man was touching who Jungkook had been longing for, he was talking to the women Jungkook had been begging to look at him once and allow him to breathe. 

When he reaches the academy, he quickly asks about Destiny’s whereabouts and goes on to find her. He thinks his knee needs to be discussed because he can’t risk not playing the next game.

He's not sure if he's prepared for the uneasiness that's about to welcome itself but– god if you’re listening, help him, he prepares himself as much as he possibly can. 

Raising his hand to make a fist, he knocks on her office door. This would be his first time inside, if she would even let him in.

“Come in” her voice reaches Jungkook. 

He takes a long deep breath and pushes the door wide open. Stepping inside he looks at her sitting in her chair with glasses resting on top of her button nose. She looks so adorable. He doesn’t think he has ever seen her with glasses on but he approves. 

“Jungkook? Is everything okay?” 

Is it? Why is she acting like everything about last night was a dream? Did I imagine it all? Jungkook wonders.

He slips his hands inside his front pockets and nods, “My knee is acting a bit weird. I wanted to get it checked. See if there’s anything serious.” 

She takes her glasses off and rises to her feet. Pointing to one of the chairs, she says, “Sit down and let me have a look”

He does what she asked as he leans back to make himself comfortable. An eerie silence surrounds them, making every inch of Jungkook's body stiff as he grips the armrests of the chair a bit tighter. He doesn’t let it appear that way of course. He’d rather die. 

When she’s satisfied, she gets down on her knees and looks up at him. The visual is lethal but not something which he hasn’t already imagined.

He's not entirely proud to say that he has had the privilege of seeing her on her knees in his dreams, in the darkness of his bathroom, in his fantasies. He's seen it all but the real sight nearly makes him blow his load.

What do you think happens to a man who witnesses a queen getting down on her knees for him? Ask Jungkook. Mentally thanking himself for not wearing the sweatpants, he prepares to answer any of her questions.

“Do you wanna tell me what caused this?” 

“There um, there was a fight back at the game. I felt a slight pain in the changing room but didn’t think much of it. Thought I’d let you know about it.” 

She smiles, “Well I’m proud of you for that minus the fighting part. I’m sure you’ll be discussing that in the PR’s office” 

As she’s examining any possible pulls or cracks, he thinks about apologizing to her about last night. To be very honest, he's tired of this awkward silence every time he's around her. Not talking is one thing, walking on eggshells around each other is another. He wants her to behave the same way she does with the rest of the boys. 

“Destiny, I needed to talk to you about something” 

She looks up again, her eyes filled with curiosity. 

“Sure. Was something else hurt during the fight?” 

“What? No. I wanted to talk about last night” 

She stiffens as her mouth forms an ‘O’ shape. Fuck, why is his heart beating so fast? Wait, is he sweating? 

Then she shrugs, talking in a casual tone. “I don’t think it’s worth talking about” 

“Why?” Jungkook can’t help but ask.

“Well,” she smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes, “You and I both were drunk and people do stupid stuff when they’re drunk so.”

“There was not a single drop of alcohol in my system. However, whatever I said was in the spur of the moment.” he says wording his previous thoughts, “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. I’m sorry” 

She’s quiet for a moment before she lowers her head and mumbles something. 

“WellIhadasexdreamaboutyousoweareeveniguess”

He lowers down his own head, trying to listen clearly, ‘What was that?”

“I said I had a sex dream about you so we’re even” as soon as the words slip out of her, she claps a hand over her mouth. Her eyes wide as saucers. Meanwhile, he just sits there wondering if he heard her right or his brain is as fucked as his knee. 

His mouth goes dry as he keeps looking at her. He feels like someone just dumped a bucket full of ice water on his head. She had a sex dream about him? When? How was it? 

“It was uh okay” 

Kill him, kill him now because he said that out loud. See, this is what he means when he says he messes up every time he's in front of her. That’s exactly what the last thought that crosses his head before he pulls her by the back of her neck and smashes his lips on hers. Fuck it, he can’t take it anymore.

When she kisses him with the same amount of passion and hunger, he resists himself from hoisting her up on the table and eating her sweet cunt. She matches every movement of his lips. Hers suck his before his take her pink and pillowy ones. 

Within seconds, he has her caged in his arms. A low moan slips past her lips as she clutches onto Jungkook's shoulders for support, his fingers digging into the sides of her waist. Is this what feels like to kiss Kim Destiny? Is he actually touching and tasting her?

She tastes like cherries and bubblegum and he swears he's tasted nothing sweeter. He wants to have this taste every day on his tongue, and wants to remember it till the day he takes his last breath. Maybe, even longer than that. 

He pulls back and cups her cheek, running his thumb along her lower lip as she catches her breath. She’s got her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling against his. Jungkook can feel her hard nipples through her scrubs.

Someone shakes him by the shoulders and he snaps out, blinking rapidly. He looks around and finds himself sitting on the very chair Destiny asked him to but when a feminine voice calls out his name, it's not hers.

“Well, watching my best friend on her knees in front of my step brother was not the visual I thought I needed”

Turns out, it takes a lot to make that someone up there 'happy' because standing in front of him is his only step sister. It's hilarious how unpredictable life happens to be. After all, not only did he imagine kissing Destiny after she told him about her little sex dream but will now have to figure out how to face his sister without wanting to hurl himself out the window.

Can he catch a break?

Taglist - @keylime4eva @xumyboo @jash719 @dmstoyangyang @pitchblack0309 @withluvjm @chaelvrx @httpjeonlicious @lovingkoalaface @rpwprpwprpwprw (ilusm and thank you for reading <3)

[blueninjablade3]

Yandere Frollo Alphabet

Real quick for my regular readers who are waiting for the Hades Angst I’m working on it at a snails pace but it’s shaping up nicely. I’m publishing this solely because it’s been in my drafts taunting me.

TW: Yandere themes, Slurs/ talks about slurs, genocide, medieval torture, isolation, abuse, gaslight, lack of right, racism, and religious themes.

If you are uncomfortable with any of this scroll on. I won’t be offended. If you are in a bad mental state I don’t recommend reading this Yandere relationships are extremely toxic and dangerous. If you or someone you love are in an abusive relationship, please remember you have resources to help you. I believe I’ve covered most of my bases so without further ado Yandere Frollo alphabet. Ps, left a little music if anyone wants to listen to that while they read.

Affection: how do they show you love and affection? How intense can It get?

I view Frollo somewhat like “I never quite learned to verbalize my feelings so I’m going to do very small things to tell you I love you.” Also, he brings you grapes. It’s every day he brings you grapes. (Unless you’re getting punished.) He does do the traditional kiss-your-cheek and forehead tho.

Blood: How dirty is he willing to get when it comes to you?

He’s willing to burn down all of Paris to find you. You and Esmeralda are gonna be best friends and shit talk Frollo together.

Cruelty: how will they treat you once kidnapped will he mock you?

Yes. Wtf do you think I would say “No he’s an angel” Brother has no problem calling someone a slur. Hell, I’d put money on the fact that he’d call a black person the N word hard R to their face. (He’s seriously the worst tho. Get y’all a man like… uh Prince Naveen. He’ll treat you better)

Darling: besides kidnapping you would he do anything else against your will?

Being an active part of the Romani people’s slaughter, being horrible to Quasi, and whipping people are the ones that are off the top of my head. I’m probably missing others but the point is he absolutely would.

Exposed: How much of his heart do you bear?

I think you actually bear 40%. The other 60 goes to the Bible and Christ. Don’t worry that’s still more than his family ever got.

Fight: How would he feel if you fought back?

CHOOSE ME OR YOUR PYRE BE MINE OR YOU WILL BURN~! But in all seriousness, he’s going to be so upset and do the same thing that he does to Quasi.

Game: Is this a Game to them? Would he like watching his darling try to escape?

No! This isn’t a game! Those filthy gypsies can’t be trusted! (it feels wrong even typing that 😭) They’ll harm you! You need to stay safe. In the bell tower.

I also don’t think he’d enjoy you escaping. He wants you at arm’s length at all times.

Hell: Your worst experience with him.

After one of your little “stunts” he had you flogged for a few hours and then you didn’t get lunch for a few days. (like three)

Ideals: what he sees in the future with you.

He sees a traditional Christian marriage (pretend male x male relationships were most of the time accepted by the church), a couple of NORMAL kids (he is the worst), and all the Romani people dead. (ICK)

Jealousy: does he get jealous and if he does, does he find a way to cope or will he lash out?

He gets very jealous and never controls it. He always lashes out. At this point, don’t even look at a fly anymore. He’ll get jealous of it.

Kisses: How does he act around you?

He’s possessive, creepy, and lustful. Think about how he behaves with Esma and multiply by two.

Love letters: how would he go about courting/approaching you?

He’s very traditional. He’s the type who’d buy a goat to give to your dad and then just be like “Gimme.” But he would approach you beforehand and have some small talk in passing.

Mask: Are his truth colors different from what people think?

No. He’s very publicly creepy and weird it seems. People also fear him and view him as dangerous which you can say firsthand is true. Creepy bitch.

Naughty: how would he punish you?

He’s the type to flog you for a little, isolate you, and then limit food consumption. You’re extremely afraid of acting out or acting against him for fear of his reaction.

Oppression: what rights did he take away from you:

Freedom, religion (if you’re anything other than Roman Catholic you’ll have to practice and pray in secret.), privacy, and if you’re American the right to bear arms. Really any weapons he’ll take away. (Maybe see if you can hide a dagger?)

Regret: does he regret kidnapping you? Will he ever let you go?

Haha! You’re so funny if you think he’d let you go or think he’d regret kidnapping you! The Lord brought you two together! You two were meant to be! Now stop struggling unless you wanna go back to the palace of justice.

Sigma: what brought this side of him?

I think his lust, pride, and lack of getting any bitches over his years all contributed. He got lustful for you, and he didn’t know how to react, then instead of admitting that he was in the wrong his pride got the best of him, and blamed you. When his lust won caused his Yandere actions.

Tears: how would he feel if you cried screamed or Isolated yourself?

He doesn’t care! You’ll learn to love him eventually. If you don’t… you won’t like what’s gonna happen. But do go ahead.

Unique: is there anything different from a normal Yandere

He has a massive superiority complex? He also can have people flogged and not be questioned.

Vice: what can you use to escape him?

I’m not quite sure. I guess maybe you could hide in the court of miracles?

Witts end: would he ever hurt you

Without a second thought.

Xoanon: how much does he revere/worship you and to what extent is he willing to go to win you over

He’s willing to go to extreme lengths. I know I’ve talked a lot of shit about him in this but in all seriousness, he views you as a gift from the heavens. An angel sent to him. His angel.

Yearn: How long before he snapped and kidnapped you?

He’s a patient man. I’m going to say if you play your cards right and Quasi is still young about 1.5 years till he snaps.

Zenith: would he ever break you?

Oh definitely.

Thank you for reading! Please remember that rebloging, likes and comments are much appreciated! ❤️

[poinsexter]

7 Minutes in Heaven {obx - jm}

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Fem Pogue!Reader (kinda some John B x reader if you squint)

Summary: pogue!reader gets selected for a game of 7 Minutes in Heaven with JJ—this should be no big deal, right?

Warnings: drinking, smoking, swearing, suggestive flirting, idk? Mild angst. Mostly fluff

Word count: 2,671

A/N: hiii this is my first time ever posting my own lil fanfic to tumblr. I’m sorry if there are any errors:(( I usually write original fiction but this was in my head and I couldn’t get it out. I hope someone gets some enjoyment from it <3 there is a John B alt ending written but idk if I’ll post. Let me know what you beauties thinnnnk:)

When a game of ‘Never Have I Ever’ didn’t sound juicy enough to the sexed up tourons, a blue-shirt wearing frat bro suggested everyone partake in a game of 7 Minutes In Heaven.  The pogues were never one to back down from a challenge—least of all you, who’d kissed all of your friends at some point or another.

You took a sip of beer from the paper cup in your hand, but not even drowning yourself in drinks could save you as John B and a touron girl exited the closet, heralding your turn next. He wore a lazy, drunken smile, dancing to the beachy music thumping from a nearby amp. 

“Tourons pick the lamest party games.” You hid your bundle of stress underneath a coy joke. “We could be playing flip cup instead.”

“You were laughing when it was Sarah and me.” Kie filed into the room next with a fresh beer in hand, brushing your cheek with the other hand as she passed. “Not so smug now, babes, huh?”

She plopped down on the arm of the chair Pope sat on with his feet kicked up, rolling a backwood.

“Of course it’s funny when it’s not me. That’s how it works,” you said. 

John B’s laugh rang out as he orbited around your back, to your side, appearing in your peripheral. You turned slightly, cup pressed against your bottom lip.

“How about you finish off that liquid courage,” John B used his index finger to tip the bottom of the cup up to goad you into chugging. You tried not to laugh into the drink as you complied, drinking the remainder of its contents. “Atta girl. Now lighten up, buzz kill, ‘cause it’s your turn.” 

You tossed the now-empty cup at his head with a laugh, watching as he swatted it away. “Like you need an excuse to makeout with someone in a closet.” 

“Seven minutes of swapping bacteria.” Pope chimed in from his spot on the recliner as he sparked the lighter. “In the best way possible.”

Kie crossed her arms. “You don’t have to kiss anyone.”

JJ burst around the corner into the room, beer spilling from the bottle in his hand as he caught the last half of the conversation. “Hey, don’t say that! We all have to follow the rules.”

“What rules, JJ?” You rolled your eyes. “The ones you pull out of your ass?” 

“Yeah, I can jot them down for you.” He feigned looking around the room, touching his chest for imaginary pencil pockets as the bottle sloshed in his hand. “Anyone got a pen? Maybe a marker? Crayon, perhaps?”

“Alright, alright, I get it!” You conceded with another laugh. “Pour me up a shot and let me make someone’s day!”

Kie hopped off the couch with a grin and began lining up shot glasses on the counter. JJ’s hand cradled the small of your back while John B approached your other side, watching as JJ poured a messy line of contents from the tap across all of the shot glasses. 

Every pogue picked one up, preparing to throw them back, when John B took the one from your hand and raised a mischievous brow. “Open up, little loverrr.”

You gave a wide grin before obeying the command, opening up your mouth and sticking out your tongue to prepare for the waterfall of liquor. 

John B tossed back his own shot in one fluid motion before pouring the second shot into your mouth. Once the contents were fully polished off you squeezed your eyes shut as an involuntary shiver ran through you, the warmth working  its way down your throat and through your chest. 

“You missed some.” John B grabbed your cheeks and yanked you closer, playfully slurping the backsplash from the skin around the corner of your mouth and cheek. 

“HEYYY NOW!” JJ gave an energetic clap of his hands before pointing at you and John B. “Save it for the closet!” 

You shoved John B away from you with laughter almost as if he were an over-zealous puppy before leaning over to smack JJ’s arm. “Oh please, I know you have your fingers crossed hoping it’s me and you.”

You didn’t interpret the playful action as John B making a move on you despite JJ’s joke. You were all particularly affectionate with each other—and for as affectionate as you were, you also gave each other just as much shit. 

“Alright, it’s TIME!” said Kie, grabbing you by the shoulders and steering you in Pope’s direction.  “Pull the name.”

Pope remained on the couch, but now had a ball cap flipped upside down in his hand with jumbled up scraps of paper inside. He grumbled. “I don’t know how I ended up relegated to this role.”

“Because you’re the most trustworthy,” said Kie. “And the least likely to fuck it up.”

“Can’t argue there.” Pope pulled a piece of paper from the cap. “You will be joined by…” he unfurled the paper. “JJ!”

As JJ looked over at you with that arrogant flirty ease, you couldn’t place why you suddenly felt a spike of nerves. Your feet almost felt as if they had forgotten how to work, with Sarah swooping in to usher you toward the closet, JJ not far behind.

Seven minutes in a closet should be nothing compared to all the drunken nights you’d cuddled up on the chateau’s pullout couch together. The party was in full swing, the perfect time to cut loose, and still, you couldn’t fight the soft apprehension prickling at your palms. 

The closet in question was unlike anything you’d grown up with, but that was to be expected anytime you partied at a kook house. It was more akin to a closet like Sarah’s, though it wasn’t overflowing with near as much color or fun crop tops as hers.

You looked around at the designer labels and scrunched your nose. “God, why do kooks need such big closets?”

“Yeah, I’m not digging all the space between us.” Without warning, JJ slipped an index finger into the belt loop of your jeans and pulled you closer until you were only inches apart. “Much better, thanks for the cooperation, princess.”

“You’re getting way too much enjoyment out of this, it’s worrying.”

“Afraid I’ll bite?” He clacked his teeth in your face playfully, smirking when he couldn’t make you flinch. 

“Biting doesn’t scare me.” You couldn’t help yourself as you pressed in closer to his face, daring him to retaliate. “You’ll have to try harder, Jay.”

He dropped his hold on the belt loop and pressed his hands into you stomach, shoving you against the wall until you back was flush with the surface, caught between the cold of the wall and the warmth of his body. 

“How about now, cupcake? Scared?” He paused and lifted a brow, smirk sweeping up his mouth. He leaned closer. “That toe-curling thing you’re feeling is called sexual tension, my friend.”

Said tension between you was palpable, even after he slacked to give you the space back, satisfied with the effect he’d visibly had on you. Words died in your throat. For the first time ever, you were speechless. JJ, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease, content to chatter away.

“We had our first kiss in a closet just like this one.” JJ looked delighted by the memory. "You remember?”

”Don’t call it ‘our first kiss’ like we were ever a thing.” Your composure faltered, but it was a fond memory nonetheless. “Shame on me for choosing ‘dare’ over ‘truth’—I thought I’d get to do something cool like scale a flag pole, but no. Got stuck sucking face with you.” 

"Okay, ouch,” he feigned offense, clutching his chest. “I've gotten a lot better at kissing since then.” 

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the heat that was creeping up your neck. "Well, we were like thirteen, so I’d really hope so."

JJ leaned in a little closer again. "I've been thinking about that kiss a lot lately, you know.”

Your walls went up, afraid of being vulnerable. He’d played with your feelings one too many times over the years out of boredom. You used to think when he was flirting he meant it, and that had led to too much confusion. Rather than pine over him forever, you’d grown comfortable with your role of best friend.

Anything more—girlfriend, fuck buddy, situationship—would spell nothing but trouble.

You deflected by teasing him. “You’ve been thinking about a bad kiss from middle school? Find better hobbies.”

“That’s the thing—I need to redeem myself,” he said. “You never wonder what it would be like to try it again now that we’re older? More… seasoned?”

“Don’t be dumb.” Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried not to let it show. "This is just a fun party game, not an opportunity for you to get lucky.”

“What does that cute little tattoo on your ass say again?” He snapped his fingers and feigned as if recalling. “Lucky you.” 

You made a sputtering noise, floored by the comeback. You’d been in a bikini around the pogues enough times that they’d likely all seen the edge of said tattoo, but he would have had to pay attention to read it. 

“God, you are such a shameless flirt!” You picked up a sandal from the closet floor and began smacking him with it. “What is with you tonight? You’re gonna start humping the keg stand before the party is over—“

“I wouldn’t be the man you know and love unless I flirted without remorse.” JJ flinched away from the sandal, laughing at your reaction. "Come on, you have to admit there's chemistry between us."

You felt a jolt of electricity shoot through your body at his words. He was right, but you didn't know what to do about it—so again, you deflected. “You have chemistry with anything that has tits and legs.” 

“Nah, it’s different with us,” he insisted. “And I’ll prove it.”

Before you could respond, JJ took a daring step forward, his hand cupping your cheek as his lips met yours in a searing kiss. It was gentle initially, testing the waters to see what you were okay with. As the kiss lingered, JJ took it as a sign to deepen things, the pace growing hungrier between you.  

Your initial surprise gave way to something more passionate and explorative. Warmth pooled in your thighs as he tangled him hands in your hair, tongue making sensuous circles with your own. It was a moment suspended in time as your friendship burned away, scorching the earth until it became something uncharted. He awoke dormant feelings in you—emotions for him that you thought you’d long buried came rising to the surface at full force like a geyser.

“Seven minutes is up!” John B’s voice rang out.

You barely had time to fall apart from each other as the door pried open. A gasp tore through your mouth, accompanied by a jolt of surprise. For a brief moment it had only been you and JJ - the party on the other side of the door had completely disappeared to you. 

John B leaned against the doorframe, gazing down at the wild blush staining your cheeks. Something like understanding registered in his gaze at the look on your face, but he quickly recovered the cool-guy charm. 

“Either you crazy kids come out, or I’m gonna get serious FOMO and have to join.”

“Squeeze in, man, you’ll love it.” JJ leaned his head against your shoulder and smiled, looking completely unaffected by what had happened. “Plenty of room. Too much, honestly.”

You rolled your eyes, not understanding how he could be so jovial and collected as your heart threatened to pump out of your chest.

“No threesomes in this living room, alright, this ain’t a Hugh Hefner party.” said Pope. “Come smoke this blunt and stop being weird.”

As you exited the confines of the closet, which had felt like it’s own world, you couldn't help but wonder what might have happened if you had been in the closet for even a minute longer. Would hands have roamed further? Would JJ have had time to confess he was just fucking around with you, only he took it a bit farther than usual? You didn’t even know what you’d want him to say. 

There wasn’t enough time to process what was happening or the repercussions of it—only that in the moment it had felt really, really good being with JJ. Whatever the absolute fuck that was about. 

The unspoken tension had found its voice in that kiss, marking the beginning of the end. You didn’t know how you could look him in the eyes again after feeling his hands knotting through your hair. How could a moment change everything? 

You avoided JJ for the next several hours, wrapping your mind around what had happened. If the other pogues noticed, they didn’t call you out on it. Not openly, anyway. Kie and John B were not subtle as they gossiped in hushed whispers, glancing between you and JJ at your two different places across the party. 

Eventually, the drinks caught up to you. Coping with your alien feelings by attempting to numb them with alcohol hadn’t worked, of course, so now not only were you mentally spiraling but had also come down with a bad case of the spins.

To anchor yourself back to the moment, you slipped away from the party, which was just now starting to teeter off from its full swing, and exited out of the back door of the mansion onto a vacant area of porch.

Salty sea and crisp nighttime air instantly offered reprieve to your racing mind as you walked over to the wooden railing of the porch and leaned against it, reveling in the quiet. 

A few minutes later, your quiet was disturbed by the sound of the sliding glass door opening up behind you. You turned to look at who’d followed, heart nearly leaping from your chest at the sight of JJ.  

“Hey, you okay out here?” He stuck his head out of the door, quiet concern on his face. You nodded without verbal response. “Is it cool if we talk for a minute?”

You nodded again, feeling a nervous knot forming in your stomach. You didn’t want to imagine what he would say next. Still, you were both here now, and there was no use in prolonging the inevitable. “What's up?”

He closed the door behind himself. Here it comes, you thought. He’s going to confess that he was just teasing you—it meant nothing to him. All one big, meaningless flirt brought on by his name being pulled from a random lottery. If it’d been John B’s name called over JJ’s, JJ may have never looked at you twice otherwise. Not any differently than usual, anyway. Why did that possibility hurt so much? 

“About the game…” He approached your side at the porch railing, looking less sure of himself than normal. “I know you’ve been avoiding me.” 

Your reply was short. “Astute observation.”

“Don’t do that—don’t shut down.” His eyes cut right through you. “Look, I - I have something to admit.”

You steeled yourself for him to say something that would break you, but you wouldn’t show it. “Don’t leave me in suspense, Jay.”

“I’m sorry if I crossed a line by kissing you before…” There was a pause too long in the air as he contemplated whether or not to say the next words.  “I bribed Pope to make sure he called my name for your turn.”

“You… what?”

“Don’t be mad.” He squeezed his eyes shut as if an admission of guilt physically pained him. After all, his motto had always been ‘deny, deny, deny.’ “It may or may not have been John B’s name on the paper that Pope actually pulled, but I’d slid him a $20 beforehand to make sure no one else got you.” 

The uneasiness in your stomach slowly transformed into butterflies, tickling all the way up your throat until it evolved into belly-aching laughter. He wasn’t toying with you because he was bored or because it was convenient. He orchestrated this. 

The laughter confused him. “Is that – wait – why are you laughing?”

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me again.”

His features brightened, eyes glowing with a new, consuming adoration. He swept you in closer and brought his mouth down to yours, talking against your lips. “God, I’m so glad you said that. Playing it cool has never been my style.”

[eyesxxyou]

❝ sunshine ❞ (hobie brown x male!reader)

｡ﾟ･ ¡ content. hobie x male!reader. reader pretends to hate dislike hobie. gay longing. denial of feelings. oral (m receiving). handjob. lots of kissing. hobie being kinda pushy. you have a list of reasons why you don't like hobie brown but you never thought being locked in the closet with him would make you reconsider if your reasons are actually all the reasons why you like him.

tags: @hoe-bie @zyonsay

You didn’t hate Hobie.

It was a claim that most of your friends made when your name and his happened to appear in the same sentence. You must make the record clear. You did not hate Hobie Brown. You found him irritating from time to time, sure, with the way he carried himself with a careless sway, the way he spoke with an undue amount of confidence in everything he said. He laughed fully and obnoxiously, he challenged people without remorse, he instigated fights that never needed to happen in the first place. Hobie was not one to keep the peace, not like you who’d rather avoid all confrontation and conflict if possible.

You watched him spread out against your couch, a joint hanging from his full lips while smoke kissed his slender face. He was in the middle of making a bet that he would wipe everyone in a game of beer pong. He talked such a big game and when it came down to it, everyone being divided up into teams, you somehow ended up with Hobie as your partner as some kind of sick joke on you. It was known that you weren’t good at games like these and Hobie insisted that it would be okay because “I’ll carry ya, it’ll be no sweat.”

You didn't know how the idea came up – probably due to Hobie's endless search to make things far more complicated than need be – but the idea of making it strip beer pong became the consensus among your friends group. “And whicheva team loses has to spend an hour in y/n’s room!” Your friends giggled amongst themselves while you stood there completely perplexed at how things had dwindled out of your favor so swiftly. He was so good at convincing others to go along with him no matter how deranged the idea. He once convinced everyone that it was a good idea to go to the roof of your building while everyone was drunk, the only reason no one died was because you were sober enough to keep everyone safe.

You jabbed your elbow into Hobie’s side, eyes alight with fury. “Why the fuck would you say that?” You hissed between your teeth at him. “Not true! No one will be spending the night in my room!”

Hobie’s arm was suddenly around your shoulders, pulling you in and shaking you gently. “Come awn. Don’ be a buzzkill, sunshine. It’ll be fun, no harm in i’.” He leaned in close, smelling of smoke, musk, and faded cologne. Your body tensed against him and without thought, you retracted from him, a scowl curling onto your lips as you looked him up and down. “Not my bedroom y’all, anywhere but my bedroom.”

“Fine, the closet.” Hobie settled the matter right then and there. “Can we get on wit’ i’?” He was already taking more plastic cups to set out on the table, rushed to get on with the fun and prove himself better than everyone else.

Turns out, Hobie absolutely sucked at beer pong too. He could not aim for shit and every missed shot meant an article of clothing removed for the two of you. It started out innocently, vests and jackets, shoes, socks, cuffs and collars. But with each ping pong that bounced off the rim of a cup, more essential clothing began to come off.

Hobie just narrowly missed a shot for one of the back cups and with a playful sigh, he grasped the hem of his torn-up, worn-out shirt and pulled it up over his head and tossed it down on the floor beside him. You glanced at his exposed torso, the smooth skin of his diaphragm leading to his firm naval. The faint outline of abs show themselves through that soft-looking skin of his. A thin line of hair began at his belly button and trailed down to the waist of his low-hanging pants which were next on the hanging line if he missed his next shot.

You turned your flustered gaze away from his toned body and focused on your own shot.

You were down to your own shirt and pants, not being all that great at beer pong yourself. You rocked between your feet, ‘I’m fucked’. You knew you were. There was no coming back from a loss like this one and when you looked to Hobie, hissing at him, “What the hell happened to you being a god at this?”

“Yeah, I guess I shoulda told’ja that I neva played this before we started.” You could have punched him if not for the way he looked at you and offered a lop-sided smile. It offered a mischievous apology, he meant it but not enough. There was something so charming about it, so easy-going.

It was almost certain that you two would lose and by the time you two were left in just your boxers in front of everyone, you had long lost hope for the idea that you wouldn’t be locked in a closet with Hobie for the rest of the night.

Your closet wasn't the biggest, especially with all the clothes in there. At best the two of you would have a few inches of space between you. You didn't want to feel his skin pressed against yours, didn't want his breath fanning your cheek, didn't want to acknowledge he was right there at all times constantly.

Hobie took it all with an air of light-hearted fun as your friends shoved the two of you into your bedroom closet and slid a nearby dresser in front to ensure the two of you couldn't get out until they chose.

Why did the closet seem so much smaller than you remembered? Why was Hobie so close to you? You hid yourself partially in your hanging clothes and crossed your arms across your bare chest. The rules said you two couldn't put on any clothes, you'd just have to sit there half-naked and embarrassed.

Hobie busied himself rummaging through your clothes, humming in approval at those he liked. “No way, you kept this?” He plucked a shirt from your assortment of clothing to reveal a shirt he had made for you. Hand-sewn and everything. “I though’ ya woulda thrown it in the rubbish as soon as I wasn't lookin’.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and snatching the shirt from him to hold it to your chest. You’d never give him the satisfaction of telling him but you regularly slept in this shirt. It was a very thoughtful gift and you didn't want it to go to waste but you furthermore didn't want to give Hobie a big head by wearing it in front of him. “Why would I do that? Only an asshole would do something like that.”

Hobie shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Everyone says ya hate me, sunshine.”

“You don't sound like you believe that.” You notice how Hobie wades a little closer to you, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body. A subtle smirk teased his lips as he looked at your shrinking frame. “Nah, I don'. I think ya like me, actually. A lot.”

Your eyes widened and your body reacted with vigor. “Absolutely not!” You denied it with fervor as Hobie approached further. “I- I have no idea why you’d ever think that!” you backed up until your back met the wall and you could go no further. You babbled on. “Hobie, you know I'm not–”

Your breathing shuddered as Hobie pressed his hand to your shoulder before sliding his palm to the spot between your jaw and neck. “If no’, lemme try somefin’ then.” He leaned in slowly, giving you all the opportunity to push him away from you but you don't, you’re frozen in shock, unsure of what to do. You let him ease his lips into yours and kiss you softly.

You’ve never been kissed by another man before, never thought yourself to like it as much as you did. Never thought you’d like being kissed by Hobie of all people. You shouldn't be doing this and you realize it the moment Hobie parts his lips and lets his tongue trace the seam of your lips.

It breaks you from the trance he placed you under and you push him back. “What the hell is wrong with you?” You mean to say it in anger but you can't find the conviction in your voice. You’re feeling hot and unable to breathe as you look at him with wild eyes. He looks rather pleased with what he’s discovered.

“If it makes ya feel any betta, sunshine. I like ya too.”

“I’m not gay, Hobie. You know I’m not. I’ve had girlfriends.”

Hobie scoffed. “Havin’ a girl doesn' make ya straight, ya know that. Hell, I’ve had girlfriends, don' make me like men any less.”

“I don't like you, Hobie!” You have to say it clear, say it loud to get it through that thick head of his and to further convince yourself that you don't like him either. “I think you’re loud, obnoxious. I think you're too carefree. I think you need to exercise a little caution from time to time. I find you irritating as hell. I-” You think of all the reasons why you can't stand him. He’s too nonchalant, too gorgeous, too much. “I hate the way you look everyone in the eyes like you’re ready to prove them wrong. I hate how you’re so touchy feely. I can't stand you!”

Hobie glances down and a smile crept into his face. “Ya hard as fuck righ’ now, mate. Thinkin’ a lil’ too much about me, are ya?”

You look down as well and embarrassingly find a firm bulge in your underwear. You’ve never felt so humiliated in your life because you know this all too well. You know that thinking too much about Hobie, no matter how much you tell yourself you can't stand him, it always leads to this, a hard-on more firm than any time you’ve been with a woman.

No, no, you couldn't like Hobie, not like that.

“Ya need help with tha’?” Hobie approached you once again as you turned away from him to hide your raw embarrassment. “N- no, stay away from me.” You know erections like these can last indefinitely and you know Hobie touching you would only make it worse.

Hobie ignored your pleas for him to stay away and let you handle things. His hands stroked your cheek gently and you turned just enough for him to kiss you once again. It was harder this time, more sure of what was once just a hypothetical.

You let out a shaky breath against his soft lips and Hobie took the chance to slide his tongue between your lips. This time, you do nothing to stop him. The rest of your body turned to face him and suddenly your figure is pressed against his, your cock stroking his thigh just enough to cause some friction. It was enough to make you moan against Hobie’s hot mouth, his tongue stroking and licking at yours in between pants.

“Lemme help ya ou’ here.” Hobie murmured against your lips and he parted from you. HIs lips peppered kisses against your neck and down the front of your throat as one hand settled on your hip and the other slipped past the band of your underwear to find the length of your cock.

You let out a shudder as he wrapped his hand around your member and gave it a couple of gentle strokes before pulling it from your underwear. With another kiss just below your earlobe, Hobie lowered himself down on his knees in front of your weeping cock, his hand still tugging and stroking the slick head. “Relax, sunshine, I’ve got’cha.”

You watched him kiss the aching tip and card his tongue against your slit before taking the head into his mouth and suckling softly. It earned him something of a shaking sigh of relief as you let your eyes fall shut and your head fall back against the wall. Your hand came to cradle the back of his head but you didn’t push him to go further. You had a sick feeling that Hobie knew exactly what he was doing.

He hummed softly beneath you and sank further down until his lips met the base of your length and you settled in his throat where he swallowed over and over and over. Your eyes rolled and fluttered as you tossed a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans. You looked down at him to find a sultry, hooded gaze looking back at you. You could see the way he smiled with his eyes, he would have teased you if not for your dick stuffed down his throat. In his own way, he was teasing you, with the flat of his tongue and that tight throat of his.

He bobbed his head up and down your length, taking the full of it each time he pushed his head down until his lips kissed your hilt. His large, slender hands were on your hips, pulling you in each time he pushed his head forward.

God, you were losing your mind. His mouth was so hot and his inner cheeks were soft as your tip slid against them along the way down the tightness of his throat. You couldn't help but think about how gorgeous he looked down there on his knees and felt more blood rush to your groin.

You’ve never felt an orgasm come so swiftly. Your breath labored with the pull at your abdomen and your hand on Hobie’s head pushed him further down. “Please, please, please.” You whispered as Hobie licked at a vein along the underside of your cock. “‘m gonna-”

You could hardly get it out of your throat before you came. Your member pulsed in Hobie’s mouth and thick ropes of cum coated the inside of his cheeks and his soft tongue. You groaned softly, your head falling back and lulling to the side. Your knees almost buckled with how good it felt.

You had never cum so fast, so hard, and you found yourself embarrassed over the whole thing. Why had you let him do that to you? Why had you let him prove you so wrong? Why had you let him completely rattle your entire life and force you to reconsider everything you thought about himself?

Hobie stood up and kissed you, his tongue searching for yours. He forced you to taste yourself, a swapping of saliva and cum between your mouths. It was filthy, disgusting, but so hot that you let him shove his tongue into your mouth and do whatever he pleased with you.

“Stop thinkin’ for a minute.” Hobie could hear the gears in your head churning of what you had just let him do to you. You have a slow nod as he nipped at your bottom lip and pulled you closer, pressing the firmness of his cock against yours.

You kissed him sloppily, until drool began to seep from the cracks of where your lips met. His skin was so warm against yours and for a moment you forgot about the fact that Hobie was a guy. You were just two warm bodies locked together in a closet searching for intimacy.

Whatever the two of you did here didn't have to leave this closet. You wouldn't let it, no matter what. The moment you were let out of this closet, you’d go back to how things once were and let everything fall perfectly back into place.

Hobie rocked his body into yours while you reached down between the two of you to pull his length out of his underwear and stroke his cock in your hand. You were timid about it, nervous as you thumbed at his slit and rubbed his precum-coated tip.

He encouraged you to continue, pushing his hips into your hand as he moaned into your mouth. His hand was on the wall above your head, bracing himself as you flicked your wrist and tightened your grip a little as your hand traveled the path up and down the length of his slick cock.

His hips thrusted into your hand as he broke your kiss. Hobie hissed softly, looking down and watching the way he used your hand, the way you were going more and more confident in the way you stroked him and circled your thumb over his tip.

His body shuddered and you found it so much hotter than you should. Hobie used his free hand to grab your face and force you to look at him in the eyes. You shifted your gaze the moment they found his.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, look a’ me, sunshine.” He moved his head to find your gaze again. “Yer doin’ so well.” He let out between panting breaths. He could tell your were flustered, face hot at the sight of him fucking your hand. You almost stopped when Hobie grabbed your chin again and made you fix your gaze on him once more. “Don' look a’ tha’, look a’ me.”

You do as he says and look him in those pretty, deep-set eyes of his. He nipped at his lip piercing looking at you and moaned softly. He was falling apart in your hold, his eyes barely able to remain open, and yet you felt completely out of control.

He grabbed you up again, forced his mouth onto yours while you jerked him faster, harder. It was sloppy and chaotic, just how he liked it. He wanted you to want him the way he wanted you, carnally and you did. You wanted his hands all over your body, you wanted him to say your name when he came, you wanted him to be a girl so maybe this didn't feel so bad to you.

Things would be so much easier if he were just a girl. You wouldn't have to feel shame over this, wouldn't have to hide the fact that you wanted him ferally behind thinly veiled reasons why you disliked him. Those reasons just being all the reasons you really, really wanted him.

Hobie came against your stomach, still kissing you between feverish pants into your mouth. He hummed softly as he broke away from you. “Ma bad, couldn' help i'.” Even now he was so thoroughly okay with everything that transpired here, so okay with himself, with you. All the while you couldn't even bear to look at him as you grabbed one of your many shirts tucked away in the back of the closet to clean yourself up with.

You decided then and there that what happened in here would stay in here. You would say nothing to anyone about it and you certainly wouldn't be doing it again. Things could fall neatly back into place and this could fall into the back of your mind without so much as a hitch.

If only Hobie would make it so easy for you.

[a-chip-in-inosukes-nichirin]

Flash, Flirt, Fuck

Fandom: Demon Slayer/Kimetsu no Yaiba

Rating: Mature/Explicit - Minors DNI (18+ only)

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Sanemi/Reader

Tags: College AU, flashing you classmate, oral sex, penis in vagina sex, unprotected sex, spin-the-bottle, truth or dare, light banter, AFAB reader, mildly dubious consent (due to alcohol), wingman Makio, switch reader

Wordcount: 3.4k

Flash your crush or eat your friend's potentially hazardous takeout leftovers? The dare is a no-brainer, even if your crush happens to have permanent resting bitch face and has made a few of the college freshmen almost piss themselves in fear. You know he's not all hard edges, so what's the harm?

Cross-posted from my AO3 account.

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

“I dare you to flash Sanemi,” Makio slurred, the four drinks she���d slammed starting to affect her speech.

You laughed, taking a sip of your spiked lemonade- the only alcoholic drink you could handle as the lightweight of your college group. You were barely on your second and already feeling quite the buzz; chest light and a weightlessness to your limbs that would turn to lead once the booze began to wear off.

“You want me to walk all the way to the boy’s hall to flash Sanemi? The resident hardass?”

Makio grinned, bringing the amber bottle to her lips and keeping eye contact while she took a deep pull. It was always astonishing to watch her retain most of her fine motor skills even when sloshed to high heaven while you would fail a drunk driving test sober.  You’d already missed your mouth once, resulting in a rapidly drying spot on your shirt that still smelled like booze.

“You gonna take the penalty instead?”

“Ew, no,” you waved your hand, cringing at the idea of having to eat whatever leftover (and probably moldy) food was stuffed in the back of Suma’s fridge. The girl had a habit of forgetting takeout and growing new strains of bacteria that should probably be classified as hazardous waste and disposed of as such. “I like my life, thank you.”

“It’s not that bad!” Suma sipped her drink, lip wobbling. “I cleaned it out last month. You guys are so meaaaaan!”

“Get going, then,” Shinobu waved you off, smiling lazily and swirling the glass of wine she was nursing. “And one of us will tail you to make sure you don’t chicken out.”

“I’m glad you all will be enjoying this,” you stood, almost toppling over as the floor swayed. “Because I’m 100% sure I’ll be getting chewed out for flashing my tits instead of the thanks I deserve for blessing him with this view.”

“You can cry yourself to sleep later,” Makio called after you, laughter from the large group echoing behind you, a stupid, drunk smile still on your face.

The boy’s hall was one floor down, and you didn’t trust yourself on the stairs, so you had to wait for the elevator. Heat rolled off your skin from the warmth of the room you’d just left- it had been near suffocating with the bodies of all your friends pressed together in a game of Spin-the-Bottle. The suggestion had come from Mitsuri, and the rest of you agreed, eager for some fun and laughs. The dares had started off simple, as had the truths, devolving into more debauched and crazy requests as the alcohol hit everybody’s systems.

The elevator doors finally opened, and you entered, mashing the button for the floor below yours while leaning against the wall languidly.

It was Hinatsuru who’d actually gotten you into this predicament, if you really thought about it. The conversation had turned to the boy’s hall earlier on in the game, around the time you’d chosen truth on your turn.

“Fuck, marry, kill,” Hinatsuru said. “With Tengen, Sanemi, and Kyojuro.”

Your answer had surprised everyone, leaving mouths agape around the entire circle when you chose to off the infamous lady-killer Tengen, marry the college heart-throb Kyojuro, and fuck Sanemi Shinazugawa. No explanation was provided in the following uproar, but you hadn’t been so drunk as to miss the devious sparkle that lit in Makio’s eyes. She’d been waiting for you to choose “dare” and pounced the moment the words had left your lips.

Now you were stumbling down the hall, counting doors until you reached room 413. You paused for a fraction of a second, wondering if you should think through the all the possibly embarrassing outcomes, but didn’t let the hesitation sway your resolve. Rapping on the door, you tucked a stray hair behind your ear. A few moments passed and you wondered if maybe Sanemi was out, and you wouldn’t have to complete the dare. Maybe you’d get a pass (and also wouldn’t have to consume any of the potentially fatal food from Suma’s fridge).

The universe had other plans, however, as the door opened to reveal a scowling white-haired man. The black sweats he wore hung low on his hips, a white undershirt clinging to his torso and leaving his shoulder bare. The jagged scars across his entire body did nothing to hinder the butterflies starting to dance in your gut at the sight of him.

He’d been your crush since you started school, and until tonight you’d hidden it pretty well.  Almost everyone thought he was a grumpy asshole (which he could be sometimes), and you’d even been half-frightened to death the first time you’d seen him, his sharp voice making your heart stutter in fear, but the trepidation quickly faded as you watched him interact with faculty and some of the younger students. He was respectful, if blunt, and even if he was a bit harsh on the new kids, he went out of his way to make sure they got to the right classes. You’d caught the tail end of his conversation with what you assumed was his younger brother a few weeks back that solidified your perception of him to be correct: he was a big softie underneath that prickly exterior.

It also didn’t hurt that Sanemi was gorgeous to look at. He obviously took good care of himself, and had stunning features: lavender eyes, white hair, and long lashes. He wasn’t as tall as some of the other guys in school, like Tengen, but you didn’t give a flying fuck when his body looked like that and his voice had that raspy growl when he spoke.

“What do you want?”

The flat tone broke through your thoughts, snapping you back to reality where Sanemi stood with his arms crossed and a bored look on his face. As much as you felt like throwing up from the way your nerves were turning the butterflies in your stomach into poisonous slugs, you grabbed the hem of your shirt and flipped it up. The cool air of the hall raised gooseflesh on your stomach and tits, and you almost shivered.

The look on Sanemi’s face went from blank, to confused, to alarmed in less than a second, and you wished you could have recorded it to watch later. You dropped your top back down, tilted your head with a coy smirk, and clasped your hands behind your back as you took a step back, turning on your heel to head back to your friends without a word, dare complete.

“What the hell-”

A hand encircled your wrist and you paused, looking back at Sanemi.

“Yeah?”

Sanemi looked lost, an expression you hadn’t expected to see on his face after your little display. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the faintest blush dusting his ears and the high point of his cheek bones.

“What was that for?” he demanded, finally finding his voice.

“A dare,” you shrugged, answering before your brain caught up with your mouth.

He let go of your hand, straightening and recovering his usual pissy frown. You stayed rooted to where you were, staring at him with a curious gaze.

“Just a dare? Not… ‘cause you wanted to?”

He sounded borderline petulant if your ears were hearing things right. You kicked aside your nerves to step closer, meeting his eyes and getting uncomfortably close to him.

“Can’t it be both?”

He swallowed, eyes flickering down to your parted lips.

“Is… it?”

You lidded your eyes, grinning up at him, a breath away from his face. His own eyes were starting to grow a bit hazy with want, sending a thrill through you.

“Why don’t you use some context clues?”

“Why don’t you spell it out for me?” he countered, hands coming up to rest gently on your hips.

You caught your lip between your teeth, sliding your fingers under the edges of the narrow white straps of his tank top and tugging him closer.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Sanemi’s arms were around you before you realized it, and your world was literally turned on its head as he picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder. A doorframe passed your view, and the creak and slam let you know that you were inside his room before he threw you onto the bed, eyes filled with lust.

“Say the word,” he caged you in with his arms. “And I’ll stop.”

“What do I say to make you keep going?” you asked playfully, sliding your hands down his chest.

Sanemi made a noise in his throat, surging forward to capture your lips with his. His tongue danced along your teeth and you nipped at his lower lip, wrapping your arms around his neck. Sage green covers crumpled under your back as you writhed under the feeling of his thumbs rubbing circles just above your hip bones.

“I didn’t get a good look at these earlier,” Sanemi pulled back breathlessly, hooking his fingers under your shirt and lifting it to your chin. “Open.”

You obeyed, and Sanemi stuffed the hem of your top into your mouth, making you hold it up while he dropped to lavish your breasts with attention. One calloused thumb pad brushed over the pebbled nub, sending sparks throughout your body, whimpers escaping around the fabric clenched in your teeth. His tongue pressed against the other nipple, enveloping it in heat. You tried to draw your legs up, but Sanemi forced them apart with one knee, pressing into your crotch. You squirmed against it, trying to get friction, not caring if you looked desperate.

Sanemi pulled back, relieving you completely of your shirt as he tugged it over your head. Your mouth finally free, you propped yourself up on your elbows to chase his lips. He obliged you, letting the taste of his mouth fill yours, a hand dropping to trace your skin with blunt fingertips. Everything was heady from alcohol and lust, and you giggled against his touch. It was like a dream: you and Sanemi.

The hunger for more was quickly sinking its teeth into your stomach.

You pushed yourself up, forcing Sanemi’s compliant form back until he was sitting on his knees. Hands found their way to his waistband, and he assisted in removing the offending fabric. Hot, moist breath fanned over his erect member, one of his hands already buried in your hair. You pressed the flat of your tongue to the underside, licking up and reveling in the sharp intake of breath above you.

“Fuck,” Sanemi groaned.

You took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the dark pink head to hear those lovely noises that he tried desperately to hold back escape from his throat. Scarred hands had threaded through your hair and gripped tightly, controlling your movements. Spit dripped down the sides of his dick and clung at the corners of your mouth as Sanemi fucked your face, eyes locked on where his cock slipped in and out of your swollen lips.

“Shit,” he cursed, pulling you off of him after a particularly deep thrust that had left you gagging around him. “Are you-”

“Good,” you assured him, eyes half closed in contentment, flickering downwards as you caught your lips between your teeth.

“Lay down,” Sanemi instructed, an amused smile creeping onto his face as you scrambled to obey.

He moved to between your legs, a hand dropping to slide against the bundle of nerves at the apex of your sex. You whimpered, wriggling against his touch and clutching the sheets with both hands.

“Touch your tits,” Sanemi said. “Since you were so intent on showing off earlier.”

You flushed a deep ruddy color, hands hesitantly coming up to brush over your breasts as a sliver of embarrassment wormed its way into your brain. Sanemi watched your face, your own gaze obscured by lowered lashes and intent on staring at his hand moving at your core.

“Look at me,” he commanded, drawing your eyes to his. “Say my name.”

“S-Sanemi.”

Now that Sanemi was controlling the situation, you found yourself more nervous and unsure of yourself, not used to having the attention on you like this during sex: his smoldering intense gaze and demand for eye contact unsettled- but also thrilled- you.

“Again,” Sanemi pressed one finger against your entrance.

“Sanemi…” you swallowed, body tensing involuntarily.

“Relax,” he lowered himself down until his breath warmed your neck, pressing kisses against your throat. “Say it again.”

“Sanemi-”

Your voice pitched up at the end of his name as his finger plunged into you, velvet walls clenching at the intrusion. Sanemi swore under his breath, rolling his hips against the mattress in time with the slow thrusts of his finger inside of you, slowly pressing another in alongside it after a minute. Your whole body rippled and clenched, searching for more stimulation and touch, arms wrapping around Sanemi’s broad shoulders.

“More, please,” you whined into his hair.

“Already? You sure you’re ready?” Sanemi asked, lifting his head to look you in the eye.

You nodded, furrowing your brow and frowning. Sanemi tried to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his lips and cleared his throat to cover a laugh at your pout. His fingers withdrew from the warmth of your body, making you gasp. He readjusted, positioning himself at your entrance, and you could swear you saw his hands tremble from excitement.

“Fffffu-” Sanemi’s swear was cut off as you clenched around him.

As much as you tried to relax, the pressure between your legs made your body flex and tense. It wasn’t making Sanemi’s job any easier- although from the look on his face, you assumed it wasn’t exactly a bad thing.

“Shit, you’re so- fuck-”

The garbled praise stroked your ego. You wiggled your hips, feeling a bit of satisfaction when Sanemi grabbed them to keep you from moving, face turning pink as his mouth fell open.

“D-don’t do that. Give me a second.”

“Aww,” you crooned, teasing a bit. “Pussy too good?”

“Shut up,” he scowled (not a true scowl, you noted with delight) and pulled his hips back, snapping into you with a ferocity you didn’t expect. A gasp escaped your lips and your own cheeks pinked.

The pace was slow but steady; deep strokes dragging against your plush walls. Each time he plunged into you it felt like he pressed farther in, hitting deeper and deeper until you were sure he couldn’t get any more in your guts than he was, only to be proven wrong. You were breathless as each thrust forced the air from your lungs in a choked whimper, Sanemi’s hips bruising the back of your thighs with the amount of force he applied in retaliation for your teasing.

Your eyes threatened to roll back into your skull, mouth open in a silent cry, tits bouncing with each slap of skin.

“What’s the matter?” Sanemi taunted, throwing your words back into your face. “Dick too good?”

You whimpered a reply, digging your hands into the covers that had rucked up around your head from all the movement. The ridges of the ropy scars adorning his hips were quickly imprinting themselves into the skin of your backside from the harsh impact of each thrust. Sanemi’s pale skin had flushed across his chest and cheeks from the exertion, heat rolling off his figure in waves. A faint sheen of sweat covered both of your bodies, glittering in the low light of Sanemi’s bedside lamp as lewd sounds filled the air.

Your keens began to pitch upwards at the end as Sanemi adjusted the angle he fucked into you at, curling his body over yours and pressing his lips against your collarbone as you released the sheets to anchor your hands in his hair once again. Dark marks painted the column of your neck and along your decollete, purple and damp from Sanemi’s mouth. His hips stuttered against yours, movements starting to become frantic and erratic as your legs instinctively locked around his waist, drawing him closer. He snaked one hand down between the two of you, fumbling fingers flicking your clit with a marked lack of the earlier finesse he’d displayed.

You legs flexed, core winding tighter until a well-timed thrust had you spilling over the edge, his name tearing from your throat. The fluttering of your lush walls around him as you came was Sanemi’s undoing, his own orgasm ripping through him as he groaned your name in a hungry desperation, hips still rutting into you even as the bliss began to fade. It was as if he didn’t want it to end, pushing himself impossibly closer to you and locking his arms around your neck in an embrace as his body slowed to a standstill, half-crushing you under his weight.

“Stay for a bit?”

The faint request was mumbled breathlessly, almost inaudible. You cracked open your eyes, which had fluttered shut in ecstasy earlier. Sanemi was propped on his elbows, half-hovering over you. The tension rose again, something in his eyes melting your heart into a warm sludge that settled in your stomach.

The moment was shattered by a loud voice shouting just outside Sanemi’s door.

 “You have five seconds to become decent before I come in!”

Shinobu’s voice wasn’t hard to recognize, and your face went white. Sanemi threw his shirt at you, grabbing his pants and shoving both feet in, comically wiggling them on. His shirt was just long enough to cover up the important parts on you, even if your nipples were a bit visible through the thin material. The door flung open (Shinobu had granted you an extra second, which you were thankful for) to reveal the dark-haired woman standing with one hand on her hip, the other holding the door wide. The rest of your friends were accumulated behind her, peering around and over her shoulders in varying degrees of shock and delight at your compromising position.

Sanemi glanced between your embarrassed face and the group of girls blocking his door. You could see him put two and two together in his head.

“Did you all have to tail me?” you covered your red face with your hands.

“I take it I have one of them to thank for that dare?” Sanemi’s resting bitch face was back in action as he left the bed, striding over to the group.

“You’re welcome,” Makio raised her bottle in a lazy salute.

“I’ll send you a thank-you card later,” Sanemi took control of the door back from Shinobu. “In the meantime; I’d appreciate it if you’d stop clogging up the hall.”

“I can’t believe she’d rather fuck you than Tengen,” Makio shook her head, pushing off the wall.

“Tengen?” Sanemi raised a brow.

“She chose to kill Tengen in Fuck, Marry, Kill,” Suma offered. “And to Fuck you.”

“Suma!” you groaned. “Can you all just leave?”

Sanemi leaned lazily against the door.

“So is that why you dared her to fuck me?”

There was a chorus of laughter, none louder than Makio’s. Sanemi raised his brows, watching the woman doubled over in laughter.

“We never dared her to sleep with you,” Makio finally straightened, wheezing. “Just to flash her tits.”

The door slammed in their faces, Sanemi’s back to you as he locked it. You swallowed, hands holding the hem of his shirt down over your thighs as you sat in his bed. Sanemi’s shoulders heaved as if he was taking deep breaths.

“You… didn’t get dared to fuck me?”

Sanemi spun on his heel, in front of you before you realized it. His lavender eyes locked with yours. It took a second for you to notice the cocky smile playing on his lips.

“No, but I wanted to, though,” you wet your lips, eyes roving over Sanemi’s face. “Does it matter?”

His lips pulled back to reveal a full smile, something you’d never seen before. His hands came up to either side of your face. When his face was a fraction away from yours, he paused, rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone.

“Hell-fucking-no,” he growled, surging forward to catch your mouth with his.

Outside the room and down the hall, the gaggle of girls waited at the elevator, voices not exactly quiet.

“Why did you make her flash Sanemi?” Mitsuri asked Makio. “You know he can be… rough around the edges. What if he’d… not been into it.”

Makio laughed.

“A little birdie told me Sanemi had a bit of a crush on a certain someone,” the blonde tossed her empty bottle into a trash receptacle. “And I had a perfect opportunity to play matchmaker. Why shouldn’t I?”

[zablife]

Green Gloves (Part 1)

Ada Shelby & OC (Irene Robinson)

Summary: In the last months of 1917, a shy newcomer named Irene meets unruly Ada Shelby, forming a bond that only deepens with time.

Author's Note: I realized this would be too long to post as a one shot so I'll be posting 2-3 parts of this mini series.

WINTER 1917

The crowded church hall was quiet save for the clinking of knitting needles and a few scattered whispers. Ada quickly noted that every girl from school seemed to be in attendance and it was clear they’d all been kept away from home for the same purpose. That and, of course, the ever present need for socks and mittens for their fathers and brothers away at war. 

Losing interest in her project, Ada began to search for a diversion. Looking up from her work, her gaze drifted toward a ginger haired girl opposite her. She watched at the skillful way the girl’s hands worked, quickly looping over one another in a satisfying rhythm. It was a talent Ada sadly didn’t possess, a shortcoming she was well aware of thanks to Polly’s frequent complaints about leaving all the mending to her.

Head dropping toward the ball of yarn in her lap to pick at the tangled mess, Ada let out an heavy sigh. This would be surely be another wasted effort, she thought as she picked the strands apart to use them for a game of cat’s cradle. That too came to an abrupt halt when her clumsy fingers betrayed her once more, ring finger stuck tightly in the intricate web strung between her palms. 

“Bloody hell,” she exclaimed while tugging at the ends helplessly, a giggle erupting at her pathetic plight.

Several young women looked up from their knitting, needles poised in the air along with their eyebrows at her language. Only one girl at the table remained unphased by the disturbance, which intrigued Ada.

“Has your mum sent you to stay out trouble on baking day as well?" Ada whispered hoarsely, earning her a sharp hush from the corner.

“Something like that…” the shy girl noted with a giggle, missing a stitch as she stared into the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen. 

“I’m Ada. What’s your name?” 

“Irene,” the girl mumbled as she diligently worked to repair her mistake. 

“That’s a lovely scarf,” Ada remarked, voice full of hushed awe at the intricate detail in the pattern which had obviously been crafted with a great deal of love.

Smiling to herself at her progress, Irene folded the scarf in her lap before glancing up slowly. Her face tilted at an angle which hid her blushing cheeks, making it obvious to Ada she wasn’t the kind of person who took a compliment easily. In fact, she wondered if the girl would even answer.

“Thank you,” Irene eventually acknowledged before turning the attention back to Ada. “What are you knitting?”

“A disaster,” Ada snorted, holding up the knotted yarn she’d balled in her fist.

The unexpected candor made Irene laugh out loud, clamping a hand over her mouth to stay out of trouble and spare Ada’s feelings. “I can help if you’d like,” she offered sweetly.

“Need all the help I can get, don’t I?” Ada remarked, mouth quirked in playful smile.

“I think you might,” Irene conceded with a giggle.

——————————

SPRING 1918

“Why are we here?” Ada asked as she fidgeted in her seat. She knew why. Her best friend’s interest in medicine and a desire to help those in need, but it didn’t make the time pass any more quickly.

“To help the war effort. Try and pay attention. Won’t you?” Irene urged, focusing her full attention to the first aid lecture. A humorless and frightfully boring woman was demonstrating how to stop someone from choking, a topic which didn’t interest Ada in the least. 

Besides, she simply couldn’t understand why Irene could be so attentive to a woman who’d humiliated her as they volunteered last month, calling Irene an “ignorant little fool” because she’d mixed up items in the care packages.

“But we’ve already spent hours rolling bandages. My fingers are going to fall off, do they want it to be our bloody ears next!” Ada whined, hoping Irene would be swayed by her suffering.

A swift jerk of her head indicated the dowdy looking nurse had heard the commotion at the back of the room and she fired a quick reprimand. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class Miss Shelby?”

“No ma’am” Ada mumbled, chewing her lip as she slid down into her chair. She crossed her arms, a sulky pout settling over her brow as the woman turned her back to address the other ladies.

“As I was saying, the next step is to check the airway…” she lectured, turning toward a small diagram to gesture in a wooden manner.

Moments later a long, low sigh echoed across the table.“Can’t we leave?” Ada begged. Without a response from Irene, she began tugging on her friend’s sleeve like an impatient child. “She’s putting me to sleep!” she argued.

“Then sleep!” Irene hissed, wishing her new friend would take a nap.

“I would, but she smells of anchovies! ” Ada protested before she began to giggle uncontrollably.

At that moment the nurse spun around on her heel, charging toward Irene, a deep V carved in her forehead as she bent down to confront her. “What did you say, girl?” The nurse fumed, the fact that she was unable to recall Irene’s name infuriating Ada.

“Nothing,” Irene denied with a quick shake of her head. “Sh-she was asking for my notes, that’s, erm…that’s all,” she stumbled, shuffling some papers as she avoided eye contact.

Grasping the blank page from Irene’s fingertips, the nurse exclaimed, “You little liar!”

“And you’re a stupid cunt!” Ada shouted, standing from her chair defiantly. “It was me who called you boring and smelly!” she confessed, hands on her hips.

Irene’s eyes shot to the nurse’s face which was rapidly turning a bright shade of red as she sputtered with indignation. Irene gulped as the woman swung toward her, face inches from her nose as she seethed, “Now I remember you! You’re that stupid, worthless girl who cost us two extra days of packing last month!” 

Irene’s body trembled, eyes flooding with unshed tears as the woman wagged her finger. “You should be ashamed of yourself wasting the precious time of professionals. Don’t you have anything you’d like to say to me?”

If Irene hadn’t stood up at that moment, Ada might have started swinging, her fierce protectiveness for gentle Irene always at the ready. However, she stopped herself as she watched her friend’s chest expand with a deep breath, her lips quivering slightly as she eeked out a brave, “Cunt!”

All the girls in the room gasped as they heard the quiet, mouse like girl defend herself. A brief moment of silence echoed like the calm before a mighty storm before they heard a thunderous roar of anger, “Out! I want both of you out!”

Irene despaired, tearfully gathering her belongings as Ada glared at the woman who had insulted her best friend. 

They soon found themselves standing in the alley behind the church, Ada smoking a cigarette as Irene looked on in disbelief.

“What do we do?” she panicked, fingertips tracing her forehead in thought. 

Ada took another drag and Irene began to pace, silence lingering between them until she suddenly stopped face to face with her friend. “Now you’re quiet,” she observed in annoyance. “Why couldn’t you have just done what she asked?” 

Ada gulped, an uncomfortable pit forming in her stomach as she watched her friend’s large hazel eyes turn from their usual honeyed brown to cool emerald. It was only a trick of the light, but that was difficult to remember as she endured a wave of anxiety fueled by dread. 

Dropping the cigarette from her fingertips, she watched it tumble onto the cobblestones and toed it half heartedly with the tip of her boot. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“What am I going to tell my mum?” Irene asked, her voice quivering slightly. 

Ada’s eyes rose to meet Irene’s, recognizing the note of fear she was so desperately trying to conceal. Then an idea came to her, the certainty of it allowing her insides to slowly unclench.

“We’ll go to the pictures,” Ada declared brightly. “If we stay until supper, your mum won’t know,” she reasoned, hooking her arm over Irene’s. 

“What about that awful nurse? What if she visits my house?” Irene despaired, dropping her head to her chest.

Ada waited and wondered if she could betray family confidence. She’d known all afternoon that a certain gambling debt would be settled by Shelby Company Limited, Scudboat sent to drive husband and wife from town before nightfall. Irene didn’t need to hear all of this though.

“She won’t be here tonight to talk to anyone,” Ada said confidently.

“H-how do you know?” Irene sniffed.

Pursing her lips for a moment of careful thought, Ada decided a simple explanation best. “Because her husband’s in a lot of trouble and they have to leave town. My aunt told me so.”

She tugged at her friend as she whispered enticingly, “I think we should see the new Rudolph Valentino.” Giving Irene a nudge with her elbow she added, “Come on, he’s your favorite!”

Irene sighed in defeat as she allowed Ada to pull her along. “Why are you always the one getting us into trouble, but you want me to thank you for it?” she shook her head as though she were still trying to unravel the mystery of Ada’s charm. 

“Because you love it,” Ada said, casting a mischievous glance at Irene, blue eyes twinkling with glee.

“Maybe too much,” Irene conceded with a little smile. 

Cont reading Part 2

-----------

TAG LIST:

@peakyswritings

@evita-shelby

@shelbydelrey

@alanadetigy

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@callsign-fangirl

@notyour-valentine

@theshelbyclan

@red-riding-wood

@polishcrazyone

@elenavampire21

@little-diable

@lyarr24

@the-fangirl-diaries

@kmc1989

@stilestotherescue 

@helen06dreamer

@chaosinkest1996 

@pietroxreader 

@galactict3a

@ietss

@mostly-marvel-musings

@writeroutoftime

@yolobloggers

@outlanderuniverse

@anilovessadbooks

@tremendousstarlighttragedy

@elliaze

@leenieweenie

@snickersmee

@niktwazny303

@thomashelbyswife

@brummiereader

@cillmequick

@justrainandcoffee

@dream-this-nightmare-over

@emotionalcadaver

@peakyltd

@look-at-the-soul

@toms-cherry-trees

@copinghex

@call-sign-shark

[kamotecue]

number one rule┆彡 c. nevin

pairing: courtney nevin x reader

summary: y/n raso always had her number one rule, to never date her sister’s teammate, however that all changed when australia’s #2 catches her eyes.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“you’re here.” hayley said, as you put your phone back into your pocket, giving your older sister a soft smile.

“i am, i didn’t want to miss the bronze match.” she gave you a soft smile and nodded.

“glad your here, how’s college?” you shrugged, it was an absolute terror, but you managed.

“it’s fine, been busy with the biology assignments. but it’s worth it, i suppose.”

“college football, then?” hayley asked, as you gave her a wince, making her have this questioning look.

“i’ve torn my acl a few weeks back, currently in the process of rehab.” you said, as hayley’s eyes furrowed.

“it’s the first time i’m hearing this.” you gave her a nod.

“i’ve told our parents to not tell you, i’m out for this year’s season.” hayley gave you a hug, as you returned it. she knew what it was like for an athlete to tore their acl, it was torture as they’d be sitting out for months.

you spent the whole morning catching up with your family as you were mostly in the states busy to maintain your school scholarship. hayley was first to leave, giving your parents tight hugs before giving you one.

“cheer loudly for us, kiddo.” as you nodded, she gave you a smile before exiting the cafe. you went through different shops, carefully selecting a gift for your sister.

you watched as the gift got wrapped, thanking the worker as she handed it to you. you gave her a smile before leaving the shop, putting the bag in your backpack for double keeping.

you headed to the stadium afterwards, taking a seat in the family and friends isle. they were against sweden, a team you looked forward to as they had great players.

you kept your eyes on the field, analyzing the starting eleven from both teams which made you wonder.

“busy as always.” your mother said, as she chuckled. you looked at her with furrowed eyebrows, as you hummed.

“you always analyze the line-up, and see how they would play.” she continued as you laughed knowing that she was extremely correct.

it was a whole blur at this point, you watched as frido had scored a goal as it was deemed as a penalty after the pressure from polkinghorne.

the little shove between asllani and gorry had you amused, but at the same time concerned. in the early minutes of the second half, you watched as mary fowler tapped the ball in scoring it at the top right corner.

you cheered from your seat, as the crowd went wild. it was an equalizer, all you needed was for one more point. however, in the 62nd minute you watched as asllani, sweden’s captain hit the shot from just outside the box, as arnold couldn’t get enough to keep it out.

the game ended with 2-1, you watched as hayley sat down on the pitch. the way the swedish team celebrated, while the matildas looked so flabbergasted and dejected at the same time.

you approached the pitch as you felt hayley give you a tight hug, you knew she had tears in her eyes.

“you did well, haz. although it isn’t what you expected, finishing 4th out of 32 teams is a great accomplishment for the team.” you said, as hayley just shook her head.

you gazed at one of her teammates who set their eyes on you. it was their #5, courtney nevin someone you’ve heard about through your sister who’d talk about her teammates.

she furrowed her eyebrows, probably the fact that she’s never saw you before.

“listen to me, haz. you’ve already made a great accomplishment for the country, i know you wanted to win, but you’re also a winner despite the loss today. you played your best, however sweden was the better team today. besides, since when does a raso quit? i thought we never give up.” you said as hayley laughed, gently punching your arm as you jokingly winced.

“let’s meet the team, yeah?” hayley asked as you shrugged.

“you only know gorry, kyra and cha cha.” hayley said as you snickered.

“well, introduce me to them then? they might be my future teammates after all.” you said, winking at the last part.

you hopped over the barrier, landing on your good leg as you approached the team with a smile.

“oh, look it’s little raso.” katrina said, as you laughed at her joke.

“hi, mini” you said, towering over her to which she softly pushed you. but you ended up bumping into a certain person who landed on the ground.

“sorry about that.” you said, which a cheeky grin. courtney gave you a soft smile, before looking at you in the eyes.

“i’m courtney” she held her hand out as you accepted it, pulling her up from the ground.

“i’m y/n raso.” you said, and that’s how one of the best love stories existed. katrina claims that she should be some credits in creating the couple.

[can i just say that this was long overdue?]

[clemblog]

Caine’s Lesson - Part 11

•

Pomni, Max, Chad and Gummigoo had all been out on their scavenger adventures. Happily riding past the old fudge lake where the Fudge monster used to reside.

“POMNI!”

She had Jingle stop immediately. Snapping her head directly in the direction of the familiar voice. It was something she’d never imagined seeing here before.

Ragatha.

Kinger.

Zooble.

Gangle.

Jax.

All covered in fudge dragging themselves out of the lake.

“What are you guys doing here?!” She exclaimed, jumping down from Jingle.

“Pomni! Thank goodness! You’re okay!” Beamed Ragatha, pulling her into a hug.

“…Caine happened.” Eeked Gangle.

Pomni frowned at this.

“Did you guys yell at him too-?”

“No, I just think he’s kind of… loosing it-“ Hummed Zooble.

“Huh.” Frowned Pomni. “Guess you guys should come with me then-“

She turned to her crew.

“T-Think we have room for these guys back at the ranch?”

“Course Poms! A friend of yours is a friend of ours!” Grinned Gummigoo.

“Poms~?” Mused Jax.

“…Shut up, that’s just my name here-“

“Whatever you say Pom Pom~”

“It’s Poms!”

Pomni took Ragatha on Jingle.

Gummigoo had Zooble and Gangle on Tang. Max had Jax on Sour. Chad was with Kinger on Horse!

When the group got back, Pomni went with Gummigoo, Max and Chad to tend to the horses. Leaving the circus members outside of the main ranch house. Ma Croc opened the door.

“Oh my! More citizen survivors, please, come in come in. My name is Ma! Come sit down, I’m making some soup! You’re all skin and bones! So have as much as you please!”

“Hey-!”

“A-Alright-“

“…Okay.”

“That’s incredibly kind of you Ma- Come on guys! Be polite guests-“

“AA- Where are we-“

“You’re at Croco Ranch, my dear!” Smiled Ma, having lead the group into the kitchen of the house. “It’s the current safe house for all the candy citizens who survived the attack from the Fudge.”

Luckily, she’d turned to stir her soup and grab some bowls as everyone was now glaring at Jax. Well. Except for Zooble, but she was quickly brought up to speed by Gangle and joined everyone in the subtle shame game.

Ma was soon handing everyone bowls of soup, giving Jax a break from the glaring. It was a warm sweet soup, so nobody had any complaints.

“I’m going to get you all a place set up now. You’ll need the rest. And to clean up-“ She chuckled, looking over their fudge covered appearances.

“Ah- Yeah-“ Snickered Ragtha, sheepishly. “Again, thank Ma-“

“It’s no problem in the slightest, dear.”

The group were soon lead out to the barn where they’d be staying for the time being. Ma had done her best to give everyone bedding that was suited to them! It was very comfy and the group were very grateful.

Ragatha sat on her bed, just staring off and watching all the Candy citizens pass by. Truth be told, she was a little sad. She had never seen Pomni so happy- She’d be thriving outside the circus! Away from the group- …away from her. Had she been reading things wrong all along? Did Pomni not value her as much as she valued her? Did she do something wrong?

She wasn’t sure.

But there was one thing she did know. As badly as she wanted it, Pomni’s heart wasn’t for her. So, she’d stay quiet. And hope that deep down, once things settled down Pomni would ease back into their little circus family. So they could be friends again! Because at the end of the day, even if she knew she was okay, and that they were all together again.

Ragatha still missed her. She’d changed so much- Even if she knew it was for the better… She missed the scared sassy Pomni she’d met who’d stuck by her and the rest of the circus.

But at the end of the day, if you love something. You’re supposed to let it go.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t hope it’ll grow stronger, and that it may return to you someday, even if just for a moment.

So that’s what Ragatha would do.

“Hey? Are you alright?”

Ragatha blinked and looked up, she’d been stuck in her thoughts for a little while now-

It was Lou.

“Oh! I’m alright- Just thinking-.” She admitted, sheepishly.

“Pretty intently, with that grimace on your face-“ Mused Lou, softly, poking her playfully on the forehead. “You’ll start getting wrinkles if you aren’t careful-“

Ragatha snickered at this gently.

“Right- Right-“

“Kidding.” Mused Lou, softly. “Nobody should have to care for wrinkles, they’re natural. But still, you should look out for how long you space out. I’m Lou, by the way. Princess of the Candy Kingdom.”

“Alright, will do Lou.” Winked Ragatha, playfully. “Thanks though, I’ll definitely keep it in mind.”

“Great! I’d hate to see a pretty face like yours look so down in the dumps again.”

Ragatha just snickered at this, rolling her eyes.

“Now, come on, you wanna come help me with some organising or are you gonna stay moping around.”

“I don’t mind helping!”

Maybe getting over Pomni wouldn’t be so hard for Ragatha after all!

Jax was asleep in his bed, curled up in a knitted blanket that matched his dungarees. Zooble wasn’t sure where Kinger had gotten off to but that just left her and Gangle to relax on their opposing bunk beds. The peace was nice, especially now that she didn’t have to worry about Caine. It meant she could finally focus on Gangle. And what she meant to her. What she wanted for the future, if they got a future at all- She wasn’t sure anymore, but she wouldn’t let it drag her down- Because if their was even a possibility of a future, she’d plan it out for the rest of her days.

Because in many times in life, sometimes the only thing you had was hope.

Part 12

[sicknessbysalem]

Two for One Special | Sicktember 2024

ended up sort of combining ‘day five: rogue organ’ (which i didn’t think i was going to write so i subbed it) and ‘day sixteen: toxin/poison’ (to the extent of mentioning both)

in honor of the professional football season starting this weekend and my favorite team absolutely FUCKING EVERYTHING UP… i decided to write.

I’m sure my other works are long but this bad boy is 5.6k words because i had way too much fun writing college (so, baby) novak + appendicitis. So buckle up best friends.

if you have any requests, comments, questions, etc., send them my way!

tw emeto, fever, rapid sickness, life threatening sickness, hospitalization, fainting

Novak stood on the field, his broad shoulders squared against the weight of the game ahead. The air was electric, charged with the shouts and cheers of thousands of fans filling the stadium. His teammates were hyped, adrenaline coursing through them as they prepared for the biggest game of the season—the championship. But Novak... he wasn't feeling the same rush. Not entirely.

His stomach, twisted tight in knots since the morning, was gnawing at him more fiercely now. The nausea had started creeping in during the bus ride to the stadium, a subtle churning that he tried to write off as pre-game jitters. But now, standing in full gear with his helmet tucked under one arm, the sensation refused to fade. The queasiness simmered low in his gut, nagging at him as the countdown to kickoff drew closer.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to ease the discomfort, but it didn’t help. Novak had been through enough rough games and tough hits to know that something wasn’t quite right with him today. It wasn’t just nerves. It was something deeper, something he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried to focus on the game plan.

From the sidelines, his eyes flicked toward the stands. Somewhere in that sea of faces was his mother, Marina. She had flown in to watch him play, and it was the first time in months he’d get to see her in person. That alone should have fueled him, but even thinking about her being there wasn’t enough to settle his queasy stomach.

The coach blew the whistle, calling them into the huddle. Novak tugged his helmet on, pushing away the swirling discomfort. He was Novak Daskalov, the linebacker who never missed a snap. He wasn’t about to let some stomach bug—or whatever this was—ruin his shot at a championship ring. Not to mention how many professional coaches were probably here, scouting draft picks. Sure, Novak had another year. But at least if he did well here, he'd be on the radar.

The game kicked off, and for a while, Novak managed to push the gnawing nausea aside. The thud of shoulder pads colliding, the roar of the crowd, the thrill of chasing down the opposing quarterback—all of it distracted him. But in the quieter moments, in those brief pauses between plays, the unsettling churn in his stomach would return, more persistent each time.

By the time halftime rolled around, Novak was drenched in sweat, but not from exertion. He pulled his helmet off as he jogged toward the sidelines, each step making his stomach lurch dangerously. His head was starting to pound too, a dull throb at the base of his skull, but he could handle a headache. It was the nausea that was beginning to get the better of him.

Novak made a quick decision. As soon as the team broke for halftime, he beelined for the athletic trainer's tent, keeping his head low so none of his teammates would ask questions. His vision blurred slightly from the discomfort, but he made it to the tent without drawing attention. Inside, the trainer, a seasoned woman who’d seen more than her fair share of sick and injured players, took one look at him and raised an eyebrow.

"You alright, Daskalov?" she asked, her tone more knowing than concerned.

He swallowed hard, wincing at the way his stomach protested the motion. “Yeah… just need a minute,” he muttered, his voice tight.

She nodded, not pushing him for more. Athletes had a certain pride, especially guys like Novak, and she’d learned when to give them space.

Novak barely made it to the trash can in the corner of the tent before the nausea took over. He doubled over, clutching the edge of the can as his stomach finally gave in to the relentless churning. His body heaved painfully, forcing out what little he had in his system. The retching was violent, his whole body tensing as he tried to keep quiet, embarrassed by the display of weakness. He gasped, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, the sour taste lingering in his throat.

The trainer was there with a water bottle, but she didn’t say a word, just handed it to him with a quiet understanding. He accepted it gratefully, taking a sip to rinse the awful taste from his mouth. His face felt flushed, and he could feel the dull ache behind his eyes intensifying.

"Look," the trainer said softly, "if you're not up for the second half—"

"I’m fine," Novak interrupted, his voice more forceful than he intended. His heart was still racing, but he wasn’t about to let this stop him. Not now. His team needed him. And more than that, he couldn’t afford to let his mom down. Marina was in those stands, expecting to see him walk off that field as a champion.

The trainer gave him a long, hard look before finally nodding. “Alright. Just… if you need to come back, don’t wait.”

Novak nodded, trying to force his body back into action mode. He wiped his face with a towel, took a few deep breaths, and left the tent. The second half was about to start.

Despite the queasiness that still lingered in his stomach, Novak jogged back onto the field, the roar of the crowd hitting him like a wave. His vision tunneled for a moment, the noise and lights blurring together, but he blinked hard, grounding himself. There were two more quarters to get through, and no matter how bad he felt, Novak was going to power through it.

By some miracle, he did. Each snap, each tackle, felt like a monumental effort, but he gave it his all. His teammates had no idea anything was wrong—he wouldn’t let them see it. Every hit sent a fresh wave of nausea through him, but Novak buried it down, forcing his body to obey his mind. He had to finish this game.

And when the final whistle blew, signaling their victory, Novak stood tall, his chest heaving with exhaustion and relief. They’d done it. They’d won the championship.

The crowd erupted into cheers, and Novak let himself feel a small burst of pride, even as his stomach threatened to rebel again. His teammates crowded around him, all celebrating, slapping his back, pulling him into the joy of the moment. Novak smiled, doing his best to join in, but the trainer’s tent still loomed in his mind. He could still taste the sour remnants of his halftime struggle, and his body felt far weaker than it should have after a win like this.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted Marina standing in the stands, beaming with pride. Novak’s heart swelled with emotion—he had done this for her. Despite everything, he had made it through.

-

Novak had barely slept.

The championship victory that had felt monumental the night before had lost its luster in the haze of sickness that followed. As soon as the adrenaline had worn off and he’d gotten back to his dorm, the nausea that had plagued him during the game came back with a vengeance. He’d hoped it would fade once the excitement was over, but instead, it had grown worse. Novak had spent most of the night in the bathroom, doubled over the sink or clutching the sides of the toilet, his stomach rejecting everything he had eaten—or tried to eat.

Now, standing in front of his mirror, he hardly recognized his reflection. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, his skin pale, the usual sharp angles of his jawline softened by the toll his body was taking. His right side ached, a persistent throb that flared whenever he twisted the wrong way, but Novak had chalked it up to the brutal tackles from the game. He had taken more hits than usual, and it was no surprise something was sore.

His phone buzzed on the dresser next to him—a message from Benji, his roommate.

You good? You were up a lot last night.

Novak stared at the screen for a second before replying: Fine. Just post-game stuff.

He left it vague on purpose. Benji had already expressed concern earlier in the morning, catching Novak pacing outside the bathroom after another bout of nausea, waiting out to see if there was more to come up or if he was fine for now.

Benji wasn’t stupid—he’d noticed how Novak had barely touched his breakfast or how he’d clutched his side a little too tightly when he thought no one was looking. But Novak couldn’t deal with worrying Benji right now, not when his head was already swimming with everything else.

Besides, he had to go to class. He couldn’t afford to miss a day, not with the semester well underway. Professors always gave athletes that sideways glance if they skipped right after a big win, as if the victory was an excuse to slack off. Novak wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction of thinking that. He had worked too hard to be dismissed as someone who was only there for the game.

Still, walking to class felt like an impossible task. The cold, early morning air should have woken him up, but it only served to make the nausea worse. Every step sent an unpleasant jolt through his stomach, and by the time he reached the first lecture hall, he felt like he was going to be sick all over again. He kept his head down as he entered, choosing a seat near the back, away from the more crowded rows in the middle. Plus, he was close to a doorway. Just in case.

As the lecture began, Novak tried to focus, but the professor’s voice sounded far away, like he was speaking underwater. His notes were a mess of half-written lines, his mind too foggy to keep up. The nausea pulsed in waves, and at one point, Novak had to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek just to keep himself from bolting out of the room.

Halfway through the class, he broke.

The professor had been droning on about market analysis in sports industries when Novak felt the unmistakable rise of bile in his throat. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, as his body tensed in protest. He couldn’t let himself get sick here, not in front of everyone.

With barely a second to spare, Novak grabbed his bag and slipped out of the classroom. He walked as calmly as he could, but the second he was in the hall, he bolted to the nearest bathroom. The door swung open with a slam, and Novak fell against the sink, gripping the porcelain edges until his knuckles turned white. He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead, the nausea overwhelming. But just like before, nothing came of it—his stomach twisted and churned, but refused to rid itself of the poison building inside him.

He braced himself against the sink, breathing hard, willing the nausea to pass. For a moment, he stayed like that, head hanging low, the cool air of the bathroom a slight relief against his flushed skin. But the reprieve was temporary. Novak splashed some cold water on his face and stared at his reflection again, the harsh fluorescent lights of the bathroom doing nothing to hide how awful he looked.

With a deep breath, he forced himself back to class.

By the time he returned, the lecture was nearly over, but Novak didn’t care. He slid back into his seat, ignoring the few glances that followed him. His right side throbbed again, but he pushed it aside, just like the nausea. There was only one more class before lunch, and if he could just make it through the morning, he’d be fine.

At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

The next class was worse. Novak could barely keep up with the lecture, the words from his textbook blurring in front of his eyes. He tried to take notes, but his hand felt heavy, his mind too slow to process what was being said. His stomach flipped dangerously more than once, and by the end of class, he had to stifle a groan as the pain in his side grew sharper.

Once the class ended, Novak bolted from the room again. The thought of lunch made his stomach turn, so instead of heading to the cafeteria, he found the nearest bathroom—one he knew would be less crowded—and sat down on the cold tile floor, his back against the wall. He could tell he would be sick again.

For a long while, Novak just sat there, knees drawn up to his chest as he leaned his head back against the stall door. His stomach felt like it was trying to tie itself into knots, the nausea worse than before, and his side throbbed with each breath. He wasn’t sure if he could make it through the rest of the day at this rate.

He didn’t want to worry Marina. She had come all this way to watch him play, and she was supposed to stay in town for a few days—probably to catch up, maybe even celebrate his win. But Novak couldn’t face her, not like this. He didn’t want her to know how bad he felt. She had enough to worry about with everything back home. He could handle this on his own.

But as the minutes ticked by, Novak felt the telltale signs that his body was ready to revolt again. His stomach lurched, and he barely had time to lean over the toilet before the nausea overwhelmed him, forcing up whatever little was left inside him. He gagged, his entire body heaving with the force of it, his throat burning as he tried to keep himself steady.

When it was over, Novak slumped back against the wall, breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath. He'd head to his next class soon. He just couldn't. Not right now.

-

Novak’s next class was a blur of half-formed thoughts and a dull, persistent ache in his right side. But for the first time since waking up that morning, the nausea seemed to ebb slightly. It wasn’t a full reprieve—his stomach still felt unsettled, but at least it wasn’t twisting with the same violent intensity. He sat at the back of the room, his notebook open, though his pen hadn’t moved in nearly twenty minutes.

Maybe this was it, he thought. Maybe the worst had passed.

With cautious optimism, Novak fished out a granola bar from his backpack. His stomach growled—not in hunger, but in protest—but he knew he had to eat something. He hadn’t had more than a sip of water all day, and if he was going to make it through this class, he needed some energy.

He unwrapped the bar slowly, as if the sound itself might trigger the nausea again. With a hesitant bite, he tested the waters, chewing slowly. His stomach stayed quiet. Encouraged, Novak took another small bite, then a sip of water. It wasn’t much, but it felt like progress. For the first time in hours, he allowed himself to believe he might actually make it through the day without completely falling apart.

But by the time the class was winding down, Novak realized his small victory had been short-lived.

As the professor wrapped up the lecture, Novak felt the familiar heaviness settling back into his gut, slow and insidious. The nausea returned, creeping in like a shadow, bringing with it a fresh wave of discomfort. He shifted in his seat, trying to stretch his back and alleviate the pressure on his side, but it only made things worse. The ache had sharpened, and now, every breath felt like it tugged at something deep within his body.

Novak gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay seated until the end of the lecture. He glanced at the clock—five more minutes. He could handle five minutes. But with each passing second, the nausea intensified, his stomach rolling with every breath. The water he had sipped earlier sloshed unpleasantly inside him, and Novak could feel his body threatening to rebel again.

Finally, the professor dismissed the class, and Novak was out of his seat in an instant, clutching his bag as he bolted for the door. He needed air—anything to keep from being sick in front of everyone again. But just as he was about to head toward the nearest exit, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Marina Daskalova.

He paused, dread pooling in his stomach. He wasn’t ready to talk to her, not like this. Not when he felt like opening his mouth would make him puke. But he knew if he ignored the call, it would raise suspicion. With a resigned sigh, Novak answered, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

“Hey, mamon.”

“Novak! I was thinking, since you’re done with classes soon, do you want to grab dinner tonight? I’m still in town, and I’d love to catch up properly.” She sounded so excited, eager even. "Plus, I want to celebrate your win."

Novak’s heart sank. Dinner was the last thing he wanted to think about, especially with the way his stomach was churning. But how could he say no? His mom had come all this way to see him play, and the least he could do was spend some time with her. Besides, if he admitted to feeling sick, she’d worry, and he didn’t want that.

He forced a smile into his voice. “Yeah, that sounds great. I, uh, I still have one more class, but it should be over soon. I’ll meet you after.”

The lie slipped out easily, and even as the words left his mouth, Novak felt a pang of guilt. His last class had been canceled—he should have just told her the truth. But then he’d have to explain why he wasn’t feeling up to dinner, and that was a conversation he wasn’t ready to have. He’d rest for a bit back at the dorm, clean himself up, and hopefully feel better by the time they met up.

Marina sounded pleased. “Perfect. Just let me know when you’re free.”

“I will. See you soon.”

As soon as he hung up, Novak leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. The thought of food made his stomach churn violently, but he couldn’t back out now. He just had to make it through dinner—after that, he could collapse in bed and forget the whole day had happened.

He dragged himself back to the dorm, each step feeling heavier than the last. His body felt sluggish, the pain in his side a dull throb that refused to fade, and his nausea had only worsened since leaving the classroom. By the time he reached his dorm room, Novak was exhausted, his skin clammy with sweat. He fumbled with the key, pushing the door open and stepping into the familiar space with a sigh of relief.

Benji wasn’t there, which was a small blessing. Novak didn’t want to answer any more concerned questions right now. He needed to focus on getting himself together before dinner. He tossed his bag onto the floor and headed straight for the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face to shake the fatigue clinging to him. His reflection stared back at him, pale and drawn, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

He couldn’t show up to dinner looking like this.

Novak peeled off his shirt, wincing as the motion sent a sharp pain through his side. He gingerly touched the spot, half-expecting to find a bruise, but there was nothing visible. Maybe he’d pulled something during the game, or maybe it was just his body’s way of retaliating after all the stress it had been through. Either way, he couldn’t focus on that now.

After changing into a fresh shirt and brushing his teeth to rid himself of the lingering bitterness of nausea, Novak collapsed onto his bed. The soft mattress welcomed him, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to relax. He stretched out, closing his eyes, hoping the rest would calm his stomach and ease the throbbing in his side.

But the relief was fleeting. His stomach twisted again, a tight, uncomfortable knot that made him curl in on himself, pressing a hand to his abdomen in a vain attempt to soothe it. The ache in his side flared up again, sharper this time, and Novak clenched his jaw, breathing through the pain.

This wasn’t just the aftermath of the game. Something was wrong.

He could feel his body screaming for rest, for food, for anything other than the constant pushing he’d put it through. But he couldn’t stop now. He’d already promised his mom dinner, and if he canceled, she’d know something was up. So instead, Novak stayed there, eyes shut, breathing slowly as he tried to push the nausea and pain down.

He just needed to make it through a few hours. After that, he could deal with whatever this was.

-

Novak had hoped that resting for a while and eating something light would help steady him before meeting up with his mom. He’d managed to choke down a small meal and drink some water, and for a brief moment, it had seemed like things were going to be alright. The pain in his side had dulled, the nausea had lessened, and while he still felt off, he figured he could make it through the evening without issue.

But now, as he stood in front of his mom’s hotel room door, that tentative calm was unraveling.

His stomach had begun to twist again, a familiar and unwelcome sensation building deep in his gut. He shifted uneasily on his feet, swallowing back the rising discomfort as he knocked lightly on the door. His hand instinctively drifted to his side, pressing against the ache that hadn’t fully gone away.

The door opened, and Marina’s warm smile greeted him. “Novak! Come in, come in,” she said, stepping aside to let him in.

He smiled back, trying to ignore the wave of nausea that hit him as he stepped inside. The smell of her perfume—soft, floral, comforting—washed over him, but it only served to heighten the queasiness he’d been fighting all day. Novak’s steps faltered as he moved toward the small sitting area in her room, his stomach roiling violently.

“You look tired, sweetie,” Marina commented, eyeing him with concern as she closed the door. “Did you sleep at all after the game?”

“A little,” Novak lied, his voice strained. He dropped his bag onto a chair, trying to appear casual as he settled down. The effort it took just to sit upright sent a spike of pain through his side, and he grimaced, hoping she wouldn’t notice. “I’m fine, though. How was your day?”

Marina crossed the room, sitting across from him, but her eyes were sharp, studying him in that way only a mother could. “My day was fine, but you don’t look so fine,” she said gently. “You sure you’re feeling alright?”

Novak nodded too quickly. “Yeah, I’m good.” The nausea surged, and he shifted in his seat, trying to find a position that wouldn’t make the sensation worse. But the queasiness was growing stronger, his stomach twisting tighter with each passing second.

He glanced toward the bathroom, his heart pounding as the familiar pressure built at the back of his throat. “Uh, mamón—excuse me for a second. I… I’m… sorry.”

Without waiting for her reply, Novak bolted from the chair and made a beeline for the bathroom. The second he shut the door behind him, his stomach gave up the fight. He barely made it to the toilet before the nausea overwhelmed him, and he started to vomit, violently, painfully.

His body heaved, his stomach emptying itself in harsh, agonizing waves. The retching was brutal, each convulsion leaving him gasping for breath. Novak clung to the edge of the toilet, his knuckles white as his body betrayed him again. And worse, the pain in his side flared with each round, sharp and excruciating, until it felt like a hot knife was being twisted inside him.

“Novak?” Marina’s voice came from the other side of the door, muffled by concern.

He couldn’t answer. His body was too busy convulsing, too wrapped up in the vicious cycle of sickness. The pain in his side was unbearable now, radiating from his lower abdomen up through his ribcage, each heave making it worse. His vision blurred with tears from the strain, and he clenched his teeth, trying to hold himself together, but it felt like his body was being torn apart from the inside.

The door creaked open, and Marina rushed in, her face pale with worry. “Oh, sweetie…”

She knelt beside him, pulling his long hair away from his face and holding it gently as another round of vomiting racked his body. Novak could only gasp between heaves, his entire body trembling from the effort. The pain in his side was so intense now that it took all his strength just to stay conscious.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Marina whispered, her voice soft and soothing as she rubbed his back. But Novak couldn’t find any relief. His stomach kept rebelling, and the pain… it was too much.

“Hurts…” he managed to choke out between retches, his voice barely above a whisper. He pressed a trembling hand to his right side, hoping to ease the pain somehow, but it only made things worse. “Fuck.”

Marina’s eyes widened as she watched him clutch his side, her concern deepening. “How long have you been sick like this?”

Novak shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. His throat burned from the acid, and his stomach was still convulsing painfully. The pain in his side was now a constant, searing agony that left him breathless. He reached down, grabbing it. But that hurt. It was almost blinding. It made him retch harder and he was sure the pain in his side was an outward injury about to split him apart.

“Novak, look at me.” Marina’s voice was firm now, a mother’s tone when she knew something was wrong. “How long has your side been hurting like that?”

He managed to lift his head slightly, his vision swimming. “Since… since last night. I thought… it’d go away.”

Marina’s brow furrowed in concern, her hands still holding his hair back as he lurched forward again, his body wracked with another wave of vomiting. This time, it felt like the pain in his side was going to split him in two. Novak groaned, the sound low and desperate, and when it finally stopped, he slumped forward, his forehead resting on his arm.

Marina’s hands tightened slightly as she shifted into what Novak recognized as emergency mode. Even more so the way she saw Novak clench his jaw to muffle a sound of discomfort when her hand lightly rested on his side.

“I think your appendix is causing this,” she said, her voice urgent but calm. “We need to get you to the hospital, Novak. This isn’t something you can push through.”

“I just… need a minute…” Novak rasped, his breaths shallow. He tried to push himself up, to stand, but the pain was so intense it made his legs feel like jelly.

“Sweetie, no.” Marina’s voice was firmer now, as she tried to help him up. “We need to go. Now.”

But as Novak rose to his feet, the room spun violently around him. His stomach twisted, the nausea coming back full force, and the pain in his side flared so sharply that it took his breath away. His vision tunneled, and for a second, he thought he could fight it off, but then the darkness closed in.

“Novak!” he heard his mom shout, her voice distant and echoing as his legs gave out beneath him. The world went black as the pain overtook him completely.

-

Novak drifted in and out of consciousness, his mind foggy, the edges of his awareness blurred by the lingering effects of anesthesia. He couldn’t remember much—just flashes of things. His mom’s worried voice, the sharp pain in his side, the frantic rush of nurses. It all blended together in a haze, and for a while, he let himself float in that strange, detached space.

But as he began to wake, one thing became clear: he was nauseous.

The rolling in his stomach was unmistakable, a dull churn that twisted uncomfortably as he tried to shift on the bed. He groaned softly, trying to push the sensation down, but it refused to fade. His head felt heavy, and everything seemed distant and muted, but the nausea was stubborn, gnawing at him with each shallow breath.

He blinked slowly, his vision blurry as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The sterile smell of the hospital hit him first, clean and cold. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic beeping of machines, and a dim light filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the floor.

His throat felt dry, his body sluggish, and the nausea swelled again, sharper this time, pulling him back into reality. Novak swallowed hard, trying to push it back down, but his stomach rebelled almost immediately. He tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for his side—only to find the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as before. The sharp, stabbing agony was gone, replaced by a dull, residual ache that lingered beneath his ribs.

“Easy, sweetie,” came a familiar voice beside him. Novak turned his head slightly, spotting his mom, Marina, sitting at his bedside. She leaned forward, her face lined with concern, and gently helped him sit up a bit. “I’ve got you.”

The movement made his stomach churn violently, and Novak’s body reacted before his mind could catch up. He gagged, the nausea surging forward with brutal force, and Marina quickly grabbed the basin from the bedside table, holding it close as Novak heaved. His body wasn’t done yet, apparently.

The retching wasn’t as violent as before, but it was enough to leave him shaking, his muscles weak from the strain. Marina stayed close, her hand gently rubbing his back as he slumped over the basin, his breath ragged. The bitter taste of bile lingered in his mouth, and his throat burned, but at least the pain in his side wasn’t as excruciating.

When it was over, Novak collapsed back against the pillows, utterly drained. His head spun, the nausea still swirling in his gut, but the worst of it seemed to have passed—for now. He closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath, and felt his mom’s hand smoothing over his arm, a comforting touch in the middle of the chaos.

“You’re alright,” Marina murmured, her voice soft and soothing. “I’m here. They said the anesthesia might do that…”

Novak swallowed, his throat raw, and opened his eyes again, blinking against the bright lights. “What… happened?” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Marina sighed, her expression a mixture of relief and concern. “Your appendix, sweetheart. It was acting up, and by the time we got you into surgery, it had already been close to bursting. It might have even burst right before they got in there, they couldn’t really tell but it was pretty bad.”

Novak’s mind struggled to piece together the information. He remembered the pain, how it had grown unbearable, but everything after that was a blur. He pressed a hand gingerly to his side, where a bandage now covered the incision. It was sore, a deep, dull ache, but it was nothing like the agony he’d felt before.

Marina leaned closer, wrapping an arm around him as she continued. It was then he noticed she was sitting on the edge of the bed, so he moved slightly over.

She kept her arm around him, reaching around and brushing his hair off his face. The same hold and rhythmic motion she always did to comfort him. Stomach flu, food poisoning, when Nikolai died and Novak came home. This was her comfort.

“You’ll feel pretty rough for a few days. They said it’ll take time for your body to flush out the toxins. Plus apparently you aren’t reacting well to the anesthesia….” Marina informed him, “But you’re going to be fine. You made it through surgery, and that’s what matters.”

Novak let out a slow breath, the reality of it sinking in. His appendix had nearly burst, and he’d been so focused on powering through that he hadn’t even realized how serious it was. He leaned into his mom’s touch, grateful for the warmth of her arm around him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice weak. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Marina’s grip on him tightened slightly, her hand still rubbing soothing circles on his arm. “Oh, Novak. Don’t apologize. I’m just glad I was here. If we hadn’t gone to the hospital when we did…” She trailed off, her voice thick with emotion.

Novak’s heart clenched. He could hear the worry in her tone, the relief barely masking the fear she must have felt. He turned his head to look at her, his gaze softening as he met her eyes. “Thanks,

mamòn. For everything.”

She smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Of course, sweetheart. I’ll always be here when you need me.”

He nodded, letting his eyes flutter shut again as exhaustion settled over him. The nausea still lingered, but the pain was manageable now, and the warmth of his mom’s presence helped soothe the rest of his frayed nerves. He didn’t have to fight anymore—at least not tonight.

For the first time in what felt like days, Novak let himself relax, sinking into the comfort of the moment. He knew the next few days would be rough, but for now, he was safe. And that was enough.

[metalhoops]

Like a lesser hero in a fantasy tale, the night was cut clean in two by the dull glow of a flashlight beam, flanked by two boys. It was an odd pastime but a familiar one to them. They had grown at home in the strange dark places of the town, aware of what might be lurking in the shadows between the pines. 

Eddie, the first boy, with his hair and clothes as black as the forest floor, shook the silent woods with the intermittent clatter of his stainless-steel rings on the metal shaft of the light, his makeshift weapon. Each ring was a treasured yet well-worn possession. The ear of the pig ring and the temple of the skull were permanently scratched from the repeated action.

Steve, the other boy, was more prepared. He came brandishing a baseball bat, its wooden body a sister to the surrounding trees with a halo of gnarled nails, hinting at the more sinister air of their surroundings.  

Unlike Eddie’s fantasy games, the backstory didn’t matter. It was the reason the boys were there, of course, but it was also the imminent threat they didn’t wish to speak of. In their shared pasts, there had been portals to other worlds, monsters beyond human comprehension and near-death experiences that’d brought on the winter of Eddie’s life, and the spring of Steve’s. 

Eddie had spent the past month jumping at shadows in the corner of his new bedroom or in the woods beyond the trailer park. Steve, on the other hand, had bloomed beautifully and brutally before Eddie’s eyes. Before the Upside Down, he would look at Steve and all he’d feel was ire, righteous indignation and a small yet frustrating, pang of lust. 

When he looked at Steve in the yellow glow of the torchlight, he saw a man who’d come when Eddie called, in the middle of the night, with haste and a plan. He saw someone who believed in him or at least, cared enough about him to go willingly into the night when Eddie had reported seeing sinister shapes shift past his window.

It was enough to get Steve to leave the confines of his isolated mansion and slum it with the poor folk down in the proverbial trenches. Eddie now saw a man he very well might be in love with. Jagged shadows cast by stray branches sliced across his face, resembling the snaking vines of the Upside Down. The boys had barely escaped the place and every moment after felt as though they were living on borrowed time. 

“What’d you say we do one more loop past the old train tracks and call it a night?” Steve asked, at last, his body sticking close to Eddie’s side. He felt a pang of guilt for dragging Steve out of bed, again, just to find nothing. 

“We can head back now, I’m probably going crazy, man.” 

“No, I wanna check. Otherwise, it’ll bug the hell outta me. We’ve all been a little crazy after everything we’ve been through. I mean, I’ve almost died like ten times. Think the eleventh time might be the one that sticks- you know?” 

It reminded them of another night, in another world. It had been a quick yet intimate conversation with a stranger. If we get out of this, Eddie had thought at the time, I might actually want to get to know this guy. Months had passed. He still felt like he didn’t know Steve enough to say what he wanted to say, but Steve needed to hear it. 

“That’d be a real bummer, you know? If you died. I wouldn’t have anyone to go on long walks in the moonlight with.” 

The two boys had fallen out of step with one another. Steve had charged forward in the semi-darkness leaving Eddie a few paces behind.

“Nancy would come with you.  After the first time, when Will and Nancy’s friend went missing, she’d swing by my house, and we’d sit on the deck chairs watching the pool. Honestly, you might be better off with her. She’d bring a gun,” Steve spoke, tossing the jagged bat from hand to hand, with the skill of an ex-high school sports star. 

“Why is it you and I always end up in the woods trying to set each other up with Nancy goddamn Wheeler?” Eddie spoke disbelievingly as he jogged to catch up with Steve. He laughed, his hand bumping Eddie’s side as the two fell back into step. 

“She’s not my type, Stevie. You can have her,” Eddie tacked on, trying to defuse some of the tension that had arisen between them, skimming his light amongst the trees. 

“I don’t think she’s my type either. Well— not anymore. We tried it. It didn’t work out. We wanted different things,” Steve admitted.

Once they reached the train tracks, Steve surveyed the old wood and rusted metal. The place also had history. He could smell freezer burn and rotten meat on the breeze. When looking at Eddie’s profile he felt a sudden charge to the air like the calm before a thunderstorm. 

He thought of a conversation he’d had years before with Dustin on those very tracks. He knew with sudden certainty why he’d hauled himself out of bed in the middle of the night, once again to chase Eddie’s hunches. He and Dustin had been talking about love.  He gave himself the same advice he’d given the kid all those years before. 

Don’t fall in love. It’ll only break your heart.

“Right, you wanted that whole hoard of kids and an R.V. vacation thing? Three girls, three boys. A whole brood of Harringtons,” Eddie breathed, kicking up dirt and leaves with his shoes. Steve shot Eddie a perplexed glance, surprised he’d been listening and shocked he’d remembered the statement word for word.

“Right, yeah. I know, make fun all you want, dude. It’s crazy I know.” Once more, they fell out of step. 

Eddie stopped while Steve kept walking, playing the role of a funambulist, his hands outstretched as though standing at a great height as he walked foot over foot across the thin metal. 

“This might surprise you Steve but for once I wasn’t going to give you shit,” Eddie replied, walking beside Steve, jumping from wooden beam to wooden beam. 

The metal track gave Steve a good half inch of height, making it so that for once the two weren’t eye to eye. Eddie kept flicking the light between the vast track ahead of them and the empty woods behind. He still felt as though any moment something could burst through the cracks in the earth left in the wake of the quake and drag them back down into Eddie’s personal version of hell. He couldn’t help but think of Steve’s words. The eleventh time would stick. Eddie didn’t know what he’d do without him. 

“So, what do you want?” Steve asked, shaking Eddie from his thoughts. When his answer didn’t immediately present itself, Steve continued.

“I mean, you know what I want. Six nuggets, touring the country. What do you want?” 

The question startled a scoff out of Eddie. It wasn’t as though anyone had bothered to ask him that before. He didn’t know. 

“I’ve got no clue. I’m not like you. I don’t sit around thinking about the future. I’m just trying to get through today,” Eddie confessed, speaking more candidly than he’d intended. 

“Alright. You don’t know what you want to do with the rest of your life. That’s pretty normal, but having nothing? Dude. You’ve gotta have something. Let’s start small. What do you want to do tomorrow?” 

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind having breakfast with my uncle and spending some time with the kids and the band. Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll get to see you, hopefully under some better circumstances,” Eddie explained as Steve misstepped, almost falling from his perch. 

He corrected himself, placing an outstretched hand on Eddie’s shoulder for balance. Eddie tried not to preen beneath the other boy’s touch. 

“I like the sound of that,” Steve confirmed, daring a glance at Eddie. 

The storm within him continued to brew. Eddie’s plans for whatever small future stretched out before them involved Steve, which was more than he’d gotten from anyone else.

Nancy wanted a career in investigative journalism. She wanted to change the world for the better. It was a noble goal. One Steve had admired endlessly but he couldn’t help but feel like a small child asking for a seat at the grown-up table when trying to compete with the hopes and dreams of Nancy Wheeler. For her, he would’ve changed his dreams to play a small part in her life, but he’d come to realise that wasn’t a good way to love. 

Every relationship Steve had went to hell eventually. He didn’t want the same fate with Eddie. He wanted to continue walking the fine line between friendship and whatever awaited them on the other side of the electric storm. Steve didn’t know if he was ready for all the complications being in love with Eddie would entail. It’d wreak havoc on his sense of self and take a hatchet to his dreams of white picket fences. That was on the slim chance Eddie felt the same way about him. 

When Steve looked at Eddie he felt as though he were back at the bottom of Lovers Lake. To love Eddie was to drown beneath the crushing weight of possibilities. 

“You okay?” Eddie asked, a hint of concern in his tone. 

It was only then that Steve realised he’d stopped walking, his knuckles turning white as his fingers dug into the fabric of Eddie’s jacket. 

No. Steve was far from okay, but he couldn’t voice it without ruining everything. 

“I need a minute,” Steve muttered, stumbling back from Eddie, removing his hand as though he’d grabbed the wrong end of a hot poker. 

He’d moved on instinct, forgetting where he stood on his precarious perch. He tumbled ass backwards off the train tracks, trying to save whatever sense of dignity he had left by scrambling to his feet quickly. He heard his bat clatter to the forest floor as he headed off into the woods, unsure of his direction. He needed space to sort his head out. 

There were only two ways Steve knew how to face a crisis; two base and primal instincts, fight or run. Eddie wasn’t a wayward creature that devoured cats or a schoolyard bully. He couldn’t punch himself loveless and doing anything to hurt Eddie was worse than torture. 

Steve wanted Eddie to hit him. It’d shake loose some of the tension in his chest at the sight of the boy’s brown eyes; the eyes that reminded Steve of the deep warm wood that was fashionable in homes during his childhood. The familiar floorboards of the entryway where he’d lay with Tommy after hours of swimming, drip-drying on the wood, warping it to the shape of their bodies. 

Eddie’s eyes reminded him of home. Not the place he’d grown up in, but the sensation one felt when they recalled a fond memory, years removed from context and complications. Steve couldn’t imagine a future where Eddie would hurt him, even if that’s what he wanted. 

He did what he did best. He ran away. 

Without Eddie’s flashlight, the woods were a gaping maw of some unseen creature. Even the breeze on the back of his neck felt warm. Steve collapsed at the base of a tree and searched his pockets for a lighter. He didn’t bring his cigarettes but there was something soothing about the weight of the object in his hand and the repeated action of sparking the flint and extinguishing the fire with a twist of his wrist. 

Steve heard approaching footsteps signalled by the crunch of leaves underfoot.  He prayed Eddie wouldn’t ask why he’d run. If he asked, Steve knew he’d tell him. Then they’d both be screwed. 

Steve tried to spark the lighter again, but no flame would ignite. It was out of lighter fluid. Just his goddamn luck.  

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice echoed through the trees. 

The direction was all wrong. Eddie’s call came from a distance. The footsteps were close. Right goddamn on top of him. Fuck. 

Steve acted fast, fumbling in the underbrush, trying to find a weapon. He grabbed a stray branch with enough heft to wield. He was good at making use of what he had. He held the wood aloft, scrambled to his feet and fumbled with the lighter, desperate to get one last spark out of it. He knew how much the creatures hated fire. In a way, he was thankful that he knew what he was dealing with for once. 

The swiftness of the footfalls and the length of the shadows cutting through the blackness let him know within seconds he would be face to face with a full-sized Demogorgon. 

Steve felt the creature before he saw it. A sudden force collided into his body knocking him from his feet. He had just enough time to get the jagged end of the stick between himself and the creature. He felt the branch wade into the creature’s soft flesh. 

Eddie called his name once more, drawing the creature's attention away from him. Steve had an opening.

His trembling hands flicked the lighter again. This time, for a brief and brilliant moment, it sparked. He shoved the naked flame against the creature's wound. He wasn’t sure if he’d hurt it or just made it mad. It thrashed and writhed, grabbing at Steve’s body, and pounding him into the damp earth. Now Steve had its attention. 

He tried to strike out but this time the monster was too quick, its body bared down on Steve and before he knew it, he was face to face with the monster's strange unfurling flesh mouth and razor-sharp teeth. So, this was how he’d die. 

“Mother fucker,” Eddie muttered as two shifting figures caught his attention. 

Steve was pinned to the ground by something that looked fresh out of his nightmares. The others had told him there were more things out there than the bats and demonic, skinless hell-wizard they’d faced but Eddie’s mind had never been able to conjure a creature that would match the true beast before him. 

Steve was doing his best to keep the creature at arms-length. A rotted wooden branch cut at the palm of Steve’s hands and had gone straight through the thing’s body.  Eddie scoured his brain, trying to remember everything he’d been told about the creature. Heat. They hated heat. 

Eddie had grabbed Steve’s bat as he followed him. He’d wanted to be the kind of person who could give Steve space but every fibre of his being had told him to chase after the boy so he had. 

He dropped the flashlight to free up a hand and searched the pockets of his jacket, thankful he always had his lighter handy. He knew Steve would be pissed if Eddie torched his favourite weapon, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He’d rather have Steve pissed than not have him at all. 

He set fire to the bat, throwing more hellish shadows over the wicked tableau of the snarling beast and the desperate boy pinned beneath its grasp. The smell of burning wood and flesh hung heavy in the air. He had the element of surprise on his side. 

The flaming bat collided with the creature’s skull sending it reeling. It let out an inhuman whaling that scattered the nightbirds. Eddie readied the bat to swing again, expecting the beast to charge. Instead, it ran off into the blackness of the night. It’d finally happened. What they all knew had been inevitable. The Upside Down, and in turn Vecna was back. Though for now, he and Steve had brought themselves time. 

Eddie watched as Steve sat wide-eyed but seemingly unharmed. He guessed Steve Harrington had more lives left in him yet. Thank Christ. 

“Please tell me that looked as badass as it felt,” Eddie breathed trying to alleviate some of the tension between them. 

He dropped the bat, snuffing out what was left of the flame and moved unthinkingly to pat down Steve’s body, checking for wounds. He had a gash on his forehead and a split lip, but he’d live. 

“It looked pretty badass,” Steve confirmed and froze as Eddie’s hands raked through his hair. 

“You’ve got something in your...” Eddie’s voice trailed off as he pulled a leaf out of Steve’s hair, holding it aloft in front of his face. 

Steve’s eyes glanced from the leaf to Eddie before tentatively reaching out, his hands searching the planes of his body, dancing cautiously over the barely healed wounds that’d once littered his side. Steve was checking him over.

“I’m okay. You okay?” Eddie assured holding up a hand before reaching into the back pocket of his jeans. 

He pulled out his bandana and inched forward to wrap it around the gash on Steve’s head. The boy cringed beneath his touch. Eddie muttered an apology. 

“I’ll live,” Steve confirmed leaning back, trying to get some space between them. 

Eddie hadn’t realised how close they were. He shifted back, remembering with sudden clarity that Steve had practically begged Eddie to give him a second alone. He wasn’t willing to do that, given they’d already run into one hell beast that night. There could be others. He did something uncharacteristic. Eddie Munson sat with Steve in silence. 

They sat in stillness for so long that the birds and insects returned to the woods around them. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie spoke when the silence was too loud. He didn’t know what he was apologising for, but he couldn’t think of anything better to say. 

Steve looked up at the boy with alarm. 

“What’re you sorry for?” He asked, feeling as though he was caught in another echo of the past. 

He remembered a seemingly endless car ride to Nancy’s house, trying to find ways to apologise for some transgression he wasn’t sure he’d committed. He’d wanted to apologise because he’d loved Nancy and he’d been scared of losing her. 

He wondered what motivations were behind Eddie’s apology. He worried that The Upside Down’s strange relationship with time had leaked into Hawkins, that some pasts were destined to repeat. 

“I don’t know,” Eddie admitted after a breath, letting out a nervous laugh. 

“I’m sorry for doing whatever I did to make you go all space cadet on me. Tell me what I did, and I can tell you I’m sorry,” he continued. 

Steve was certain at that moment, Eddie loved him too. It was already too late to change things. They were trains on a track, their futures seemingly already locked in place.

“You know if you want someone to talk to about whatever’s going on in that head of yours, I’m here Steve,” Eddie kept pushing, unable to take Steve’s silence as an answer. 

His tone was so soft, sincere and unlike anything that Steve expected from the boy that he couldn’t help but speak the words out loud, despite his better judgment. 

“I love you.” 

Eddie had thought he’d been prepared for anything, but he hadn’t been prepared for that. It was then that Steve let out a strangled sound between a scoff and a groan. 

“And it's screwed now. I always mess it up.”  

Eddie could hardly hear the boy’s voice over the rush of blood in his ears. His heart was a high-strung choir, singing the same repeated tune, ‘Steve loves me’. When his common sense kicked into gear, he noted the panic in Steve’s eyes and knew he needed to say something. 

“I love you too,” Eddie managed, feeling both heavier and lighter. 

He’d never said it before. He sure as hell hadn’t pictured a world where he’d admit he loved a boy before they’d started dating. Steve was moving at a breakneck speed and Eddie was desperately trying to catch up. To his surprise, Steve hardly stirred at the confession. 

“I know,” Steve admitted sounding broken as his eyes met Eddie’s. He gave the boy a tight-lipped grimace. All of Eddie’s momentary joy fell just as it’d begun to soar. 

“Please tell me that was a Star Wars reference,” Eddie whispered, earning a real smile from Steve. It was soft and fleeting as freshly felled snow on a warm palm. He knew despite all of Steve’s posturing, he was a huge nerd when it came to science fiction. 

“Eds, my track record...” Steve’s voice trailed off. 

Eddie realised the thing Steve had been dancing around. They were still talking about Nancy goddamn Wheeler in the woods. 

“Stevie,” he breathed, for once at a loss for words. 

He was a storyteller, but he didn’t want to give Steve a story. He couldn’t promise him a world where everything was perfect. They lived in a land of blight and monsters, a time of trouble. The town was still after Eddie’s head on a pike and Steve was running out of goodwill with those that’d once called him king. He wanted to show Steve what they were. 

Damn the past. Kill all possible futures. All they had was the brief and infinite present. 

Eddie wanted to show Steve what they could be at that moment. 

He crossed the space between them, pausing for a breath, leaving room for Steve to push him away. When no such protest arose, he placed one hand on Steve’s cheek, the other cupping the nape of his neck. 

“I’m not good at this either,” Eddie admitted tentatively. 

He’d kissed guys before. It’d always been desperate and sloppy. He didn’t want loving Steve to feel like an afterthought as it had with the other men. 

“But I think it’s worth a shot,” Eddie concluded. 

He’d laid everything out on the table, all that was left was for Steve to pick it up or turn it down. 

Steve didn’t surge forward. Instead, he moved achingly slow. One hand landed on Eddie’s thigh, the other tangled in his hair. He gave a gentle tug to pull him that last inch closer. 

Eddie’s lips were wind-chaffed and cool, melting ice on bare skin, shocking and a good kind of painful. Steve’s face had the faintest hint of stubble, it was rough as the rocks, and forest foliage beneath their bodies. He smelled of wet earth, blood, and faded cologne. Their hands traced each other’s topography with fingers, lips and tongues, toppling over in the process. 

When they pulled apart the whole world seemed to hold its breath. The wind was still. The night was silent. An invisible audience waited with bated breath for a conclusion. 

“Christ,” Eddie choked, hand fluttering dramatically to his heart. It was a kick drum in his chest. 

Steve’s hand followed, sliding beneath Eddie’s shirt. 

“Christ,” Steve echoed with a goofy grin. Eddie loved him. The thought came easily. It was the only thought populating his mind. 

“We should probably, you know, shelve this and try to stop the world ending... again,” Eddie proposed, trying to think straight. 

“Only if you promise to take me on a date after,” Steve countered. He pulled himself to his feet and extended a hand to Eddie. 

“Me take you? You’re meant to be the ladies' man with the killer dates,” Eddie argued, falling into step with Steve easily. 

“Exactly. It’d be nice to be the one getting the flowers for a change. Technically you’re the one who wanted to give this a shot. I’ll get the second date.” 

Eddie scoffed disbelievingly. The cocky bastard.  He’d never picked Steve as someone who liked flowers. He’d give Steve a garden, a forest, a kingdom. 

“Alright, save the world. Buy you flowers. Go on a first date. Go on a second date. Seems like I might actually have a plan for the next few days down pact.” 

“And after that?” Steve prompted. 

“If you want me to say six nuggets and a Winnebago you’ve gotta buy me dinner first.” 

[enkas-illusion]

Christmas Markets with Nanami

Fandom / Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen / Boyfriend!Nanami x f!reader

Rating: Tooth-rotting fluff but gets suggestive, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 

Content warning: fluff, frustrated Nanami, teasing, suggestive, Nanami being the best boifie.

Summary: 

The Christmas season is just round the corner and you can’t wait to spend it with your new boyfriend, Nanami Kento. Your love for Christmas markets reaches a new level after you spend it with the love of your life. It’s fun seeing your boyfriend get frustrated over winning a plushie but teasing him might get you in trouble… 

Author's Note: Hello, this is my first attempt at writing a one-shot. Here's some much-needed fluff with my husband Nanami after the recent episode. I'm taking him to Malaysia tomorrow. If you enjoy it, feel free to like, reblog or comment. Thank you for reading!

-Nanami’s Munchkin

Christmas markets were something you waited for the whole year. The lights, the vibes, the special Christmas roast, the games and the hot chocolate in the cold of the night were just some of the various things you missed as soon as the fair ended. It was a yearly tradition among your friends to visit the markets every weekend and on Christmas eve. 

This year was going to be even better because you were going with your new boyfriend, Nanami Kento. You felt kinda sorry for missing out on the annual tradition with your friends, but they all insisted that you go alone with Nanami.

Understandable since nobody likes being the third-wheel with the new couple. Especially when said couple doesn’t shy away from  PDA. In all honesty, the excitement of going with your man was overshadowing any guilt you’d felt when your friends initially declined your offer. 

So here you were, walking with your cold hands intertwined and tucked safely in the pocket of your boyfriend’s jacket. Walking around trying out all the different food they had to offer and having a grand time, almost feeling like a teenager who’d fallen in love for the very first time – stealing glances to look at your man.

The highlight so far had to be making out on the ferris wheel when it reached the top and it felt as if the busy market had faded into the background. Although you were at the very top of the ferris wheel, being here like this with Kento only took you higher and higher till it felt like you were on cloud nine. 

As you walked, hand in hand, around the marketplace, you couldn’t help but smile at all the people near the games’ stall, trying to win plushies and failing miserably, which does not go unnoticed by your boyfriend. 

“Which one do you like?” he smiles at you and you look up at him trying to figure out what he was referring to. He tilts his head, redirecting your gaze to the plushies and you immediately say, “Oh no! They are a waste of money.”

Your boyfriend simply gives you a look that screams that’s not the answer I want. So, you further add to over explain yourself, “The games are rigged! They just want us to waste our money and time. I used to try those each year before I eventually gave up. Don’t even think about trying. They’re hopeless!”

“Sweetheart, just take your pick… am I even a good boyfriend if I can’t win my prettiest girl a new plushie to go on top of her mountain of plushies?”, he says playfully, pulling you towards the stands.

“Do you want the panda?” he asks and you just laugh before replying, “We already have our huge talking panda. Don’t want another one. Seriously! It’s not worth it. And it hurts watching the money go down the drain” you pout.

“You wound me sweetheart. Have a little faith. Now come on!” he says standing in the spot and paying for the turn. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you” you say, not wanting to push it further. He takes your hand out of his pocket for the first time the entire night and you already miss his warmth. He takes the darts and is focused on the game in hand. 

You cannot take your eyes off him, the lights make him look even more ethereal. Even Greek gods hold no candle to how beautiful your boyfriend is, you feel like pulling his face right there and then kissing his gorgeous face. 

You are brought back from the trace when he takes his first swing, and it fails. You can't help but giggle and he gives you an unamused look that makes your stomach swarm with butterflies. He tries two more times, they land, but not enough to win the prize.

“Satisfied? Now let’s go!” you try to drag him out of there but he just presses a kiss on your temples and says, “Patience, sweetheart” and it flies right between your legs. You whine, “Kento!”

He only laughs knowingly and proceeds to pay for another round. This time he takes off his glasses and looks so determined to win that you want to take him right there in front of everyone. He hit the target but not quite right and you can see his stoic, cool persona fading into an annoyed one. 

You loved seeing this side of him so you egged him on, “On a second thought, that huge teddy looks really cute. But it’s okay if you can’t do it.” you say mischievously. 

He comes closer and whispers into your ears, “You’re gonna regret that baby. Might as well have to cover its eyes tonight so he doesn’t see the things I do to you.” And you just stand there dumbfounded and he just smirks and gets back to the game. 

It’s unlike him to provoke you in public but now you just want to drag him out and let him have his way with you. On his final shot, he actually hits the bullseye and he sees your eye glitter oh so beautifully. 

You jump on him and he catches you and you can’t help but say a chain of ‘thank you’s. He puts you down and collects your prize and he thinks he’d win all the plushies in the world if he gets to see you this happy. 

You pull him into a kiss and he just smiles at you, “You're very happy for a person who said they didn’t want anything”, causing you to hit his abs playfully.

He leans closer till his lips almost kiss your earlobe, “So whose eyes should I cover with my tie tonight? The teddy’s or yours?”

[maddys-nerd-blog]

HOWDY!! I’m back with my nonsense 🤣

In the middle of me working on the short story and getting it all finished, I had this whumptober one shot all done to share in the meantime!!

It’s a sequel of sorts to my previous whumptober short featuring my OC Lilium and ‘03 Donatello!! This one takes place during the episode ‘Space Invaders Part 3’, hence why some of the dialogue is true to the episode itself!

I hope you guys like this!! 😊

Electric

A TMNT 2003 One Shot

Whumptober Prompt: Electrocution

Never in a million years did Lilium believe she would find herself caught in the middle of a storm this dangerous. When she was a kid she’d read stories about Robin Hood, Hercules, Rapunzel; heroes who more often than not found creative and clever methods to escape the sticky situations they found themselves in. Fairy tales were her main method of escape from the madness in her life— a way to delve into the worlds of fantasy creatures, elves, hobbits, goblins and imps on quests to save the world. To make believe her life could be as fantastical, had it not been for the burden of a curse she didn’t understand.

Sometimes she wished she didn’t have her voice. Sometimes she wanted to give her power to someone who craved the glimmer and glam of fame, someone who could use it better than her. It was torture.

Donnie would constantly assure her that her powers were in good hands. “Better you than some guy who’d use it to take over the music industry. Or the world, given our line of work,” he jested in order to lift her mood one night, over a game of checkers. She thought he was right at the time.

But the storm came eventually. It always did.

And it came in the form of walking, talking dinosaur aliens rampaging the city, rounding up citizens and attacking anyone who stood in their way. They didn’t spare the lives of those unfortunate enough to get caught in the crossfire. Momma and Auntie had gone to help those in need, leaving Lilium in the care of her companions.

Which led to Donnie getting captured, and Lilium being taken along as a hostage.

The storm was never far behind her heels… and she wished it would just end her suffering.

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

Ten Years Ago…

“Don-Chan? What do you wanna be when you grow up?” Lilium idly asked, shaking the plastic snow globe to watch the glitter within shimmer down, gliding in the water to create the illusion of snowfall.

Donatello looked up from where he lay on the ground, having been hyper-focused on finishing his drawing of a Gundam robot, to regard his friend with a curious tilt of his head. “What do y’ mean?”

The girl, without looking away from the snow globe in her hands, asked again, “What do you wanna be?” Muted awe colored a round face as the glimmer shined, surrounding the miniature sculpture of a jolly Santa Claus in his sleigh. “A doctor?”

Donatello put his colored pencil down, sitting up to better rest on his knees, the small turtle still curious. “I dunno. Why?”

“At school we’re learning ‘bout jobs! Miss Hart asked me what I wanna be, but I didn’t know. So I wanna ask you what you wanna do too!” Lilium beamed, shaking her snow globe to watch the snow fall a second time.

“But I don’t go to school,” Donatello pointed out. “I don’t think I can have a grown up job when I’m older…” he looked down at his hands, where three digits on each appendage stood out like a sore thumb. “Sensei says the surface is bad.”

“But I’m from the surface and I’m not bad,” Lilium finally tore her eyes away from the little knickknack, bright and chipper. “There’s lots’a good things on the surface! Like cotton candy and the park and pigeons and Mommy’s favorite opera house!”

Donatello frowned solemnly. “And there’s lots’a bad people too,” he added. “Like people who don’t like things that’re different. Like… me.” He picked up a blue crayon, playing with it idly with a defeated sigh. “I think that’s why we live in th’ sewer. Cuz nobody will find us.”

Lilium hummed, conflicted, turning the snow globe in her hands a few times as though to think. The girl looked at him, then the globe, and she smiled. “Hey!” She thrust the trinket into his own hands. “Let’s play make believe! We can pretend we’re th’ things we wanna be when we’re grown ups!”

Donatello looked at the plastic knickknack, blinking with surprise as the girl sprang to her feet to run to the neon pink backpack she’d brought with her for the play date. She rummaged around to look for something, putting other items aside to the floor until she grabbed what she wanted. “See?”

Lilium held out a plastic green microphone. “I wanna be a singer!” She pushed a button on the side of the toy, a pop song playing sorely out of tune but the child didn’t take too much notice. “I’m gonna be like Belle on Broadway! Or I can be like Nancy Drew!” She posed like a detective holding a magnifying glass. “Elementary my dear Winston!”

“It’s Watson, I think.”

“Elementary my dear Watson!”

This got Donatello to start laughing. He only stopped when Lilium pointed her microphone at him, as if she were a news reporter asking a question. “So what d’you wanna be?”

Donatello paused, giving it some thought. Reaching out he took the toy from her, holding it in both hands as though he were going to sing. “… being an astronaut sounds kinda cool.” He spoke timidly. “And… a scientist. An inventor too.” He smiled a little. “I wanna make stuff that helps my brothers… and help my Sensei.”

Lilium’s eyes sparkled in glee. She sat down cross legged, giving the boy her full attention. “What would you make?”

“… a jet pack!” Donatello’s face turned excited at the idea, increasingly growing animated. “I can fly all around th’ world and do anything! Or, what if I make a gauntlet powered by solar energy?! And rocket boots! And a robot!”

Both children laughed so loud it echoed off the walls of the damp sewers that spanned everywhere around them. Sharing dreams in the endless junction of tunnels and pipes where emptiness roamed, two lively spirits basked in the joys of their aspirations and what they would bring one day. They laughed and laughed until their sides hurt, slumping against the brick wall behind them, wiping tears off their faces. Human and turtle sank into a comfortable silence as their laughter trailed off into a series of soft giggles, surrounded by their toys and coloring books, papers covered with brightly colorful creatures and monsters only children could think of. Had it not been for the fact that Donatello was a mutant, these innocent drawings would have been the basis of their imaginations.

“… hey Don-Chan?” Lilium asked again.

“Yeah?” Donatello quarried.

“… if we grow up to do th’ things we want, and we get t’ be famous or something,” Lilium sat upright to properly address him. “And we still remember each other… can we stay together forever?”

Donatello looked at the girl with confusion. “Forever?”

Lilium nodded. “When our dreams come true.”

The turtle smiled. Nodding vigorously he shot to his feet, eyes big and enthusiastic. “Yeah! We can be a team! I’ll make you music stuff and you can try out my gear! We can be just like Batman and Robin!”

“Yeah!” Lilium agreed. “We can do tons of stuff! We’ll change the world! I can help you too when I get my magic!”

“Promise?”

Lilium stuck out her hand. “Shake on it!” She nodded. “So that way it’s a real promise!”

Donatello, without missing a beat, shook her hand in return. “It’s a deal!”

Little did the children know that this promise would be held true, but not in the way they had been expecting.

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

Present Day…

Lilium grunted as she was carelessly chucked to the floor of this strange alien spaceship, turning her head just fast enough to avoid shattering her chin upon impact. Unable to shield herself from the initial landing, the Siren could only endure the cruel abuse from the towering Triceraton guards behind her. Their blasters were cocked and ready to open fire should she try to run or put up any resistance. The strange breathing apparatus strapped to her waist and the tube in her mouth helped get air into her lungs, but she couldn’t help but feeling like a fish out of water wearing it.

Groaning in pain, Lilium used her bound hands to try to push herself up to sit on her knees. The illuminated glow of her shackles stung her eyes, the cuffs magnifying her wrists together as though they had been fused with superglue, granting her limited mobility and limited access to use her arms, although she should be counting her blessings that they’d been bound in front of her rather than behind her back. The Siren hissed as an irritating ache pulsed throughout her chest. Damn, solid steel really did a number on your ribs…

Only a minute later a similar thud struck the ground, the difference being this landing was harder, thrown with more force. Joining her at her side, Donatello raised his gaze towards their guards with an expression of anger. His own hands sat in his lap, also cuffed, but Lilium knew for certain that regardless of being bound he could probably break bones and deal severe damage if he wanted to.

But one subtle glimpse spared in her direction softened his gaze, relenting. For now.

Once the guard’s attention was sent elsewhere he took the chance to properly shift closer to her, lowering his voice to speak. “Are you okay?” He murmured.

She nodded. “I think… nothing’s busted or sprained.” Doing a quick once over of the turtle she asked, “What about you?”

“Me?” Donatello chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “It’s nothing I’m not used to. Probably just a few bruises. I’m fine.” She must have made some kind of somber face because he reassured her, “Hey, really. I’m alright. I can take it.”

“You shouldn’t have to…” Lilium protested. “I don’t want you being hurt.”

“I don’t want you being hurt either you know,” he countered. “This isn’t like the Purple Dragons or the Foot. These guys are pretty unhinged. The less they pay attention to you, that’ll be more than enough for me.”

The way he made it sound gave her goosebumps. What did he mean, exactly? If he brought the guard’s ire onto him, it’d be better? If they abused him, tossed him around, used him like a battering ram, or god forbid, tortured him… it’d be fine? Because he was used to it?

Because he thought it was fine?

Lilium’s hands shook. “You shouldn’t have to be,” she reiterated painfully. She grit her teeth to refrain from getting emotional, but ever the genius, Donatello could easily sense her unrest.

Reaching for her hands, his fingers gently wrapped around her own, thumb brushing across her knuckles with all the care he could offer. “You’ll be okay,” he promised. “Everything will be alright.”

“But I want you to be alright too,” she whimpered. Her fingers squeezed his with an earnest plea, voice tinted with remorse. “You don’t have to risk your life for me. You shouldn’t have to, Donnie.”

“That’s my job, Lily.” He murmured. “You’re my priority. Don’t worry about me; I can handle them.”

She squeezed his fingers again, tears prickling her eyes, burning and stubborn as her lips quivered. “Don-Chan,” she pleaded. “I need you to stay safe too. What would I do if I lost you?”

Donatello’s eyes softened significantly; she only ever used his nickname in times of stress, when she wanted him to listen to her. His hands, gentle and kind, gripped hers back. “Lily…” he spoke in a voice above a whisper. “You’re not going to lose me.” He slipped his hand free from hers, raising them towards her face. Soon he was tilting her head up by her chin, allowing her to better match his gaze. His expression was tender, nothing but offering consolation, taking extra care to ensure her safety before his own… it broke her heart. “I’m not leaving you. I wouldn’t needlessly put myself in the line of fire if it meant I couldn’t protect you.” Donatello sounded determined despite their predicament. “You’re one of the most important things to me in my life. I…” he faltered slightly in his words, as though struggling to find the right things to say.

“Donnie…?” Lilium mumbled, using her own hands to take both of his into hers.

He hesitated. “… do you remember when we were kids?” He asked. “When we promised each other we’d stay together forever?”

Lilium nodded.

“… the past couple days I was thinking about it.” His fingers held hers tighter. “Things were so much simpler when we didn’t have to worry about Shredder or Karai, or Hun, or any of this.” Sadness wasted over him, studying the small nicks and cuts traced across his hands, on Lilium’s palm. “Going through all of this the past year taught me something. A lesson I never learned until I came home from space the first time.”

His hands, still cradling her own, started shaking. “Time is fleeting. And if you waste it chasing down the demons in your life, you’ll never be happy. I’ve spent so many years trying to figure out what I felt for you. What that promise meant to me.” His voice was as delicate as glass, as if any moment the moment would be broken by the smallest sign of hesitation. But Lilium never shied away. Her hands still held on to his, fingers gripping both of his hands to offer comfort, to offer anything to give him the kindness he’d always bestowed to her. “You matter to me… and I never get the chance to tell you that.”

Lilium’s heart ached. The marks on her throat hummed in place of her vocabulary, the magic contained within stirring, emotions beginning to run rampant as the underlying implications of his words began to hit home. Is he trying to say what I think he is…?

“… Donnie?” She quietly chirped in the silence between them. “There’s something I wanna tell you.”

The purple masked turtle raised his gaze, holding his breath. His hands held onto hers a little tighter, as if preparing for whatever she was going to say. But before they could continue, a shadow loomed over the two like a bad omen, cutting their conversation to a standstill. Both teenagers snapped their attention up to the sudden appearance of the Triceraton with the pirate eyepatch. She vaguely recalled Donnie saying this one was ‘Mozar.’

There was a vicious sneer on his face, glaring at them with malice. Without a word of warning he seized Donatello— grabbing hold of the genius by his wrists with one mighty hand he yanked him off the ground, hoisting him off his feet like he weighed nothing. Almost instantly the turtle started fighting back, writhing in his grasp. “HEY! Let me go!”

“DONNIE!” Lilium shouted with alarm. She went to reach for him but the towering form of the Triceraton was too intimidating. He easily swatted her away, pushing the girl back into the awaiting hands of another guard behind her. His fingers latched around her arms and the claws dug deep, sinking into the skin hard enough to puncture through, drawing blood. She struggled and kicked her legs to wriggle free, but the cuffs clasped around her wrists refused to budge. “Put us down you creeps!”

“Listen, you pea-brained geckos! How many times do I have to tell you!?” Donatello cried, pinning a glare onto Mozar. “The Fugitoid! Is not! On Earth!”

“Our brains may be small, terrapin scum,” Mozar hissed, setting the turtle to his feet to drag him up the steps of the alter where a giant screen on the wall and a luxurious throne stood awaiting them. She didn’t miss how when his fist tightened around Donatello’s hands, bones started crunching. “But our tracking equipment does not lie.”

Unceremoniously he threw Donatello forward, the genius stumbling to correct his footing as he was presented to the man behind this insidious scheme. The Triceraton holding Lilium soon followed, but he wasn’t releasing her, much to the Siren’s chagrin as she continued to struggle feebly.

Mozar pointed to the screen overhead, showing the teenagers some kind of map that displayed a signal, with a trajectory course towards their planet. “The Fugitoid’s teleportation trail leads directly to your planet!” He accused.

“He was on Earth! But he’s not there anymore!” Donatello protested.

The man in the throne— a pompous, fickle tyrant with no patience for this charade of cat and mouse going by the name Zanramon— leaned forward in his seat, snapping back at Donatello. “Then where is he?!”

Donatello froze. His hands gripped into fists, his eyes falling to the floor to avoid meeting the brutal gaze of the madman. With a shake of his head he confessed, “I can’t tell you that!”

“Can’t?” Zanramon narrowed his gaze, his words cutting into the turtle with no chance to breathe. “Or won’t?”

Donatello fell silent. He turned away, refusing to comply to the dictator. Lilium could feel the apprehension in the air, the brewing tension that was about to break. She held her breath in fear for her friend, eyes darting between him and the mighty ruler with a crown made out of the suffering of hundreds he’d stepped over to obtain his power.

Zanramon huffed, sitting back, folding his hands under his chin as he beckoned Mozar forth. She hadn’t noticed the one eyed alien slip away, didn’t notice him retrieve something hidden from view. “Very well. We ‘pea-brained geckos’ will just have to extract the information from your oversized terrapin brain.”

The tension snapped. Lilium was dragged away, taken to stand at Zanramon’s side, as though giving her a front row seat of what was about to happen. “DONNIE!” The girl panicked, kicking and struggling as Donatello was taken by surprise, Mozar stepping in to place the unknown device over Donatello’s head.

From any other perspective it looked like an ordinary bicycle helmet. But as Donatello started to writhe, tried to reach his bound hands up to push it off, she noticed it covered his eyes, blinding him, a small panel on the top of his head lighting up as it began to charge.

And it activated.

Lilium gasped in horror when Donatello began to scream— sounds she never wanted to hear, terrible, awful, gruesome noises of anguish, unable to stay standing any longer, buckling to his knees as powerful surges of electricity rocked his skull and pierced through his brain. She watched helplessly as the turtle desperately fought to stay stable against the agony, but the pain overwhelmed him.

All at once, the screen behind her lit up. In a matter of seconds, Lilium could see snippets of his entire life being played out like a film for all those present to see. Her mouth dropped open in dismay as she began to watch his memories unfold before her very eyes; his childhood, his happier memories with his brothers, his Sensei, building the remote-controlled toy car he’d been so proud of, meeting April and Casey…

Lilium’s stomach twisted. This was horrifying. To have your brain trifled with as though you were a filing cabinet, people prying into your personal life to scan through the most cherished parts of your memories like they meant nothing…

“STOP!” Lilium screamed, struggling against the guard that still had a vice on her. “STOP HURTING HIM! PLEASE! WHATEVER YOU’RE LOOKING FOR IS GONE! HE DOESN’T LIE!”

Zanramon raised an unamused brow in her direction. “Oh? And how do you know?”

“Because he wouldn’t lie about something like this!” Lilium pleaded. “I swear, he’s not hiding anything! Whatever you want, it’s probably gone! Let him go! Please!”

Zanramon stared at her, studying her, as if to gauge her emotions to see if she was also trying to hide the truth. Donatello continued to cry out and shake where he sat, the mind probe ripping him in twain, as his life was displayed against his will.

The dictator’s eyes flickered up towards the screen. A devilish smirk rose to the surface. “Oh! Look at that!” He seized her by the face, fingers digging into the soft parts of her jaw with a vengeance, forcing her to look as the memories took a shift. “I believe that’s you!”

Me…? Her stomach dropped as her attention became captured unwillingly by the screen. True to his word, Donatello’s memories began to show the moments of his life that contained her.

And what she saw drove her to tears.

They were brief, they were gone in seconds, but these were the parts of their lives that he held dear.

Meeting as kids. Becoming friends.

The promise they made.

Reuniting years later, eager to make up for lost time.

The day her curse became poignant, nearly destroying his hearing. Her sobbing hysterically in the aftermath, his hands holding hers, reassuring he was alright.

Falling into the pier, nearly drowning, flailing in the dark abyss of the Hudson. His face being the first thing she saw when she came too, how scared he looked.

A botched school dance gone to waste. The record shop. A jukebox playing ‘Brandy, You’re a Fine Girl.’ The two of them dancing the night away in the company of his brothers and April, unafraid of how badly they tried to keep up with the tempo and tripping over their feet.

The night on the rooftop. A blanket of stars. A repaired stereo softly playing some of Mandy Moore’s songs. His hand in hers, her voice quiet and timid. “I think I like you.”

But there were other memories. Ones she were certain were his and his alone.

Her head resting on his shoulder, asleep, as a vintage noir film played on the living room televisions. Casablanca, she recalled. His free hand reached up to brush the loose hair from her face, hesitant, unsure, as he spoke softly. “Is it wrong for me to love you?”

Her unconscious in a sterile hospital bed, hooked up to wires and tubes, breathing unsteady, sickly and weak, Siren symbols sinking deeper into her skin, spreading throughout her body as though they were weeds. His hands grasped hers, trembling, pleading. “Just hang on, I’ll fix this—“

Singing in his lab when everyone was asleep, practicing her auditions, his hands working on a new time watch as her voice grew in emotion. When their eyes locked again she giggled, blushing.

Looking down from the catwalk, hidden from plain sight over the school’s theater stage, watching Lilium’s first solo from afar. The moment she looked up and spotted him during the applause her eyes glistened with joy.

Pinning a set of bluebell flowers into her hair behind her ears, face bright and cheery, eyes brimming with affection meant only for him in a crowd of thousands.

And for these bastards to rip through his brain, to toy with his mind, to rifle through the most important parts of his past just for their own gain…

“YOU MONSTER!” She cried, tears streaming down her face as she pried herself free of Zanramon’s clutches. “YOU’RE AN ANIMAL! You have no right to look through his memories!”

“Tell me where the Fugitoid is! Then I shall grant him mercy!”

“I don’t know what that is! I don’t know who you’re talking about!”

Zanramon scowled. “So be it.”

The mind probe surged powerfully, making Donatello scream even louder. The horrible sounds he made would forever engrain themselves into the worst parts of her mind where night terrors would claim her. He continued struggling, wrists pulling in vain on his shackles that glowed the same bright blue of the mind probe’s main circuit piece on the top of his head, teeth grinding painfully as he fought for control. His body seized and shook under the force of the shocks, unforgiving zaps of electrical power draining his stamina each passing minute. He wouldn’t last long like this.

Something in the probe started charging once more, and Donatello’s screams turned into roars of anguish. His back straightened, fists clenched at his chest, fighting for freedom as the screen started showing memories of a robot. Even against the strain of torture, he tried to break through.

But the mind probe persisted, and he continued roaring in turmoil.

“STOP THIS!” Lilium screamed, tears blinding her to the display of gruesome torture. “LEAVE HIM ALONE! YOU’LL KILL HIM! LET HIM GO!”

But her pleas went ignored.

No matter how many times she screamed his name, begged for him to fight back, pleaded for mercy, they disregarded her presence as though she were a nuisance.

Donatello bared his teeth, struggling to rise. His head lifted aimlessly towards the ceiling, as if searching for something against the visor that blinded him. And with the last of his strength, he screamed for someone. “MASTER… SPLINTER!”

But in the depths of space, his cry went ignored.

Or… had it?

Lilium watched on in silent despair as Donatello’s body began to shudder tremendously, his voice failing, his posture slouching to fall in on himself. Unable to withstand the brutal anguish of the electrocution any further. His cuffed hands struggled to rise to his chest, clasped as though in prayer.

But the probe responded with a hellishly swift strike of electricity into the throes of his brain. And to Lilium’s horror, his body seized momentarily before the helmet sizzled, the panel on the top of his head popping.

And once the torture ceased, Donatello’s body teetered forward.

He struck the ground with a lifeless slam.

Lilium could bare it no longer as she tore herself free of the guards— their claws ripped through the frail skin of her arms, blood pushing through her sleeves. She couldn’t feel any pain. “DONNIE!”

She slid to her knees the moment she was within reach. Bound hands found purchase to his shoulder, grunting as she turned him onto his back the best she could. Lilium used her fingers to push the helmet off of him, wrenching the sickening devise away, throwing it down the steps to be forgotten.

But…

His face was unreadable. His eyes were closed. His mouth was slightly ajar. There were burns on the sides of his temple, dark spots singing his purple mask. A thick line of red slowly trickled down the corner of his lips.

He remained still as stone where he lay. Unmoving.

Lilium’s hands flew to her mouth, rendered speechless as a gasp strangled her throat. Unable to tear her eyes away from him, she reached down to shake his shoulder, as though willing him to respond, internally begging him to move, to speak, to react.

Nothing.

Lilium’s throat tightened. “… Donnie?”

Silence.

“Donnie…” she whimpered, shaking him with more force. “Don-Chan… please…”

Silence.

Her eyes burned. “Donnie…” she choked. Her voice trembled beneath the growing realization of what lay before her. “Donatello can you hear me?”

Silence…

“DONNIE!” Lilium shook him one more time, hands holding onto his shoulder. “Donatello! Please…!”

“Such a waste,” Zanramon scoffed from his throne. “I guess he wasn’t so smart after all!”

She refused to listen to the raving dictator. Her hands touched the frozen face of the genius laying still on the ground, desperately trying to wake him. He didn’t even flinch. “Donnie,” Lilium pleaded. “Donatello don’t do this to me. You promised! You promised!” She shook him again, tone rising with her grief. “Please! Wake up! Please come back! Your family needs you! The world needs you! You have so much to offer! Donnie please, WAKE UP!”

His lifeless face became hazy as her vision grew blurred. There was nothing but a fire that raged on in her eyes, burning, piercing her gaze with fury as the horrifying reality began to dawn on her. “Please…!”

This couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be…

He was the strongest person she’d ever known. There was no way he was…

Gone.

This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, there’s no way he can be gone, he can’t be dead, he can’t be, he can’t, he can’t be!

White noise flooded her senses. She could no longer hear the self-entitled mockery of Zanramon. She could no longer hear the sound of the screen on the wall depicting unwavering carnage at the hands of Triceratons. Nor could she hear the slow progression of inhuman screams that came out of her, the despair and ruin of losing the person she trusted more than anything, the person she loved, the sobs that caused her symbols to fizzle erratically with a frenzy only spun by the thread of her pain, a spool endlessly rushing to cull the sullen loss. Deep inside her chest, her heart began to split.

Sobs wracked her frame. Vicious regret ripped her to pieces. Lilium shut her eyes tight, hands falling upon his plastron, curled into fists as though to stir him into consciousness, knowing he wouldn’t respond. “Don-Chan…” she whispered, trying in vain not to think of how still he was, how quiet he was, how his face was slack and unresponsive. “Don’t leave me…”

… what would she tell his family?

How could she face them? She couldn’t save Donnie, she hadn’t been able to help him. They’d never forgive her. She couldn’t blame them if they did. How could she ever forgive herself? How could she continue living with herself knowing she’d failed him?

I never got to tell him… I never got to tell him I loved him…

Why couldn’t I be faster? Why couldn’t I be stronger?! Why?! Why am I so slow?! Why am I so helpless?!

Why am I so WEAK?!

WHY AM I SO USELESS?!

WHY COULDN’T I BE THERE FOR HIM WHEN HE WAS THERE FOR ME?!

WHY CAN’T I—

“…h-he-y…”

The world stopped turning.

Air was ripped from her lungs.

Lilium’s face drained of all blood.

Her head shot up so quickly she thought she’d break her neck.

…

…

She met the unfocused gaze of Donatello.

His eyes— soft brown, foggy and unclear, were blinking slowly and half-mast. Any coherent thought in his brain was put to a standstill, the shock of his torture having run his thinking to a halt. The blood that had dried around the corners of his mouth still created a picture of indescribable agony… but despite all of it, he was fighting to smile.

A weak, lopsided grin formed on his face, bound hands a trembling mess as they attempted to reach for her. Against all odds he tried to talk again, although his speech was altered by stuttering. “H-h-he-yyy.”

Lilium’s face remained solid stone with stunned silence. The symbols somehow felt hotter, hotter, almost reaching a boiling point as she stared at him, millions of words, hundreds of apologies dying on the tip of her tongue.

There were no words she could utter for this miracle.

Donnie was alive. Donnie was alive.

Donatello had survived the impossible and he was breathing and he was talking he was alive he’s alive he’s alive OH MY GOD HE’S ALIVE!

Lilium threw herself at him once more, shackled hands clutching at his plastron. Her wails picked up in volume. Screams turned into helpless bawling. Magic sizzled deep in her throat. She couldn’t think of anything. She couldn’t even speak. She could almost feel his heartbeat, weak as it was from his horrible ordeal, thudding beneath her fists. Th-thump-th-thump-th-thump, skipping in a harmonious succession that promised an encore. His breathing was shallow, but he struggled to lift a pair of trembling cuffed hands to hold her face within his palms, body silently tremoring, reeling from the shock of being electrocuted so viciously, but he stubbornly clung to her like his life depended on it.

Her hair fell around him in a thick inky curtain of black locks that seemed to drape around her shoulders. His fingers held onto her face, a set of lazy eyes seeming to take her in, as though to tell himself she was real.

He spoke in a hoarse voice— too raspy, shredded from screaming, it would probably take a month to heal— but he still whispered all the same. “T-to-old y-ou… n-not go-ing… a-any-wh-ere…”

Her heart sang.

Her Siren symbols illuminated his face with bright pink hues.

And for the first time in hours, Lilium smiled back at him.

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

Tada!!! I hope you liked this!! I’ll hopefully have the short story done very soon!! 😊

@queen-with-the-quill @tending-the-hearth @wasted-and-ready @figuringitoutasigoalong @tmnt-tychou

[elisela]

‘I missed you’ + sterek

west coast swing sterek, wild about you, long distance relationship

—

Somewhere in the air over Colorado, Derek gets cold feet.

It’s insane what he’s doing, actually. It’s just—no reasonable person would buy a last-minute ticket halfway across the US just because they miss the guy they’ve been dating for all of six weeks. Even if he and Stiles talk and text so often that Derek feels like it’s been twice as long, it’s just not … it’s not him. It’s not something he would usually do, and the rush of adrenaline he’d felt buying the ticket and driving to the airport is starting to fade, leaving anxiety and doubt in its place.

He blames Kira. And Jordan, who’d made a considering face and said, “Actually, I think you should go for it,” when Kira suggested he go meet Stiles out west. Lydia had called out her agreement behind him so she’s also on Derek’s list of people to ignore for the rest of his life if this turns out badly; even Allison hasn’t escaped potential blame, because she’s the reason he has a rolled up, ratty poster in his carry-on bag.

This is a mistake. He should just grab a hotel in Anaheim for the night and fly back to St. Paul in the morning. Maybe call Cora and see if she’s still in San Diego, but if she’s not he’d have to explain why he’d asked and he’s not up for that. Another point to the absolute insanity of this decision—he hadn’t even thought to book a hotel before throwing clothes into his bag and leaving.

He needs to never listen to his friends again.

—

A notification pops up on his screen as he’s scrolling through available hotels, then a torrent of them—all the texts from Stiles he didn’t get while he was in the air. Derek hovers his finger over the screen for a few wavering seconds before tapping on it, watching as the screen fills with four hours worth of Stiles’ thoughts, questions, and right at the bottom—

Stiles Stilinski [2:34pm]: Sorry for all the messages I didn’t give you time to respond to

He frowns, swiping away the text from Lydia that drops down in order to respond.

Derek Hale [2:34pm]: I didn’t have service, sorry. Not ignoring these—composing my essay about the validity of pepperoni and pineapple in my head right now, you’ll get the fully edited version later tonight.

Stiles Stilinski [2:35pm]: Heads up that the peer review board is going to be striking that one down as soon as it’s submitted.

Derek grins at his phone and navigates away so he’s not tempted to spend hours talking instead of actually making a decision, then clicks on Lydia’s text so he can put off making said decision for a moment longer.

Then he stares.

Lydia Parrish [2:35pm]: Did you know Jordan’s never been to Disneyland? Unbelievable. No time like the present though, right?

He’d ask if it was a joke, but Lydia had apparently anticipated that and had sent a photo along with the message, Jordan’s outline silhouetted against one of the large airport windows.

Derek Hale [2:37pm]: I didn’t need a babysitter.

Lydia Parrish [2:37pm]: Of course not. I took the liberty of booking you a room at our hotel. The confirmation is in your email. Lydia Parrish [2:38pm]: Coincidentally, it’s the same hotel the team is staying at tomorrow night. Lydia Parrish [2:38pm]: Our flight doesn’t get in until much later tonight, I’ll text you when we land. Lydia Parrish [2:38pm]: Just know we’re doing this because we love you and support you, but also because we knew there was a 90% chance you backed out before the game.

Well—she wasn’t wrong. He sighs, pushes off the wall he’d been leaning against outside the Starbucks, and opens his email as he makes his way outside to where the line of taxis wait.

—

He buys Lydia and Jordan tickets to the game—another thing he’s putting firmly on his questionable decisions list, if only for the teasing that will occur once they realize what he’s brought with him. He goes to Disneyland with them in the morning, takes pictures he’ll share on his Facebook later, and picks up a pair of Yoda ears he thinks Stiles would get a kick out of. Halfway through the day he gets a text—Stiles complaining about an extra mandatory practice, followed by a half-hearted threat to trip and injure himself to get out of said practice. But he really must have to focus because he doesn’t text again until later, just as they’re leaving the park and heading back to the room to get ready for the game.

Stiles Stilinski [3:54pm]: Do you watch my games? Stiles Stilinski [3:54pm]: I should actually be congratulated on my restraint because I’ve been wanting to know if you’ve changed your mind about hockey for weeks but I held back. Stiles Stilinski [3:54pm]: There’s no right answer but there’s definitely a wrong one so you know. Tread lightly. Or lie.

Derek has not really changed his mind about hockey, but it’s not like he’s watching the games for the hockey aspect of it.

Derek Hale [3:55pm]: I watch most of them. Some of them start too late for me though.

And then—inspired, he texts again.

Derek Hale [3:55pm]: Do you want me to watch tonight?

Stiles Stilinski [3:55pm]: Derek Stiles Stilinski [3:55pm]: I kinda always want your attention Stiles Stilinski [3:55pm]: In case you hadn’t noticed

—

Surprisingly, there’s no teasing. It’s the opposite, in fact.

“This,” Lydia says, pointing at where Derek’s unrolling the Marry me, Stiles Stilinski sign, “is romantic. Jordan? I hope you’re taking notes. You could learn a thing or two.”

Jordan grins and rolls his eyes, even as Derek shoots him an apologetic look. “Got it. You want a sign asking you to marry me.”

“Ha, ha,” Lydia says, sinking back into her seat. “I do want some of those fish tacos though, if you needed ideas.”

“You can both go get the tacos,” Derek says, because players are starting to appear at the tunnel for warm-ups and he’d like them both gone. Or there and quiet, but he knows that will never happen.

“Oh no, we’ve got too many people to send videos and second by second reports to,” Lydia says sweetly. “Speaking of—I’m pretty sure that’s him, so—no, Derek, don’t cover your face with the sign, Jesus.”

Derek’s stomach is in knots. It’s too much, it’s not enough; he wants Stiles to come over and give him the same wide smile he’s been used to seeing every day and also wants him to skate by without seeing him at all. His hands feel sweaty as he grips the poster, plastering it to the glass in front of their seats, and he looks down at the concrete floor like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen the moment he sees recognition dawn on Stiles’ face.

“Derek,” Jordan says quietly, warm hand patting Derek’s back, “he’s smiling, man. Look.”

Stiles is less smiling than grinning maniacally, and he all but throws himself at the glass. “Derek!” he yells, and the knot that’s been in Derek’s stomach since Colorado vanishes. “What are you doing here?”

Derek grins back helplessly, and the words come easy in the wake of Stiles’ obvious joy. “I missed you,” he calls back.

Some of the exuberance slips off Stiles’ face, and Derek is suddenly looking at a smile that’s softer, much more private. “I missed you, too,” Stiles says.

—

Stiles Stilinski [1:38am]: You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me

Derek Hale [7:35am]: I know

Stiles Stilinski [10:16am]: Nvm I take it back

Derek laughs when he picks his phone up, leaning back when he feels Stiles slide in behind him in line for coffee, a kiss being placed on the back of his neck.

You’re the best thing that’s happened to me too, he writes, and hits send.

[kanerallels]

For @monthly-challenge's Spring Fling day 10: field, I decided to write one of my first Wingfeather Saga fan fics!! And I'm also gonna put it on AO3 at some point

Ever since he was a little kid, Esben had loved his family’s yearly trips to the Green Hollows. His grandfather, Ortham Wingfeather, had been born there, as had their advisor, Bonifer Squoon. So the family still had many connections there, and liked to visit for the reunions with friends, the bibes, and of course, the Bannick Durga, the challenge where the Hollowsfolk competed for the title of the Keeper of Ban Rona. 

Ortham had competed in it, years and years ago, to win the love of Esben’s grandmother, Madia. It was a good way to win respect with the Hollowsfolk, who were a notoriously close knit and suspicious group.

It was always fun to watch. Esben often thought about competing himself— not that his mother would have let him before. But now that he was sixteen, there was a chance.

Either way, he was glad to be back in the Green Hollows. He had a lot of friends there, and he’d missed them. And the best way to reunite with those friends was with a good game of tackleball.

He and Artham plunged into the fray right away, and in no time at all they were wrestling with friends they hadn’t seen in months, acting like it had been no time at all. Esben was in the middle of yanking the ball away from his friend Joller and making a break for it when he saw her.

A slight, slender girl— no, young woman, standing at the far side of the field. She was around his age, with dark hair caught back with a bright blue ribbon. A few strands had come loose around her face, framing her elegant features. She was dressed as simply as any of the other girls who’d walked past, but there was something more about her. A gentleness, a singular beauty that shone through the smile she sent his way—

Whump! Esben felt the breath driven out of his lungs as his friend Hawley slammed into him, the ball flying into the air. As he crashed to the ground, there was a stampede towards the ball and away from Esben, who lay in the grass, gasping for air.

“You alright?” Artham appeared above him, concern clear in his bi-colored eyes. Though his brother’s appearance was just as disheveled— grass stains on his clothes and dirt on his face— Esben had a feeling the crowd of giggling girls watching them from a distance didn’t mind. At eighteen, his brother had caught the eye of most girls on the Shining Isle, and apparently the same was true here in Ban Rona.

As Artham helped him up, Esben couldn’t help but notice, with a flicker of relief, that there was no sign of the girl he’d spotted earlier among the group watching Artham. His brother, however, wasn’t paying a lick of attention to the girls. Instead, he was frowning at Esben, waiting for him to answer his question.

“Oh— yeah, I’m okay,” Esben said hastily, brushing dirt off his hands and trying to look around discreetly. The young woman he’d seen had turned and was talking to one of her friends, and Esben wondered if she’d seen him get tackled.

“Is that Nia Helmer?” Artham’s voice pulled him out of his daze— his brother had followed his gaze to the young woman.

“Yeah,” Esben said, unable to tear his eyes away. “She’s… grown up a little since we last saw her.”

“Ohhhhhh.”

Artham’s knowing voice caught Esben’s attention, and he turned to see his brother grinning knowingly. “I was wondering what was distracting you. So you do still have a crush on her.”

“What are you talking about?” Esben said, feeling his face flush bright. “I don’t have a crush on anyone. I mean, I had a crush on her when I was like, twelve, but that was almost five years ago.”

“Uh-huh,” Artham said, still grinning. “And you’ve both grown up a lot since then. She’s a beautiful young woman, don’t you think?”

Esben should have protested, he really should have. But he thought about the smile, already imprinted in his memory, and her dark hair tied with that blue ribbon, and a sigh escaped his lips. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “She is.”

“I knew it,” Artham said smugly. “You should go talk to her.”

Esben almost laughed. “Are you crazy? That’s a terrible idea!”

“Why? We’ve been friends with the Helmers for a long time. We’ve known Nia since you were ten. Talking to her can’t be that hard. Besides,” Artham added, “I’ll come and be your wingman.”

“No way. The Hollish people don’t like outsiders courting their daughters,” Esben reminded him.

“You’re just talking— finding out if she likes you back,” Artham pointed out. “No one said anything about courting yet.”

“I guess… but I’m not sure I want you as my wingman. What if she likes you better than me?”

Artham rolled his eyes. “Well, I don’t like her— not like that, anyways. And I’ll talk you up. Wing is literally part of my name, remember?”

“Wha— it’s part of mine, too, and that’s really stupid reasoning.”

“Agree to disagree. Come on, let’s go talk to her. I have an idea.”

Before Esben could protest, which he definitely intended to do, Artham started across the field, to where Nia was watching the tackleball game. Esben hurried after his brother, shooting another look at Nia. “This is a bad idea,” he hissed at Artham.

“You’re gonna be the High King, Es. You can’t hide from a girl you like.”

“Sure I can, it’s easy!”

Artham didn’t laugh like Esben was hoping. Instead, he gave him a serious look. “Come on. You’ve been crazy about her for five years. Why don’t you try to have a conversation where you don’t fill her shoes with mud or tease her about something, like you used to?”

“Like WE used to, I think you mean,” Esben huffed. “It’s not like I was the only one.” But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like… Artham was maybe right.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But if this goes badly, I’m blaming you.”

“That’s what the Throne Warden is for,” Artham said with a grin.

And then they were across the field and next to Nia, and Esben’s heart was pounding. Like she’d heard it— or maybe just heard them approaching— Nia turned to face them. A startled look flashed across her face. “Oh. Hello, Es— Your Highness.”

“Esben,” he said immediately. “Er. Call me Esben, that is.”

She smiled a little. “Esben. It’s good to see you again. Has your trip to the Hollows been pleasant so far?”

Her eyes were a deep, dark brown, like the freshly turned earth of a garden, and Esben couldn’t tear his gaze away. Framed by long lashes and sparkling with warmth, they were alluring. Heartstoppingly gorgeous.

He was also pretty sure she’d asked him something, but he had no idea what.

“Our trip has been excellent,” Artham said, and Esben jumped. He’d almost forgotten his brother was standing at his shoulder. Grinning a little, he said, “We’ve been looking forward to seeing your family— Esben especially.”

Nia’s cheeks turned slightly pink. “You— you were?”

Uh-oh. Don’t mess this up. Luckily, Artham wasn’t exaggerating. “Yeah— I mean, yes,” Esben said. “I, uh, I always look forward to it. To seeing you.”

Maybe a little clumsy, but Nia’s smile made it worth it. “I’m glad,” she said quietly. She held his gaze for a minute, then seemed to come to her senses. “Are you… not going to play more tackleball?”

Resisting the urge to throw a glance at Artham, Esben said, “Actually, we thought we’d sit with you and watch. If that’s alright with you?”

“I’d love that,” Nia told him, and Artham gave him a discreet nod of approval.

They settled on the grass together, Artham sitting just a little bit aways from the two of them. Esben was nervous at first— but Nia wasn’t hard to talk to. They’d known each other for years, after all, and knew a lot about each other. So they talked about the Guild Nia was in, and her work in the marketplace, and she asked about Esben’s art. He’d even, a little shyly, shown her a few drawings from his sketchbook— his father’s crown, the view from the highest tower of Castle Rysen, a boat skating across the sea in front of the Shining Isle.

“These are beautiful,” Nia told him sincerely, studying the last sketch. “I can’t imagine being able to do this.”

Shrugging modestly, Esben said, “It’s just practice— a lot of practice.” Accepting his sketchbook back, he added, “Besides, I’m not good at words, like Artham is.”

“I think you’re just fine at it,” Nia told him, giving him a smile that made his heart flutter.

The time sped by, and before Esben knew it, Artham was poking him. “Hey. We need to get going, or we’ll be late for dinner. And you know Mama’s probably already worrying.”

Glancing up, Esben felt a jolt of shock go through him. The sun had shifted positions drastically— they couldn’t have been sitting there for less than an hour, maybe two. Jumping to his feet, he glanced at Nia. “Sorry, we should—”

“Don’t worry about it,” she assured him, getting up as well. “I should get back, too— oh! There’s my papa.”

She waved, and Esben turned to see Podo Helmer heading towards them. The older man frowned slightly when he saw Esben and Artham standing next to his daughter, but as he got closer, his eyebrows shot up. “Wingfeather boys— Maker bless us, I barely recognized the two of you. You’ve certainly shot up since we last saw ye.”

“Yes, sir,” Esben said, straightening up a little. He’d always found Podo to be fairly kind, but tough, and protective of his daughter. Also, there were a lot of rumors that he used to be a pirate. Which was really, really cool. But also a little nerve-wracking when one had a crush on his daughter.

Shoving his nervousness out of his head, he looked at Nia. “We should get going, but… see you again? Soon?”

The smile she gave him washed away any semblance of fear. “Yes.”

“Come on, Esben,” Artham said, tugging his arm and giving Podo a respectful nod. As they walked away, he said quietly, “Nice job. I told you I was a good wingman.”

“You barely did anything,” Esben grumbled halfheartedly.

“Exactly,” Artham said with great satisfaction. But Esben barely heard him. Instead, he heard Podo Helmer, talking to his daughter as they walked away.

“Those two boys have grown up into nice young men. That Esben certainly couldn’t take his eyes off of you, could he?”

“Papa!” Nia sounded flustered, but maybe a little… flattered? Hope sprang up in Esben’s chest. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

The rest of their time in the Green Hollows was full of dinners and events and all kinds of craziness. Esben competed in the Bannick Durga, and while he was flattened pretty early on, it was worth it to have Nia be one of the people who helped him off the field.

Eventually, they had to sail for home, and Esben couldn’t help but feel a pang at leaving Nia behind. They’d spent time together almost every day, and the Wingfeathers had had dinner at the Helmers twice. He hated to leave, even if it was to return home.

So the last time he saw Nia, he gave her a folded piece of paper, torn from his sketchbook. Inside was a drawing of her— one of many that he’d done over the past few days— and a note.

I’m not as good at words as Artham, but I’d like to give it a shot— would you let me write to you?

When Nia read it, her smile was brighter than the Shining Isle itself. And the kiss she left on his cheek, that Esben still felt hours later, answered his question pretty clearly.

[bisexualseraphim]

15 questions

Tagged by the lovely @butmakeitgayblog cheers love ☺️

Were you named after anyone?

Nope! My mum just liked the meaning of my birth name and had an interest in name meanings. All my new names (yes I have several) have just been because I thought they sounded cool.

Do you have kids?

HA! No. And definitely never will. I’d be the worst dad 🥴

When was the last time you cried?

Yesterday lol, I started my first ever proper job and was shitting myself with anxiety. It went well though!

What sports have you played/do you play?

I was a dodgeball champion in primary school before I got chronically ill! Played a bit of football too (real football not that poundshop rugby Americans play 😒) and I do miss it a little but not much to be done about it I suppose. I had fun while it lasted!

Do you use sarcasm?

Nah I’ve been around over 2 decades and have never been sarcastic in my life

First thing you notice about people?

This sounds faggy as fuck but their smile 😅 Where I live people are so miserable that when someone has a lovely smile it’s so noticeable to me haha

Scary movies or happy endings?

Ooh cheeky question! I looove horror movies and they’ve been a huge special interest of mine since I was probably too young to be watching them 🤭 BUT I do love a happy ending IF it feels earned. So I guess it depends! But scary movies overall I think.

What are your hobbies?

Reading, writing, playing instruments, video games, watching movies, just chatting with friends.

What is your eye colour?

Fuck knows genuinely, I had a friend whom after years of knowing me one day suddenly screamed OH MY GOD YOUR EYES ARE BLUE WHAT THE FUCK on a sunny day so. Call me Alycia Debnam Carey cos my eye colour changes with the weather apparently 🧿🧿

Any talents?

Ummm I mean I guess I technically class as a multi-instrumentalist but I don’t think I’m that great at any of them 😅 The one thing I know for certain I’m good at is writing but I hardly bloody do it 🥴

Where were you born?

I have dual citizenship because I was born outside the EU and that’s all I’ll say 😌

Do you have any pets?

I did have a lovely sweet kitty whom I had since I was little and she was a kitten, meaning we literally grew up together, but she sadly passed away in January and it’s hit me harder than anything else in my life 😞 I think I’m finally ready to accept another baby into my life though so we’ll see if that works out!

How tall are you?

Just under 5’7 when the weight of being a trans disabled queer man in the UK isn’t compressing my spine

Favourite subject in school?

Definitely Film Studies and Media Studies! I also loved French (still do!) and Religious Studies was the highlight of my day because my teacher was a fuckin legend. Miss that fella every day honestly

Dream job?

I want to be a published author that has a semi-decent fanbase. I don’t need to be on Neil Gaiman levels of fame, I just want more than like 20 people to read and enjoy my stories 😊

I’ll go ahead and tag @lexa-griffins @dysphoria-things @northern-punk-lad @sadiewayne @reallygroovyninja @dreamsaremywords and anyone else who’d like to do it! Just make sure you tag me 😘