#i need a once a week shrink lol ;_;

[hier--soir]

high strung

abby anderson x f!reader

pairing: abby anderson x personal trainer wlf f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: abby has seemed distracted in your sessions as of late. when you discover why, you help to ease some of her tension. warnings/tags: some tight little workout shorts, abby "i'm not gay" anderson has her first experience with a woman, r insert is a trainer but has zero physical descriptions, massage, gay panic, smut, fingering & oral [abby receiving], reference to masturbation [reader], brief mention of other wlf characters from tlou2, brief owen slander lol sorry. word count: 3.5k masterlist a/n: considering abby isn't explicitly queer in tlou2, i wanted to write a short n sharp little bisexual awakening for her. bit of a quick build up but idc i don't know anything about the gym and wanted to get to the gay sex lol, hope you enjoy!

She’s wearing these tight little shorts. Pale blue. So thin they’re almost sheer where they wrap around the bulkiest points of her thighs.  

You don’t look, don’t let your eyes roam over the reedy material, don’t glance down when she bends her knees and drops into a squat. Don’t don’t don’t. Don’t even look when she lays out on the bench, flat on her back, and those shorts bunch and pinch in the crevice where her legs meet her hips. No, you’re well-versed in this now. Adept at not looking.

“Show me ten,” you tap the bar once.

Abby grips the barbell. The skin of her knuckles turns a piercing white as her fingers flex and tighten around the metal. Ninety pounds on either end, and yet she lifts it off the rack with a practiced sort of ease. You feel a familiar rush of pride as she moves effortlessly through the first few reps, her breathing calm—relaxed. Your hands hover, useless, in the air over the bar. Ready to step in if you’re needed, but knowing that you won’t be.

The gym at the base is usually crowded. Sweat covered surfaces, muscle tanks in every conceivable direction, and plenty of shirtless assholes that think they own the place. But this morning you hit the jackpot, arriving early in the morning when there’s only a few others milling around.

“That’s it,” you mutter. “Good, good, give me another one.”

You notice it slowly. The same way it happened last week, and the week before that. The gradual progression; a tilting, wavering, descent into mistakes, into heavy breathing, into distraction. From behind her head, you watch her knees raise a little, feet arched until she’s balanced on her tip-toes, the muscles in her thighs straining.

Her fingers loosen a little around the bar. Grip faltering, failing. A muscle in her forearm flexes and spasms beneath the skin.

“Hey,” you warn, hands darting forward to rest on the metal. “Come on, we’re not even halfway done.”  

Abby doesn’t offer up a response. Doesn’t meet your eyes. She simply huffs out a breath of exertion and presses the bar upward again. Beads of sweat glisten along her forehead, snatching at wisps of loose blonde hair and pinning them to pale skin.

“Good,” you commend, fingers hovering featherlight. But then it happens again. Her face twitches, lips pursing, and she grunts. A low, frustrated sound.

“Abby,” you sigh. She allows you to grip the bar, and together you lift it back into the groove on the rack. “Are you hungover again?”

“No,” she scowls. She sits up and wipes a reddened hand across her face. There’s a patch of sweat on the back of her shirt, and the darkened material clings to her spine.

“Then what’s the problem?” you arch an eyebrow. When she doesn’t turn to look at you, you walk around to stand directly in front of her. “Manny keeping you up at night? Burnt out? What?”  

“No,” she repeats, and this time you think you catch a flash of irritation. Something angry, something heated, rolling beneath the surface of her skin, begging to be expelled.

And you’ve seen the way she can lash out. Seen how people cower and shrink beneath her steely gaze when she’s mad. Quickly, easily, you decide you’d rather not spend your morning getting chewed out for being nosy.

“Listen,” you say. “Why don’t we call it for the day? We ca—”

“I’m fine,” Abby asserts firmly. But the hard set of her jaw and the tension in her shoulders hints otherwise.

You watch her snatch a water bottle off the ground and tilt it against her mouth. Watch the way she drinks in long, hurried gulps. Watch the way her throat bobs as she swallows. Watch a dribble of water snake down her chin, her neck. Don’t.

You look away.

“You’re distracted,” you retort with an eyeroll. “If you hurt yourself in here Isaac will have my ass.”

She shakes her head and mutters something under her breath. A broad hand pushes the hair back off her face, mussing it behind her ears, and then she meets your eye.

“I’m just…” she trails off and glances away. Clears her throat a little. “I’m feeling a little tense, okay? Everyday I’m either in here, or Isaac has me out scouting some fucking Scar hot spot, and I’m exhausted, and my legs are fucking killing me.”

You feel your face soften, mouth tilting down into a sympathetic frown.

“I get it,” you nod. “Hey, I’m sorry, I know I push you pretty hard in here—”

“It’s not—” Abby shakes her head again. “You’re not the problem.”

You don’t know what to say to that. For a moment the two of you rest in a wary silence. Listen to the sounds of people working out around you; muted grunts of exertion, the spouted praise from spotters standing close by. You notice the way she flinches when someone racks a weight a little too aggressively – a little too loud.

“Let’s go in the back,” you suggest easily, already turning away. “We’ll do some physio; I’ll help with the knots in your legs.”

It’s a simple routine once you get her onto the massage table. Tucked away in a back room, door closed, her shoes off, you can set to work without so much distraction.

You start with her calves. Using the palms of your hands, the pads of your thumbs, you rub against the tightly coiled muscles there. Working out any knots that you find, any hidden strains. Moving slowly, purposefully, working your way up until you hit her thighs. And that’s where the tension becomes evident.

It seems like Abby is in pain as you dig your thumbs into her outer thigh. Her face is all screwed up, eyes closed as soft little grunts slip from her mouth. When you find a particularly tight knot and press she spits a low curse, eyes clamping shut and face turning to the side.

“You doin’ okay?” you check in, eyebrows furrowed as you watch the way she squirms and wriggles around on the table – as if she’s shying away from your touch. As if it’s too much for her. “I’m really not pressing that hard, Abby.”

“It’s good,” she chokes out. “Keep going.”

You continue with a sigh, crackling your knuckles before using both hands to work at the muscle in her upper thigh.

“Jesus,” you sigh. Your palm rolls over her quadricep, working to release the built-up rigidity there. “You’re so tense.”

“Sorry,” Abby grits out, voice hoarse and stilted as it sneaks its way out past her teeth. It’s like she’s holding her breath, the way sharp exhales rush from her nose every few seconds.

“It’s fine,” you assure her. Your fingers press against her knee, and you push it up towards her chest until her thigh is pressed against her stomach. Stretch out the muscles there, let her feel the pull, the burn as her knots loosen. “Do you need—oh.”

Because you look down and the words get caught in your throat. Musing caught like a mouse in a trap, your mouth suddenly feels like sandpaper. And you were always so good at not looking, never looking. But now… you’re almost glad you looked. Because there’s a damp splotch on the front of her shorts, shades darker than the rest of the fabric. Right in the crevice between her thighs, where the inseam of those tight fucking shorts rests against her mound.

It must be sweat, you think. It has to be. But when you look at her face you notice how flushed she is. See the blotches of deep red that stain the skin on her neck, her cheeks, and you know it’s not sweat. She’s wet.

Your hands freeze in place, keeping her leg pinned to her chest.

Abby says your name quietly, and there’s something urgent in it – a panicked tone to her voice that makes your stomach tighten.

“Is this why you’ve been so distracted?” you ask. Your mouth is dry, lips chapped as you look between her face and that spot between her thighs. Back and forth, over and over. Your fingers tense against her thigh, and the skin there is so soft. “You’re…”

“I’m not,” she rushes, face almost entirely pink now.

“It’s okay,” you soothe quietly, thumb starting up a slow movement against her flesh. Soft, small circles. And you know you must look calm – but on the inside there’s a hot, wet feeling lashing out against the inside of your stomach. “Is that because of me? S’that why you’ve been so distracted in our sessions lately?”

Abby turns her face, tucking her chin into her shoulder in attempt to hide her blush. You lower her leg back onto the massage bed. “I don—I don’t know why I’m…”

“Abby,” you laugh softly. Your palm is flat against her thigh now, fingers twitching – itching to explore. “It’s okay.”

“I’m not…” she grimaces.

“Not what?” you hum, and you’re playing with the hem of her shorts now. Curling around the thin fabric, rubbing it between your fingertips. “Do you… will you let me help?”  

Her eyes widen at the suggestion, and you feel the way her thighs tense beneath your touch. Pressing together, almost squirming at the thought of it. When she doesn’t respond, doesn’t say no, your fingers creep higher. They tuck around the waistband of her shorts and tug once, testing the waters. Again, she says nothing. Those heady blue eyes stare at your face, pink lips parting as her breathing grows heavier.

“Abby?” you urge.

“Yeah,” she breathes, and it sounds almost like a question.

Her eyes turn glassy as she watches you, and then her hips cant ever so slightly upward on the bed. An invitation.

Smiling, you peel the material of her shorts down slowly, but you don’t look. Not yet, not even as you drop the material onto the ground. Don’t look even when there’s so much white in your vision. A field of creamy skin, begging to be seen. Your thighs press together, skin hot, the muscles in your stomach tightening as you notice that she’s sweating again.

“I’m not gay,” Abby says then. So quiet, so cautious.

Your smile only grows, and you nod. Kind. Understanding. “I know,” you whisper. “I get it.” And you do.

You’ve been in her shoes before; confused, unsure. Young and always wondering why you felt so on edge around the pretty girls in those tight uniforms they liked to wear around the base. Always pretending you didn’t think about the way their clothes moulded against their chests, their thighs, as you lay in bed at night, hand stuffed inside your underwear. Never admitting to yourself that you wanted to see underneath – to see their skin; touch it, taste it.

“I get it,” you repeat, hand stilling at her hip. “But I need to hear you say you want it.”

You ruck up her shirt. Just a little, just so it rests above the dip of her belly button, and you can see the rolling hills of her abdomen. You admire the muscles there, the way they rise and fall with each laboured breath. Abs that lead to a hardened v-shape which only encourages wandering eyes to look down down down.

Her skin is pale, and you can see the elaborate network of blue veins that spread out beneath it like spiderwebs. Lifelines, pulsing with desire. For you.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” you offer, and she nods slowly, seemingly grateful for the assurance. “I’ll help you out… just have a little taste, okay?”

“Fuck,” she mutters, head tilting back against the bed. “Fuck, I didn’t realise you were—I want you to—yes.”

Finally, you look down at her underwear—heather grey with a tiny hole near the band and a dark wet patch on the front—and ask breathlessly, “When’s the last time you had sex?”

“I don’t know,” she exhales. “A few months maybe.”

“You’re so fucking wet,” you tsk under your breathe, shaking your head a little. You can see a soft thatch of curls peeking out the side of her underwear. Saliva pools in your mouth.

“When did you?” she asks.

“Last week.”

“With who?”

“Lyla,” you admit. Your hand is on her stomach now, tracing the indents of her muscles. Fingering every freckle painted across her skin, feeling the way her belly expands with every shuddering breath. “We’d had a few drinks. It wasn’t the first time.”

“Lyla?” Abby scoffs, eyes darting down to watch your fingers. “From the infirmary? Lyla’s not gay.”

“Sure,” you hum, a teasing lilt to your voice. “And neither are you, right?”

That shuts her up quick.

You climb onto the table slowly, careful not to jostle her legs too much. But they splay easily, spreading open for you to fit between. Murmuring gratefully, you look up to see her watching you.

“You do this with everyone you train?” she asks, voice breaking when your index finger snags against the band of her underwear. “Work them to the bone and then…”

“And then?” you smirk, eyebrows raised.

“And then fuck them?” she gasps. Her hands are tense by her sides, fingers curled around the edge of the table.

You bare your teeth at her and shake your head, slowly lowering until your lips meet the skin at her hip.

“Not all of them,” you breathe against her skin, marvelling at the way her frame trembles beneath you.

Unwilling to waste another second, you lick a stripe up the front of her underwear. Taste cotton and sweat and slick. Your touch is painfully light. So gentle that you wonder if she even felt it. But then she gasps – a sharp, breathy sound that has molten heat pooling between your own thighs, and you smile. Gotcha. Her legs lock up on either side of you.

“Relax,” you whisper, and settle a hand on her thigh. Rub slowly there, pressing your fingers in gently to release the strain in her muscles. “Do you want me to stop? I can stop if you don’t want this.” 

“Please,” Abby says quietly. More desperate than you’ve ever heard her sound. “Do it, please.”

“I will,” you tell her. Smile reassuringly and squeeze her thigh.

When you finally get your mouth on her, no more barriers between your tongue and the wet cut of her cunt, you’re a little mean about it. You tease her clit. Tickle your tongue around it, underneath it, never quite touching, just showing that you know exactly where it is, exactly where she wants to be touched. You use your fingers to spread her open, pressing back her folds until you can see the full spread of her; pink and glistening for you.

The taste of her is salty and heady and soon enough you can’t help swiping the flat of your tongue against her clit, and revelling in the stuttered moan that swells out of her.

“Fuck,” she sighs. “Keep doing that.”

You roll your tongue against it in circles, side-to-side, changing up the rhythm whenever you fear she might have gotten used to the feeling. Spell out your name with the tip of your tongue, and then hers. Spell out words in your own language, one that you’re fluent in and want so desperately to teach her. Like this, your tongue on her clit, is a religion, and you’re a modest missionary sent to spread the gospel.

She makes the most gorgeous sounds. High pitched, breathy moans that burst out of her and have you wishing you could touch yourself. Just slip your fingers past the band of your panties, to where you know you'd be dripping-- No. Not yet, not now. This is about her, you remind yourself.

When you take her between your lips and suck, she cries out. A hoarse, rasping shout of your name that only makes you suck harder.

“Oh my god,” Abby mumbles, voice awed, surprised. “Oh—oh fuck, oh my god.”

Lowering your tongue, you press it against her weeping hole. Taste the slick that pools there, waiting for you to drink it down, and feel a moment of sympathy for her. You wonder if Owen ever touched her like this. If he ever made her feel this good. And as the muscles in her thighs tighten and one of her hands falls against the back of your head, fingers lacing through your hair, you know he didn’t. 

“I think I’m gonna—” she gasps, hips bucking against your face. You can feel her slick on your chin, your cheeks, your nose. You lick her clit again in slow, firm circles. “Fuck, I think I’m gonna come.”

You press a finger inside of her, slowly stretching out her tight hole. Give her something to bear down on when she comes. And when she does come, it’s intense. Her fingers tighten in your hair, winding around the strands and tugging as she presses your face harder against her pussy. Your nose presses into the light curls on her mound and you groan, inhaling her sweet, musky scent.

“Fuuuck,” she gasps, the word catching in her throat. You open your eyes and watch the way her abdomen tightens, every muscle in her body going taut. Watch the way her eyes clamp shut, mouth hanging open as she gasps and moans and mumbles beneath her breath. “Fuck, don’t stop. Your tongue, oh my god don’t—please don’t stop.”

So you don’t stop. Abby’s still riding out the final ebbs of her orgasm when you push another finger inside of her. Her body jolts against the table, shaking and trembling beneath your hands and mouth. And then, tongue still moving gently, you curl your fingers inside of her. Press the tips of your middle and ring finger against that soft, spongy part deep inside and grin when she moans your name. You think it might be the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard – your name on her lips.

“You like that?” you mumble against her, the corners of your mouth twitching up.

“Yes,” she moans, hips bucking against your face. “God, yes.”

“Taste so fucking good,” you sigh, flattening your tongue to lick a broad stripe up her cunt. You can taste her come everywhere. Coating your chin, your lips, the inside of your nostrils. You groan, tongue moving faster against her clit now, desperate to see it happen again. She twitches into the table, and one of her hands falls to your shoulder. Blunt nails dig into the skin there, hot and piercing as she grinds against your mouth. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Fuck,” she cries out when you add a third finger. You moan, eyes rolling back at the way her walls stretch around you. So fucking tight.

Your fingers dig into her thigh. Silently pleading with her; tell me, tell me, tell me.

“So good,” Abby mumbles. “So—shit—so full, m’so full. Ohhh.”  

There’s something hot pooling at the base of your spine. Want – curling against your insides, begging to be satiated.

You murmur that desire into her cunt. Inaudible; the words lost in the mess of her, in the quick glide of your tongue between her folds.

“What?” she gasps.

“Say my name,” you repeat, louder, pleading.

And she does – she’s perfect when she comes for you again. Strong back arching off the table, thighs tensing around your body as she chants your name. Her hands are strong, fingers no doubt leaving bruises where she grips your skin tight, holding your mouth against her pussy as she convulses.

She doesn’t let you pull away for a minute, maybe two. Holding your head between her legs as she grounds herself, chest heaving with heavy breaths. You swear you even feel her stroke the skin at the nape of your neck. Twist the hair there around her finger and tug gently. But then she’s letting you go – strong hands falling back to clasp against her lower stomach, and you’re stumbling off the table.

You hand her those shorts—those tiny fucking shorts—and smile. Can see the way uneasiness flits across her features as she drags them back up her legs, sparing a wary glance towards the door. Probably wondering if anyone heard her; if they heard the way she cried and moaned and gasped your name as she came undone against your face.

“It’s fine,” you reassure, only half-lying. “We weren’t that loud.”

But you can tell by the way she nods that she doesn’t quite believe you. That she’s still confused, still unsure, still wondering what this all means.

So you squeeze her shoulder, thumb pressing into the dip below her collarbone, and promise – “No one has to know.”

thank you for reading! x

maybe ill write another part to this where abby realises she wants to return the favour... idk we'll see

[argisthebulwark]

Did I Find You, Or You Find Me?

summary: Due to forces outside of your control, you've found yourself stuck in an arranged marriage. f!reader, no y/n used. feat: Brynjolf, Miraak, Vilkas, Farkas, Arnbjorn warnings: they're long lol. alcohol consumption, not super healthy relationship dynamics, a bit suggestive a/n: i meant to put some more fellas in here but tumblr was struggling to load this draft so i'll have to do a part two masterlist

Brynjolf

Born as the middle daughter of the Black Briar family you are fully aware of their interactions with the Thieves Guild. You've watched your mother meet with Brynjolf, catching glimpses when you're instructed to carry in stacks of paperwork or clearing away empty wine bottles after a long negotiation. His flirtatious remarks remarks leave you breathless, never going further than a shared smile or brushing shoulders in the hall.

As a middle child, you've often found yourself in an odd position - you're an adult and are expected to handle many responsibilities, yet still infantilized by your siblings. Often forgotten between Sibbi and Ingun's rebellions and Hemming's single minded dedication to the family, you're expected to pick up the pieces without making a fuss.

"We need to solidify our ties with the Thieves Guild." Mother's sharp voice interrupts your dinner. You nod along, picking at your potatoes and planning out the rest of your week. "How old are you now?"

"Twenty four."

"Oh, good!" The excited tone of her voice rouses suspicion. You peek up at your mother, heart ramming against your ribs - she's never taken an interest in your life before. This can lead nowhere good.

You can only hope that silence will make her forget you. Her schedule is usually so full that you're allowed to exist out of her eyeline - taking a few extra moments in the market to flip through some books or visiting Ingun in the alchemy shop to chat. There is joy to be found in those small moments when you escape from her calculated gaze.

Of course this doesn't happen. Before the week is out you find yourself standing in the Temple of Mara, heart in your throat and siblings snickering from the pews. The handsome thief is gentle when he holds your hands, voice a bit shaky as he reiterates every vow back to the priest.

Returning to the Ratways feels odd. You part from your family, ink drying on the many contracts as Brynjolf - your husband - leads you through the Cistern. You feel a bit like you're floating as the events of the day settle on your mind. Panic chokes out all rational thought - who will ensure that the animals are fed and organize the contracts in your absence?

"I'm sorry - this all happened so fast, you may need to show me around once more when my mind stops spinning." You can't recall half of what he's pointed out and your feet are aching. You gulp, staring up at Brynjolf's kind eyes.

"Don't worry, lass." That soft grin makes your heart race when he shows you the private quarters, a small room branching off from the tavern. "We're in the same boat, you've got me."

With each day that passes, that knot in your chest lessens. The anxiety shrinks as you settle into your new life, finding the lack of routine comfortable - no list of chores awaits you, no one calls for you to sit in on meetings. After twenty four years of responsibility it is terrifying to realize that no one expects anyone from you.

Despite all the initial fears you find yourself flourishing. Far from your mother's prying eyes you discover that you enjoy hearing stories from the other thieves, Vex and Delvin teaching you a few tricks and Tonilia offering to scrounge up a set of armor. No longer are you Maven's daughter or Hemming's sister - you are yourself.

Brynjolf maintains a respectable distance, never straying too far but making no moves toward romance. He acknowledges that your partnership is just that - an agreement set forth by others, it is not a true marriage. He joins you for dinner each night, finding himself eager to hear about what you've done that day.

"What did you mean back then?" You finally ask, surprised at how steady your voice has become. Brynjolf's gaze still makes your heart flutter but you no longer feel the need to shrink away from it.

"By what, lass?"

"When you said we're in the same boat."

"Ah." He leans closer, voice conspiratorially low. Your cheeks flush when his fingers dance over yours, barely a touch. "Well, I'm guessin' you weren't exactly excited by the prospect of marrying a stranger, yeah?"

"It wasn't my first choice."

"Wasn't part of my plan, either." You hate how your stomach drops at the admission. Of course you're aware that he hadn't truly wanted you, but that knowledge does little to soothe the sting.

"Delvin's too old and Vex hates dealin' with your mother." His eyes drop to where your fingers have twisted together, the toes of his boots brushing yours. "I didn't plan on it bein' me but I couldn't stomach the thought of anyone else marryin' you."

The weeks blend into months, changes in your life slow but steady. Brynjolf sets aside time each week to teach you how to wield a dagger. Your beds scoot closer and you stay up later talking, candles burning down to nubs while you share every little shred of yourselves. He tells you of this the people he's lost and you share the desperation you've always felt for more, blushing when he jokes about the fulfilling life of a thief.

Your confidence continues to blossom the longer you're away from your family, brave enough to disregard a direct summons from your mother. Somewhere she is steaming, Hemming probably cursing your name at her side. It's freeing to realize how little you care.

"Proud of you, lass." Brynjolf grins when you bounce up to him, excitedly recounting how cool it felt throwing her letter in the fire. His hand is warm when it cups your cheek. "How should we celebrate?"

A bit drunk on your newly found courage, you kiss him. You've thought about it for months, stomach fluttering when you first noticed the way his eyes linger on you. It's quick and your lips tingle a bit when your husband chuckles, already leaning in for another.

Miraak

"All of our efforts to reign in Miraak have failed." Arngeir's eyes pin you in place. Your ass is going numb from those stone seats but there's no escaping this conversation. "Dragonborn, the Jarls continue to call for action."

"I have tried everything to defeat Miraak."

"Yet we remain unsuccessful." Biting your tongue barely contains the multitude of protests. Your body bears scars from the many times you've faced Miraak and his cultists, brain addled by the ages you'd spent combing through Apocrypha's twisting hallways.

"Miraak has a clear interest in you." Borri chimes in, voice hoarse from lack of use.

"He speaks the truth, Dragonborn." Arngeir concurs. "We have formulated a new plan. The Jarls have approved, as have many leaders from Solstheim."

"Wonderful." You grumble, hauling yourself to your feet. Might as well start preparing. "What is this new plan of attack?"

"You will offer yourself to Miraak."

"Your plan is to sacrifice me?" The shrill tone of your voice echoes off the stone walls. "How will my death resolve anything?"

"Not as a sacrifice. As a bride."

Despite your many protests, it seems that Miraak could not pass up an opportunity to get under your skin. He agrees to the proposition - you become his partner and he scales back the attacks on civilians. The rage becomes almost mind numbing. You cannot believe that this plan is being enacted, that your elders are offering you up for the mere promise of peace.

When Arngeir bustles you out the door he instructs you to slay the First Dragonborn. His voice is stern when he informs you that you will not be welcomed back to Skyrim's shores until Miraak is dead. The old men don't listen to a single protest that passes your lips, somberly shaking their heads and claiming that this is the last resort. Their trust is placed in you.

There is no ceremony, no hint of romance - just your stack of books and a bout of seasickness as you're ferried to Solstheim. Cultists meet you at the dock, Raven Rock entirely silent as too many pairs of eyes watch them escort you to Miraak's palace. You walk with your chin held high and pray that no one notices the fear simmering just under your skin.

Miraak's glare tracks each move you make as you prowl through his manor. You keep your distance, intent on finding some hidden weakness that will break him without rousing too much suspicion. You circle one another, neither willing to break the peace and strike first. Even when you are alone he maintains some sort of mask - always obscuring at least half of his face, never giving you a full view.

Meals are silent except for thinly veiled threats. Doors to both bed chambers are locked and barred each night. You find comfort in his library, sprawling shelves holding volumes thought long lost and safe from the mind bending power of Apocrypha. On days when you grow too exhausted to search you tuck yourself away into a secluded corner of the library and read until your eyes can't focus.

"You do not have to hide." Miraak's deep voice shocks you out of your reading. He eyes the stack of books at your side and you feel terribly vulnerable. "This is now your home as much as it is mine."

Clearly displeased with your lack of response, he huffs and walks away. Your brain struggles to catch up - the usual nasty tone of his voice was gone, something almost kind about the way he'd spoken to you. It's disconcerting.

Thankfully, you are too preoccupied with your assignment to notice how deeply he burns for you. You do not see the heat behind his glare or the tension in his body when you drift too near, barely keeping a leash on the gut wrenching desire.

Miraak finds it quite easy to convince himself that he detests you - the flipping of his gut is mere disgust and your permanent place in his dreams is blamed on that damned prophecy. You are too distracted sniffing around for clues to notice how deeply and shamefully he wants you.

"What is it you seek?" His voice nearly stops your heart. Blade aimed for his chest you whirl around, scolding yourself for lowering your guard enough for him to get so close. You pause, gaping at the face he's hidden behind masks for months and fight back the horrible wave of attraction.

The crooked nose, stubble trailing up his jaw, dark eyes glaring down at you. Grey streaks are visible where his hair's pushed away from his forehead. A scar drags through his lower lip, drawing far too much of your attention. Grinding your teeth against the way your cheeks blush, you summon every ounce of vitriol you can.

"None of your business."

"Incorrect. You are in my study."

"What I am searching for does not regard you."

"Doubtful, little dragon." You curse your heart for flipping at that pet name. Miraak's grin is nearly a snarl when he leans closer, unable to keep himself away from you any longer.

For one night, he will release his self control. He will make himself vulnerable if it means he can get a bit closer to you.

Vilkas

As the eldest daughter of a Jarl, your duties never cease. Keeping an eye on your siblings, watching the advisors in preparation for your role, learning from wizards and teachers and warriors alike - it is endless. From a young age you'd intended on caring for your beloved city of Whiterun whether you acted as Jarl or advisor, content with putting in the work for your future.

"We need a foot in the door with the Companions." Proventus' words had roused no suspicion at the time - he'd said similar things about the guild before. "They are unregulated, acting entirely separate from us."

"This is true." Your father had turned to you, heart in your throat at the prospect of proving yourself. You'd fine tuned your political knowledge over the past few years and finally, an opportunity to prove yourself to his court. "Can you be trusted with this task?"

You had no clue what you were agreeing to. You'd anticipated a cordial relationship, that you would be acting as a emissary. You expected to form a diplomatic relationship with the Companions. You'd met a few warriors for training but the prospect of working with them was intriguing, their reputation was equally vicious and respectable.

You try to keep it together for the first meeting. Kodlak Whitemane is intimidating but you stand tall beside your father, chin held high and sword strapped to your side. It has never tasted blood but the advisors had insisted upon you looking your best, presenting yourself as a capable fighter.

Kodlak's warriors appear cleaned up, though you notice the scars - tattoos swirl between the gaps in their armor and wary eyes watching every shadow. The one at his side looks ready to implode; hand wrapped menacingly around the hilt of his sword and dark eyes sweeping over you with barely contained disdain. He sneers, clearly seeing through your carefully placed facade. Your stomach drops when he stands only a few paces from you, arms crossed over his broad chest.

The meeting moves too fast to follow. Kodlak and your father speak in hushed tones, all the other advisors cloistered around them. Notably, you are left out - they must be bartering on your behalf, right? Why else would you be left out of the conversation? Three Companions stand at your side, each appearing equally annoyed.

"May I ask why your folks seem displeased?" You whisper to the man at your side, the one who appears less standoffish than the others. Soft brown eyes blink back at you, a short laugh badly disguised as a cough.

"Surprised you're takin' this so well. We had bets on you running out."

"What?"

"Aela thought you'd last through the discussions. I thought you'd bolt as soon as you saw him. And Vilkas, well he refused to make a bet." The man laughs again, a hand extended toward you. Your head is spinning when the dark haired man walks off in a huff, his anger radiating through the hall.

"Vilkas?"

"Yeah." You follow where he points out the man now shouldering his way into the circle of advisors. "Your new husband."

Despite his initial vitriol, Vilkas is annoyingly formal. He speaks to you as a member of the court - stiff and respectful. He spends little time in your company, taking every assignment offered by his elders to get him out of the city.

You can't say it isn't hurtful. Your union was one of mutual convenience for your families but to see your husband so clearly uninterested wounds you. Your conversations are brief, each focused entirely on whatever business Kodlak has with your father.

You hold your chin high, remaining in your father's home and listening to the advisors fret. Your visits to Jorrvaskr are not unpleasant but there is a notable lack of progress - Aela and Farkas are friendly, Athis slowly warms to you, but it is abundantly clear that they all view you as an outsider. Vilkas can barely remain in the hall, his brother kindly making excuses on his behalf.

Sleeping in your childhood bedroom as a married adult feels strange, though you console yourself with the knowledge that it is not a real marriage. No rings or tender words had been exchanged. It was merely a contract signed by Kodlak and your father on your behalf. You drift off to sleep with the image of Vilkas in your head, wracking your brain for what can be done to smooth things out.

"Hey."

Scrambling for the knife under your pillow, you barely manage to swallow the scream building in your throat. With the blade quivering in your hand you aim it toward your attacker's chest. Vilkas' dark eyes glare down at you, hair mussed and usual armor missing. You blink a few times when turns toward the door.

"Can't sleep. You coming?"

"Coming where?"

"Anywhere but here."

He hardly says a word when you stride out of Dragonsreach. He scoffs at the way you sneak past the guards, dagger still gripped in your hand. You follow him down the chilly steps until you're seated on a bench, backs to the Gildergreen.

"Sorry." He grumbles, dropping his cloak around your shoulders. "Bet you're freezing."

You're too stunned to question it. The cloak smells of him and you find yourself burrowing deeper into it, the first kind move he's made. Vilkas sits at your side, glaring out at the starry sky for what feels like hours.

"What is happening?" You finally ask, glancing over at him. You catch his striking profile, outlined by the silvery moonlight of late night; the sharp bridge of his nose and harsh brows, the lips that look surprisingly soft when they aren't grimacing. Your stomach flips when his eyes slide to you, though they appear uncharacteristically kind.

"Needed to get out for a bit." He shrugs, heaving a sigh. "Figured you could use a break from that place."

It's hard to predict when he will seek you out. Vilkas only appears in the dead of night, often the night before he departs for an assignment. You wander through Whiterun, enjoying the emptiness of the town while he tells you of his recent missions. You are giddy each time he refuses your attempts to return his cloak, wrapping it around your shoulders to walk aimlessly at his side.

Not wanting the conversations to be one sided, you soon find yourself sharing more. Stories of court and your siblings feel boring in comparison but Vilkas seems interested. He remembers names remarkably well, asking after your brother's injured arm weeks after you'd brought it up.

It takes months for you to broach the topic of your future. You've grown comfortable in his company, no longer unsettled by the intensity of his gaze. He is still far from a husband but there is something like friendship blooming between you, an attraction that squeezes at your heart each time he smiles at you.

"I just want to be free." You admit, gazing out over the horizon. As you've spoken the sunrise has begun, rays of pink and orange reaching out to steal the night. You have to return to Dragonsreach soon before everyone else wakes. Despite that reasoning you find yourself leaning into Vilkas' shoulder, heart fluttering when he accepts your touch.

"Free?" He snorts, chin resting on the top of your head. "You're the Jarl's kid, you can do whatever you want."

"I've never made a choice for myself - I didn't even get to choose my husband." Clearly the lack of sleep has loosened your tongue. Vilkas chuckles, a sound that never fails to warm your heart.

"That's fair." He sighs, staring over your shoulder at Jorrvaskr. He's sure that the others have already awoken, chest tight with the unending duties threatening to drown him. "Someday, when we're done solving everyone else's problems, we'll get out of here."

Farkas

Since an early age, you've been warned to stay away from the Companions - their shimmering armor and heroic deeds are inviting but they do not live like you do. Their beast blood is a secret held only by those in the highest ranks, hidden away from the rest of their guild. You've never understood the secrecy but abide by your parents' warnings, heeding the wisdom of your pack.

Numbers have dwindled over the years. Tales told around the long table recount times when your pack commanded Whiterun's rolling plains, hunting and celebrating to their hearts' content. Each generation shrunk - the beast blood not passing on to younger generations and civilization encroaching upon the wilds. Handfuls of families have splintered off, some moving to new Holds while others joined larger packs.

You're fairly certain your hearing must be failing - after ages of warning every wolf off from dealing with the local guilds, your grandmother grimaces around those unbelievable words.

"What?"

"We can no longer survive on our own." She reiterates, your ears ringing. "These lands have been overhunted and new farms claim acres of land every day. Now with the Silver Hand moving into Whiterun," she sighs, gathering herself. Tears prick at your eyes when she rests a wrinkled hand on your shoulder. "Our family has entered an agreement with the Companions."

"Okay." You're struggling to wrap your head around this change but you'll manage - the pit in your stomach for months could finally cease. You know that food sources are growing scarce and numbers are falling but you're still a bit lightheaded at the finality of her statement.

"We've assured their continued support. They cannot back out of this deal."

"How? What do we have to give them?"

"You and some of the others will be married to the younger members of their inner circle."

It's like a punch to the gut. Your marriage is still a handful of years off but you will never forget about it - wondering each day if this is your last before being shackled to the Companions for the rest of your life. Your first meeting happens during a celebratory dinner, your heart in your throat as Kodlak presents the members of his pack.

One boy glowers across the hall and sneers at anyone who dares to speak to him. His brother stands nearby, a friendly smile on his face when Kodlak's hand lands on his shoulder. You can only pray that you aren't partnered with the unpleasant one.

"I'm Farkas." The kind boy introduces himself, calloused hand warm against yours. It takes a moment to remember your name - thankfully, your grandmother pats your shoulder and speaks for you.

"Nice to meet you." You choke out, terrified to be staring into the face of your future husband. His smile comes easily, dimples in his cheeks eyes radiating kindness. Light brown hair is braided out of his face and a broadsword is strapped across his well muscled back.

You spend the night awaiting the horrible stories your elders passed down to come true - that the Companions will shame your way of life or scoff at the state of your hall, but they are amiable. A bit reserved but they do nothing to earn your distrust. They share food and drink hauled down from their hall, listening intently to the stories told by your parents.

Farkas fits in too well. Even after Kodlak and the others stop visiting, contracts signed and goods exchanging hands, Farkas keeps coming. He shows up on your mother's doorstep with an armful of food and brings your siblings presents on their birthdays. Each time he appears you're shocked - this was sold to you as a marriage of convenience, one to fully unite your families. The grin on his face when he teaches your brother how to properly swing a sword or his willingness to help clear the dishes after dinner make you wonder if he was told something different.

Even as the season of your intended wedding approaches you cannot scrape up any distaste for him. You find your heart fluttering when Farkas rolls up his sleeves to help your father chop firewood or falls onto your bed at your side, curiously eyeing whatever book you're reading. You've both grown into a comfortable friendship, choosing to not speak of what awaits you only a few months away.

"Wanna go for a walk?" Farkas offers, eyes sliding your way. Even after all these years he still makes speech difficult, the friendly smile causing your brain to stop functioning. He's asked the question dozens of times but there's something loaded behind his words that makes this feel different. He's so careful when he holds your hand, clearly giving you space to shake him off.

Farkas follows the same path as always around local farms, a pleasant expression on his face but you feel the nerves radiating from him. Perhaps you've just got enough anxiety for you both.

"What's wrong?" You blurt, unable to contain the nerves any longer. Eyes sparkling in the moonlight Farkas turns to you and you're certain the whole valley can hear your heart ramming against your ribs.

"I want to marry you." His voice is uncharacteristically serious.

"That's been arranged since we were kids."

"No, I mean for real." Farkas insists, chilly fingers tracing the shape of your cheek. You've been close to others but nothing has felt like this, no one else has set your skin ablaze with a simple touch.

"I need you to know that I'm not just doing this because Kodlak said to. I want to be here with you, with your family - I want you."

It takes a few minutes to digest that - he wants you. Farkas is patient when you work through that, fingers tightening around yours as he awaits an answer. Butterflies erupt in your stomach when you finally voice the feelings you've ignored for years.

"I want you, too."

Kissing him is so easy, it feels natural. He smells like home; the hands cupping your face are stained from helping your parents cook and the scent of your fireplace clings to hair you'd tied back. Farkas kisses you like it's the first time he's taken a breath, needy and desperate. His nose brushes yours before he's pulling back, that comforting smile rousing butterflies in your gut.

The wedding you'd spent years dreading surpasses all your expectations. Farkas cries the moment he sees you, tears streaming down his cheeks when he pledges each day of his life to yours. You pointedly ignore all the vows regarding duty and tradition - you love this man. You've fallen in love with him slowly and without realizing it, loving him a bit more each day you've spent with him. He speaks of his love for you and respect for your family, summoning fat tears in your eyes when he kisses you.

"Thanks for lovin' me." He murmurs into your hair, crushing you to his chest.

Arnbjorn

"You should do it."

"Absolutely not."

"It's the best way to ensure the survival of both our Guilds!" Delvin insists, that smug look on his face. He thinks he's already won. "If we don't come to an agreement, our groups are bound to cannibalize each other. Our customer base and services are too similar."

"All good points."

"Every Jarl is out for our blood and both of our Guilds have recently lost leaders." It's annoying how correct he is. Delvin nudges the ale toward you, clearly urging you to consider. "A partnership would solve nearly all our problems."

"And why can it not be a business partnership?" You ask, accepting the drink. "Your relationship with the Brotherhood has stood since before I even joined the Guild, has something caused you to doubt it?"

"Unfortunately." Delvin's expression sours at that. "Their new leader."

You agree to a meeting with their new leader, expecting the Listener - they've visited a few times when the Brotherhood needed Delvin's aid, most recently during their move to Dawnstar. Your friendship is easy but holds no attraction, certainly nothing that would tempt you into a marriage.

"The Listener isn't their official leader." Delvin corrects you at the last minute, the group of shadows entering the Flagon. "It's the old leader's widower."

He stands before you, intimidatingly tall and muscled. Unimpressed eyes shamelessly comb through the crowd of thieves, white hair braided away from a handsome face. Delvin's elbow nudges yours and your face burns when you stumble over your introduction, clearing your throat before the conversation begins.

It's rough. Their leader, Arnbjorn, clearly lacks his former partner's knack for negotiation. You'd only encountered Astrid a couple times before her death but remembered her way of speaking, calculated with a constant threat in each word. Arnbjorn is much more straightforward, the Listener and Nazir looking a bit uneasy at his side.

"I have no need of a wife." He speaks plainly, earning a glare from his companions. "My hands are full running the Brotherhood and looking after the recruits."

"My thoughts exactly." you concur, though the conversation spirals away from that point once again.

Gods, you feel like this is never going to end. Hours pass and Delvin's sheet of notes has become illegible. The Listener is predictably quiet, taking in everyone's words while Delvin and Nazir hash out the details - where barriers for contracts should be, how to notify the other, who can recruit in what regions. After far too many drinks their words devolve into an obnoxious drone.

You aren't entirely sure anyone notices when you excuse yourself. Maybe a breath of fresh air will clear your head. You're certain that the sun has risen and quite possibly fallen once more since the negotiations had begun, shuffling your way through the Cistern in search of the outdoors.

"Hey."

Two strong fingers grab your elbow just as you're about to climb to freedom. You turn, sucking in a deep breath when you realize that you're cramped into the secret passageway with Arnbjorn. His cheeks are flushed - he's had even more drinks than you, leaning on the wall for support.

"What?" You try to sound sure of yourself despite the distracting closeness of his body. It's troubling how handsome he is. Arnbjorn blinks at you, sucking in a deep breath before speaking.

"I didn't want you to think my protests have anything to do with you." He clears his throat, obviously struggling to speak so plainly. "It's just - my wife passed away. You're very pretty but I have to think about the Brotherhood."

"I understand." You breathe, unable to ignore the way his eyes seem glued to your mouth. He leans a bit closer and you can smell him, smoke and pine and you fight back the wave of attraction.

Kissing him is foolish. You know this. It is a dumb mistake that you cannot stop yourself from making, closing the tiny distance between you. His lips are warm and god, the large hand curling around your waist and drawing you closer feels divine. His body presses to yours, crowding you against the stone wall until you can feel every delicious inch of him.

"Oh gods -" Delvin's voice shatters the moment. You're shrinking back, Arnbjorn stumbling a few steps away but it's too late. Your face burns when Delvin and the Listener's stares pin you in place. "Well, looks like our problem solved itself."

Marrying him is strange. Arnbjorn is stiff and standoffish, barely grumbling when the arrangements are drawn up. It's hard to forget that kiss, heat creeping into your cheeks every time the memory emerges. He's not unkind, just unwaveringly professional.

"If you're not interested in your wife," the client's words are slurred when he nudges Arnbjorn. "Mind if I take a swing?" A few too many celebratory drinks have been shared after your first successful joint contract. He stares intently at you, arousal pounding through his veins at the sight of you wearing Brotherhood armor.

"What?" The wave of sheer rage catches him off guard. Arnbjorn glares down at the drunken lord, anger building when the man leers toward your group of thieves. He's restrained himself for so long, ignored the way your eyes linger and seek him out because of his damned principles - but he will not allow this.

"You clearly don't want her. No harm in someone else gettin' a chance, right?" The man grumbles into his goblet. "After all the coin I handed out for this job -"

All conversation ceases when Arnbjorn bolts out of his seat. Before you can ask what's wrong he's stalking toward you, fingers gentle but insistent when they grip your chin and tilt your lips toward his. His kiss is full of heat, brain flooding with unabashed arousal as your husband's hips press firmly into yours.

"What's this all about?" You pant, cheeks burning bright red when his nose brushes yours.

"Don't worry about it." Arnbjorn grumbles against your lips. He'll let his reservations slip for this evening of celebration. He tells himself that he will rebuild all those walls in the morning, allowing himself this one night as your husband.

[itslittlegiggle]

Sun-Kissed Skin

(Kirishima/Kaminari)

when you just want to show your boyfriend a cute thing you did at the beach, but it turns into a gigglefest

a/n: as per usual, sorry for not posting lol, here’s a Crumb

———

Class 1A had just returned from a very pleasant and much needed trip to the beach. After working so hard lately, especially in the midst of a sudden heat wave, Aizawa had decided that the students deserved a break - and a little fun.

Some of them swam or played volleyball, like Kirishima, while others relaxed in the sun or tanned, like Kaminari (although he was the only boy who decided to focus on getting a tan; he claimed only the sun’s “healing rays” could relax his body and mind after such an intense training period).

The couple didn’t see each other much during the day, even on the bus ride home; Kirishima sat with Bakugou, who was insistent Todoroki had cheated at volleyball, while Kaminari sat with Sero so they could chat about a video game they had both been playing recently.

Kirishima and Kaminari made it a point to spend some time together once the bus had arrived back to the dorm so they could unwind and talk to each other about their beach activities. When they got back they immediately went to Kirishima’s room, chatting excitedly.

“Man, that was fun. I wish we could go to the beach every week!” Kirishima exclaimed.

Kaminari nodded in agreement. “Me, too. I feel so sleepy now, but definitely refreshed. I guess sitting in the sun all day does that to you.” His eyes suddenly lit up.

“Oh yeah, I was going to show you something on the bus, but I forgot!” He dropped his bag on the floor, excited, and turned to Kirishima, who had taken a seat on the edge of his bed; he’d shower later.

“Look, look!” Kaminari exclaimed, lifting the hem of his shirt and pointing to his torso. “Look what I did!”

Kirishima leaned over to see what Kaminari was showing him. He could now see, starting from slightly above and going down onto the blond’s hipbone, the pale shape of a lightening bolt, contrasting nicely against the rest of Kaminari’s suntanned skin.

“Woah,” Kirishima breathed, smiling at the spot. “How’d you do that?”

“It was Mina’s idea! She wanted to make a little star out of sunscreen on her back so when she tanned, it would leave the shape. Then Ururaka wanted to do a heart on her leg, and Momo wanted to do a flower on her shoulder. I wanted to do one too, and Mina thought a lightening bolt would suit me. Cool, right?”

Kirishima grinned at his boyfriend, finding his excitement cute. “Very cool, and such a manly shape, too!” Almost without thinking, Kirishima reached out and pressed into the pale shape with his index finger.

Kaminari yipped, his body slightly shrinking into itself, and he let go of his shirt in order to slam his hands over his mouth. Both boys’ eyes went wide and Kaminari’s ears flushed a bright red. Kirishima’s eyebrows shot up with a grin. “Oh?” What was that?”

Kaminari only shook his head, eyes never leaving Kirishima’s face. It was like the smaller boy knew what was about to happen but was paralyzed in anticipation.

As soon as Kaminari’s body made the slightest movement indicating he was about to make a run for it, Kirishima lunged and grabbed him around the waist, cackling at Kaminari’s surprised squeal.

“Wait, no - wahait, put me down!”

“Put you down? Sounds good to me!”

Kirishima flopped onto his bed, Kaminari still in his arms, and quickly maneuvered his and Kaminari’s bodies so Kaminari was lying on his back with Kirishima kneeling between his legs.

Kaminari was already giggling, hands out in front of himself defensively and eyes squinted in mirth as he looked at Kirishima hovering over him. “Whyhyhy?”

Kirishima barked out a laugh.

“Why? Because it’s cute!”

Before Kaminari could giggle out any more protests, Kirishima grabbed both of his boyfriend’s hands in one of his own and pinned them to the blond’s own chest. His free hand hovered above Kaminari’s hip near the little lightening bolt shape, and he made a big show of flexing his thumb in the air directly above the hipbone. Kaminari was near hysterical, shaking his head and arching his back and giggling up a storm. “You don’t have to d-do this!”

“On the contrary,” Kirishima teased, “I think I do, especially since this lovely spot has been so nicely highlighted for me. This was obviously meant to be!”

He finally started tickling Kaminari for real, digging his thumb right into the concave area of the boy’s hipbone and kneading the sunscreened shape like dough. Kaminari let out a delicious scream that gave way to boyish belly laughter, head thrown back and legs kicking. “Oh nohoho!” He cried.

“Oh, yes!” Kirishima crowed, laughing along with his boyfriend as he writhed, trying so hard to dislodge Kirishima’s hand or roll away and failing miserably at both. A particularly well placed knead made Kaminari squeal at fever-pitch; small sparks zinged out of his fingertips, startling Kirishima, who couldn’t help but chuckle at his boyfriend; one of his most favourite things about making Kaminari laugh hard was the inevitable and unconscious discharge of his quirk, like the blond’s glee couldn’t simply be contained to his body and needed an escape route.

Kirishima lightened his touch a bit, still poking gently at the pale lightening bolt with his finger. He couldn’t stop giggling because Kaminari couldn’t stop giggling. He thought the two of them must have made quite a sight.

“Mean,” Kaminari whined, before hiccuping once and causing both boys to giggle harder. “So mean!”

Kirishima laughed brightly. “I could be meaner, if you wanted…”

Kirishima made a lobster claw with one of his hands and lightly placed it around one of Kaminari’s knees, not even tickling yet. Kaminari, of course, absolutely lost it, squealing and laughing even harder than he had been, even without actually being tickled there; knee tickles were a whole different level for him.

“Please, plehease, I’m tired!” He shrieked, a snort shooting from his nose. “L-later, okay? You can do it later, I promise!”

Kirishima burst out laughing at that, releasing Kaminari from his clutches and laying down next to him. “Fine, but only because you asked so politely.”

A pause.

“I really like your lightening bolt.”

Kaminari’s giggles died down and he turned on his side to look at Kirishima, eyes still shining with mirth.

“You should do something next time too! Maybe like… a rock, or something.

Kirishima laughed. “Wouldn’t that just be a circle?”

Kaminari laughed too. “Oh yeah, I guess. Maybe, like, the outline of a mountain range?”

“Yeah, that could work! Where?”

“Maybe your chest,” Kaminari offered, “or your back.” He thought for a moment. “Actually, we should do it on your ribcage. It’s only fair to me if we put it somewhere you’re ticklish.” To emphasize his point, he gave Kirishima a pinch to his ribs. The redhead yelped and grabbed his boyfriend’s offending hand.

“Careful, Kami. You wouldn’t want me to hold you to your… promise, before you’ve had a chance to rest, hm?”

Kaminari blushed so red he might as well have not worn any sunscreen at the beach.

[niki-phoria]

Can i request for Y/N taking care of sick TXT members but in school, idk maybe it's winter and they caught a really bad cold/flu but their mom/dad wanted them to attend school anyway and they're really sleepy and clingy or he's sleeping in class and you have to make everything for them, or maybe the fan makes them sneeze/cough and you have to give him medicine, he's normally really hyper but that day he's really calm and soft, you buy them tissues or water if they need it, but you did a lot of TXT sickfics so idk if this is too much or if you don't really feel comfortable writing this kind of things you don't have to do it, but thank you for reading ^^

⋆｡°✩ txt reaction - they get sick

includes: school au (could be high school or uni), sickfics are so easy to write lol, i adore beomgyu :((

a/n: thank you for requesting !! i hope you like it :))

gn reader (no pronouns used)

requests open !! read my rules first

⋆｡°✩ soobin

(word count 248)

you startle when soobin sneezes from beside you once again. the noise echoes throughout the otherwise silent library, making a few people glance over in your direction. you ignore them as you slide a box of tissues in his direction instead. “thank you,” he whispers, reaching out to grab one before blowing his nose as quietly as possible. 

“are you okay?” you reach over, brushing the back of your hand against his forehead. soobin’s skin feels warm - even in the few seconds it takes for you to check his temperature. “you’ve been sneezing all day.”

“i’m fine,” he sniffles. “i’m sure it’s just the flu or something.”

“well, your flu has been making you sneeze all over our textbooks,” you tease. soobin’s face flushes slightly in response. he glances down at the open books as if he’ll be able to see the germs coating the pages. “come on,” you whisper. “let’s go home. get some rest.”

“y/n, i have a test next week-”

you cut him off by closing your textbook and shoving it into your backpack. “and you won’t be able to study when you’re sick.” you walk around the desk to his side, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. “i’ll make you some soup, and we can cuddle, and sleep,” you say, exaggerating the words.

“okay,” soobin lets out a small sigh as he reluctantly follows your lead, packing up his own notes. “but only because you’re so cute when you ask.”

⋆｡°✩ yeonjun

(word count 302)

you startle slightly when your phone begins vibrating violently against the library desk you had been working on. you apologetically shrink back when the librarian glances over the top of his book to momentarily glare at you as you slip outside to answer the call. 

“hello?” 

you’re met with violent coughing on the other end for a few seconds before yeonjun’s shaky voice comes through the line. “y/n,” he all but whimpers. “can you come over? please?”

“of course,” you lower the volume on your phone as you re-enter the library. you prop your phone against your ear as you shove your things into your backpack. “are you still at home?”

“i’ve been home all day,” he says. “i think i’m sick.”

“i’ll be right there.” 

you sling your backpack over your shoulder before running out of the school until you reach yeonjun’s house. the cold chilling your bones and the bewildered looks from strangers you pass along the way are ignored until you reach his house.

you find yeonjun sitting in the bathroom. his back is pressed against the wall; his eyes closed. “jagi,” you whisper. you kneel down beside him, brushing a stray strand of hair out of his face. “are you okay?”

“i’ve been throwing up all day,” he whispers. 

“oh, honey,” you murmur, bringing a hand up to press against his forehead. it feels warm against your skin. “can i get you anything?”

“just want you,” yeonjun whispers. 

you give him a sympathetic smile, moving to sit beside him. you grab his hand and intertwine your fingers together. “okay. then we can sit here until you feel better.”

yeonjun leans over to rest his head against your shoulder, letting his eyes shut once again. “i love you,” he whispers. 

you squeeze his hand. “i love you too.”

⋆｡°✩ beomgyu

(word count 259)

you pull your coat tighter around your body to protect against the winter chill that blows past as you rush up the steps to beomgyu’s door. you shiver as you raise a hand up before knocking on the thick wood separating you from your boyfriend and the warmth inside. 

you can hear a light scuffling before the door cracks open to reveal a very tired, sickly beomgyu. “y/n,” he rasps out with a soft smile. 

“gyu,” you whisper. he opens the door just enough to let you inside, revealing a mess of tissues on the table beside his couch. you tug the blanket resting just around his shoulders further around his body. “taehyun said you were sick. how are you feeling now?”

“tired,” beomgyu whispers. you let him step forwards to lazily wrap his arms around your waist. he leans against you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “wanna cuddle with you.”

“okay,” you rest your hand on his lower back as you slowly guide him back towards the couch. “we can cuddle.”

the couch is uncomfortable and cramped as you shove yourself into the small space between beomgyu and the back cushions, though you don’t complain as he nuzzles further against your chest. you lean down, brushing the hair out of his face and pressing a kiss against his forehead. “get some rest, jagi,” you whisper. 

beomgyu simply hums in response. his voice is slurred - likely a mix of the sickness and how tired he is. “love you.”

“i love you too,” you whisper.

⋆｡°✩ taehyun

(word count 236)

taehyun poorly stifles yet another cough with his arm. he turns his arm as he violently heaves for a few seconds before sitting up beside you once again. your teacher barely spares him a glance over her shoulder as she continues her lecture. taehyun sniffles as he lets out a small sigh before turning back to his notes.

you wait for her to turn her back on you before reaching over to gently pat his back.  “are you okay?” you whisper. 

“‘m fine,” he replies, though you notice his voice is raspier than usual. a thin layer of sweat has started to form against his uncharacteristically pale skin. his hand feels clammy in yours. 

“you’ve been coughing all morning.” you let the lecture fall on deaf ears; your attention remaining fully on your boyfriend. taehyun simply sniffles once again in response. 

unsatisfied, you reach over to slide his notebook in front of you. you reach up to cup his cheek with your hand before pressing the back of it against his forehead. it feels unusually warm. you sigh, coaxing his head to lean against your shoulder. “i’ll take your notes. just try to get some rest, okay?”

taehyun looks over at you, debating whether or not to protest before he finally sighs. “fine,” he whispers. his eyes flutter shut as he leans against you. “just make sure my notes are good, okay?”

“of course,” you hum.

⋆｡°✩ huening kai

(word count 270)

you rush down the steps of the bus, calling out a ‘thank you’ over your shoulder. you run through the snowy streets as quickly and carefully as you can. in your hurry to get to kai’s house, you had forgotten any sort of coat - a decision you only regret more and more as the cold chills your bones through the thin fabric of your school uniform. 

shivers only continue to rack through your body as you run up the steps to kai’s house. you cup your hands over your mouth, breathing against your skin in an attempt to warm yourself up after knocking on the door. you’re quick to rush into the house as soon as the door cracks open, relishing in the warmth from the heaters inside. 

“y/n?” kai asks. 

“kai,” you smile, rubbing your hands against your arms in an attempt to warm yourself up. 

he steps forwards, wrapping his body around you. “what are you doing here?”

“i ran into bahiyyih earlier. she said you weren’t feeling well.” kai tugs you even closer, shifting so the blanket resting around his shoulders is wrapped around yours instead.

“so you thought the best decision was to run through seoul without a jacket to my house in the middle of the school day?” he asks.

you shrug. “thought you could use some company.”

“well, you were right.” kai laughs, pulling you into a hug. he guides you towards the couch before pulling you down to lay back against the cushions beside him. you shift to pull him down into a quick kiss. “i’m glad you came.”

“i am too.”

[ragnarokhound]

can vamp Tim give Jason a blood transfusion if needed? 🤔

in your vamp/wer verse I mean

Oh, that's an interesting question! In my vampire!Tim/werewolf!Jason verse and the accompanying fic, Tim drinks almost exclusively off of Jason because a) Jason loves it and b) Tim would near-starve himself otherwise :') (and he kind of does anyway, Jason has to bully him into feeding). So the only blood inside Tim at any given moment is usually Jason's original blood anyway. But can Tim give that blood back in an emergency?

tldr: yes, under certain conditions. lol

My reply was getting long because this kind of speculating is my favorite game to play, so if you're curious about what those conditions are and how I reached that conclusion, more details are under the cut:

In this verse, Jason is the kind of werewolf who doesn't have a lot of control/retained personality when he shifts, but he DOES have a lot of meta powers. (As a treat for becoming a mindless, violent monster lol ur welcome Jay)

One of those powers includes rapid healing ala deadpool/wolverine (unless the wound is inflicted by silver, ancestral or otherwise) so it would be remarkably difficult for Jason to reach the point where he even needs a blood transfusion. But let's consider that worst case scenario, in which Jason has suffered enough silver-inflicted wounds that his healing factor breaks and he needs blood, yesterday. Wuh oh.

Tim is the #1 candidate to consider for a Jason blood transfusion because that's his gamer fuel of choice - but for Tim to be a viable donor, it would depend on the length of time it's been since Tim drank from Jason, and how much. They're on a time limit because Tim's body doesn't replenish blood on its own, he has to steal it.

Brace yourself for the suspect use of rough science facts in the middle of supernatural fantasy speculation about vampire/werewolf AUs, lmao

So supposing Jason has about 12 pints/5.7 L of blood in total, he could lose maybe 5 pints/2.4 L of blood at a time without dying (and that's a high estimate, he'd start going into shock way before that lmao), AND it would take him weeks to restore that blood - if he were human.

Luckily for Tim, he can steal quite a bit from Jason without killing him because of the handy dandy werewolf healing factor that restores Jason's blood almost as fast as Tim's dusty ass can absorb it. (Tim's veins @ Jason's blood: 𝔪𝔬𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔷𝔢 𝔪𝔢). Unluckily for Tim (and Jason), Tim has about a zillion hangups over drinking that much all at once. Aw.

A brief google search tells me that in an average human body, red blood cells live about 120 days. For simplicity, we'll say that Tim being a vampire and having weird vampire powers counteracts Jason being a werewolf and his blood having weird werewolf properties - so when Tim is full (and I mean full) of Jason's blood, he's good for somewhere just under that 120 days.

The blood isn't immediately starving in Tim's stupid vampire body because it's strong, sexy werewolf blood; it stays hydrated for a million years and could thrive like a dandelion in a crack in the sidewalk, let alone a perfectly good, albeit abandoned, vascular system. (Jason's blood @ Tim's veins: 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁 𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝑒)

That being said, Tim starts getting very hungry near the end of that time frame as the blood is used/dies, and that time frame shrinks every time he bleeds (which is often, RIP Tim). But he'd still have a solid month or so of healthy, viable Jason blood pumping through his undead ticker. (unless Tim gets REALLY beat up lol, which is not unlikely OTL)

SO all this to say: can Tim give it back?

I would say yes, IF Tim has fed recently, and he's fed A LOT. Otherwise, he just straight up might not have the blood to give anymore because his stupid husk of a body already used it all.

If he tried to give Jason blood around the time he's getting hungry again, when Jason's blood is on it's last legs after sustaining an active vampire without reinforcements for weeks to months, it wouldn't be as effective as a blood transfusion from someone who can make their own blood and therefore has a fresher supply.

tldr (again lol); Tim could become a blood donor for Jason, but only once he's regularly letting himself drink from Jason, and drinking until he's full.

[supernaturalkickparty]

Happy Wincest Wednesday 🫶🏼 What are your thoughts on Sam’s pregnancy during season 5? Dean was angry at him, but would he try to be softer with him if he knew Sam’s carrying their child?

oh my godddd season 5 pregnancy is my jam! Well sam pregnant at anytime is my jam lol

I like to think that Sam kept it a secret from Dean, only because of how angry he's been with him.

Maybe he finds out during Free to Be You and Me, he takes a test and from him counting back he's a few weeks along.

He considers terminating it but it wouldn't be fair to Dean or to this baby, it's not the baby's fault his birthparent is an ex blood junkie.

He decides giving it up for adoption once its born or wants to ask Bobby if he can give the baby to Dean. That way he don't have to see Sam and he can make sure the baby don't end up like him.

He never had a chance at a normal life, maybe the baby will.

But now they're back together, the voicemail still weighs heavy in Sam's head and all he can think about is trying to make it alive long enough to lock lucifer away and to make sure the baby lives.

Sam Interrupted is when Dean finds out, the assessments before they get admitted. The nurses ask Sam how far along he is and if he's had any prenatal care. He quietly tells them that he's 6 or 7 months along.

Dean looks like he's about to have a heart attack and Sam is just wanting to shrink away and disappear.

Things are tense and while Dean wants to be there for Sam, it's hard for him to let go of everything.

Sam ends up going into labor during Hammer of the Gods and his worst nightmare could be a reality if Lucifer gets to the baby.

This is also when Dean lets go of everything he's been blaming Sam for and does whatever he needs to do to protect the three of them.

Sam still winds up saying yes to Lucifer, Sam still throws himself in the pit, and Dean is left with a miniature reminder of Sam.

[littleroaes]

Boys In Cat's Clothing pt.2 (100 note special), l.jy pt.1

PAIRING ➤ lee juyeon x fem!reader

— how the season that comes to change, takes his life with it. Strangers that passed him by has now come to effect his own life, paint it in colors and forms outside his own framework. And when his new found friend at the bakery, and a strange girl during the setting sun, asks him about love. He desperately wants to name the sensation in his heart, and hope that Y/n will too.

GENRE ➤ FLUFF, cat shapeshifter!juyeon, mutual pining(as always), clingy juyeon, juyeon just want to be loved, soft angst?(fight for your love!), Eric feature, cute jealousy, happy ending

WARNINGS ➤ none, proofread once so probably missed something!

WORD COUNT ➤ 8.7 k

it is here! Part two of boys in cats clothing plus three extra scenes! (The bonus scenes doesn’t have a specific timeline in their relationship) As pt.1, it isn’t much of a complicated story, just fluffy feels! Boys in cat’s clothing was my first story as littleroaes, so I took to the opportunity to celebrate it! Shoutout to @blue-rainydays and @from-izzy for cheering me on lol. I really went through it a couple of times, enjoy!

TAGGING @blue-rainydays for you my blue!!

like and reblog are highly encouraged !

“YOU'RE NOT TOGETHER” THE DOUGH FALLS BETWEEN THE FINGER GAPS DOWN ONTO THE SILVER COUNTER.

"Together?" Juyeon asks while he watches its color reminiscent of vanilla, fall to the center and spread from its mit. 

“Yeah?” 

The sunlight reflected in a specific window and the pattern of tiles he steps onto everyday, has become all the more familiar. At the start of his time at the bakery, he refused to go alone. Y/n woke up about an hour earlier than what the time on her squares in row told her to. It was all, just to let Juyeon out of the four walls that, at some point, crossed the line of customary and took his mind and forced it in full circles. So when she stood with him before the pink painted walls and windows from floor to ceiling, Juyeon became determined to come home and tell her everyday about his passionate way of life. 

When Juyeon for the first time in his life stepped onto the wooden floor and heard the bell chime from above. He fell another centimeter closer to Earth. Before him, centered without need of a net, a guy similar to himself(Y/n being his reference). At the time, he behind the counter reached out his arm and waved to him from across the room. Another chime goes off before Juyeon forced his arm up in a rigid manner, greeted him in a voice stale, similar to bread in the open air for two weeks. 

Y/n stood beside him, with gentle force pushing his side with her elbow. Juyeon looked down at that moment, but refuted back to his habits of scratching his nape and desperately giving Y/n his eyes curved so that every bit of sunlight passed through them.

Though, now, Juyeon has lost focus of the cream-white dot on the desk. Instead he has found interest in the youngest shirt. The highest point where the lines of his arm and shoulder meet. Fabrics and hands covered in flour. Eric’s blue gloves that  shine with snow like flour and crystal sugar, reach out for the silk ribbon tied to his neck, allusive to a spring girl in middle school, her name being First Love. Juyeon’s eyes follow Eric’s finger, to the point below his chin, and back to his face. 

“No…we’re not.” Juyeon’s lips, luscious as the green sprouts converting to rose petals in spring. To bring to touch the mark on his life. Juyeon, without gradual rendition, let his hands, painted in sugar, fall away from the ribbon without as much of an allude to the others essence. 

“Why?” He asks while Eric finds his voice and demeanor to be of the angel on the right side of his shoulder.  

”Should we be?” Juyeon, whose back falls a bit curved over the counter, shrinks even lower. All words articulated by him in this moment yearns for the youngest perspective on the world and the correct answers for the obviously wavering nature of his question. Eric abruptly loses focus on the dough again, and right as it comes out of his grip, the edge between his two fingers tear off. And the bell chimes when another colleague comes through the door. Somehow, when the colleague fades behind the door and Eric lets him wander, the bridge between their eyes is fully horizontal, with no diagonals. 

“No…?” Eric knits his eyebrows, “you two just looked like it.” 

The single corner piece that teared off, melts together with the essence without seems, when Eric starts shaping it once more. To force the cream-white fragile fragment in sphere shape, and all at once let Earth take a bit of the curve when it falls onto the tray. And Juyeon’s vision suddenly changes direction and once again, lands on his own work space. His arms hover over the counter, hands gently shape a crater-mit to watch space fill it up,  and his red apron hangs above his knees. Just as Eric's question runs through the secret corners of his mind. 

/

The curtains work as a filter for their screen to the outerworld. And how the TV radiates mellow blue shades throughout the entire room. The screen, with colors he didn’t know existed before, spread its blueprint onto the objects closest to it. 

In the beginning, Juyeon couldn’t work out the change in ambience when the curtains were down. But he knows now, the exact position of the not so bright room, and therefore the light would shine through their secluded corner, if it wasn’t for the flimsy fabric separating the two. 

On the rectangular screen, it has captured a picture of their own world and built it up with every pixel. But still, the camera shifts over the highly saturated landscape without details. With loss of this reality, their world is built with grain spots and rigid edges. The couple in this saturated world on the TV sits on a dark bench. How the camera stands in a slight high-point to capture crowns of the city beneath their feet. The camera angles itself for the audience to kindly discern the top part of her dress, most of the dull fabric is covered by her brown locks. The single shot drags on without dialog, she simply stares out over the loud space before her. Juyeon takes up his legs on the sofa, he squints his eyes and feels how that world calls him. The horizon reflects the lead's eyes, but somehow, something else, other than the city pours over them. 

Finally, the two on TV bring their hands together as the sunlight, through all hills, clouds and man made structures, illuminates them. How the Earth and Sun have fallen into position, makes the two, on the bench seem even more destined. 

Juyeon looks over towards Y/n. 

Her face has the artificial light cast up on itself. Dialog on the TV fades to whispers of weather on a windy day. The fabric of her shirt makes a stark contrast against the fabric of the couch, and her hands hold her lower legs. As the scenery on the TV passes, the entirety of his attention follows the single details of her pupils intensely dissecting the TV world. 

“Y/n?” Juyeon’s voice reaches her ears like the morning sun on a rain-covered leaf. How the smell of petrichor radiate a sense of belonging, his call compel her own existence to get a fragment of his own. 

“Hm?” She faces him. 

The words tail end somewhere in his throat and tears at the edge of his lips. Passing conversations in his new life crowds his mind. It pulsates deeply and torments the pressing surfaces. Juyeon closes his eyes. How the world becomes non-existent and the thoughts become less vivid, outlined and with colors.

At the same time, Y/n lies her eyes on his fingers. One starts to bother the left and she shifts herself closer to the full moon outside their window. And another star falls when they intertwine hands. Juyeon watches the couch mit, where their hands touch from above it. At the same time, his heart falters and it becomes a rhythm reminiscent of the clock during midnight. Y/n looks at him with immense eyes, how everything outside the four walls carrying them seize to exist. 

His eyes look at hers with a fluorescence sort of filter, complete with yearning, “Y/n, what does it mean to be ‘together’?” 

When the words leave his lips, it opens her heart as a flower visualizing the world for the first time in spring. But as it does that, Y/n force the petals to compulse, seem itself from the world like it has never existed. His eyes with curiosity refuse to leave her own. And the effect arises as her eyes change direction of the room and legs fall to the floor to touch the rug beneath them. 

While her vision casts itself in every direction, it lands on the TV screen, “It’s like them.” Y/n points at it. How the scene before them portrays them in a landscape so dull and devoid of color, but as one has their chin on their palm at the other mirror, the person over the table in their rectangular vision must be vivid of colors.

“Caring and comforting the other and receiving the same love back.” Y/n nods and looks back at Juyeon. To stare at a different world with a tilted head and let it be the answer to its questions. His eyes fall back to Y/n. In moments of understanding his new life, Juyeon wears this demeanor, similar to his true form. 

“Like us?” 

How his face sparkles in light. Another light that makes the natural shadows, highlights of the world and its fabricate stand as desolate. Juyeon’s essence is in this novel moment and her words, trapped in glass. Even when the spotlights are off and the sun has fallen under Earth, Juyeon still makes out the faint rosy pigments forming under her eyes. Just as she observes the rug beneath them and scratches her head, Juyeon’s back straightens and his arms in his lap become aligned, symmetrical to the other beside it. 

Back when he took the first step into her house and he started asking questions that had Y/n inspecting things in her own home. Juyeon genuinely believed she fell in curiosity over the details of her life. That rosy stains, abrupt silence, and eyes diverting towards the corners of the room was a language of interest in daily life. But as one kept passing the other each morning sun and he gently started through the looking glass, into the people like her. Juyeon realized that the pattern in her behavior, that the out-of-world state wasn’t a deep concentration of understanding, rather, his own life’s effect on her. 

The moment that euphoria came crashing right through him, his eyes fell and he moved closer to Y/n. Asked her with great eyes and slight forward posture if he keeps making her sick like this. If the rosyness on her face will spread to her inner self and contaminate every part of her body until she can’t breathe. Y/n got even redder by that at the time, and described with overlapping words and unclear hand motions. By somehow, Juyeon understood her colors are not a bad thing, not what they are, but it’s something positive, because of him. 

Therefore, he smiles endearingly when she faces the flower vase on the table. 

“No-I-not like us.” 

His face drops in an instant, and Y/n purse her lips in and forces her eyes closed. It all sets as a desperate and pained expression in the dark complex of the night. 

“We love each other a lot right?” She opens up her arms, “And there different types of love.” Y/n sighs before she continues, “All of them are good, and we describe them differently.“ ”‘Together’ is just not ours.” 

The atmosphere from before has shifted. The moment Y/n put an end to her sentence, a wind came opening the two windows and a cold, winter season lies over the room. Y/n’s left hand starts scratching the edge of her right nails. The distance between them seems even further, though it’s just 50 centimeters. For a moment, Y/n looks up towards him, his face speaks of someone looking out into the fading distance when the Earth’s collapsing. She bites her lip and looks away. Them on the TV, talk about love and a single sentence runs between the silence in their apartment. 

Could I be yours forever?

Y/n coughs before she stands up. The controller lies on the coffee table and reaches out for it. 

“We should sleep right, you need to work well tomorrow too.” 

Juyeon looks up from his spot on the couch beneath her. Her smile like it always is, making flowers grow in cold seasons or convert light when all the sources of the world withers. When she looks at him like that, all in this moment, an unfamiliar feeling runs through him. Sensations he can’t connect back to either his new or old life. Y/n comes closer and pet his head. 

“Let’s go to sleep.” 

Juyeon’s hand pushes his own weight off the couch, without words, he takes a step away from the warm spot. As won’t take his hand in hers, Y/n take one step closer and gently lace them. To walk towards the bed and wrap themself in fabrics. 

“Good night, Juyeon.” Y/n whispers. The yearning for an answer coats her heart as one second fabricates onto another. And when she opens her mouth to whisper it again, Juyeon returns the sentence in a voice devoid of that serene tulip feeling she gets every time he speaks. 

How the room falls in complete silence. Despite the sheet forcing warmth to cling to the abundant parts of her body, a coldness from the window pierce right through it. Y/n looks over towards Juyeon, to face nothing but his hair. As the moon motions over the sky, the right side of the matter becomes lighter. The fabric falls towards the mattress surface and he on the other side is now so small to fit on the pillow instead. 

And when the rain starts falling on their windows, Y/n can only feel that it’s her heart making motions over Earth. But despite storms and endless puddles forming on the street corners. Y/n put a bandaid on her inside, meanwhile forcing tape onto her own mouth and tie ropes on her wrist. There is a thought. That has been folded into the deepest part of her consciousness. That Juyeon’s affection, despite the adrenaline it gives her, is compatible with an innocent child confessing to their teacher. It is a part of growing up. 

/

And the sunset stands at the lower end of the sky and spreads its vivid colors over the horizon. Y/n turn away from the painting-like view and stare at Juyeon’s expression when the orange shade leaks from the horizon line and bleeds throughout the ocean. The scenery to their right as they walk past unknown conversations, and couples with knitted hands. In the other end of two directions, are painted signs, booths and hangers of clothes in shades reminiscent of the scene beside them. 

“Should we get something to eat?” Y/n looks up at Juyeon who returns the same expression with, in contrast,  a lowered head. To stand at the railing over the ocean edge as he nods. She smiles and releases his hand to walk towards the booth with a blue fabric sign and smoke escaping from the open points. Though, one step from his being, and his hands come back to her own. She looks behind her again and sees his immense eyes looking back at her as if watching disarray. Together with how his hand consoles her own like he misses it. 

“I need to buy it.” Y/n smiles. 

“Can’t I go with you.” He takes a step closer while still holding her hand. 

Y/n look at his eyes and slight pout. How the wind braids itself with his hair and takes it, but miserably fails, so it settles before his eyes. Y/n thinks of the near past, and remembers all decisions. How at this time in this space, herself one month ago would have sighed and gripped his hand a bit tighter. To secure him that there is never an empty space beside him. But as another moth went by and the moon changed its patterns, she came to think of his fragile heart and first discovery of the world around him. To let his person grow beautifully, he too should stand before Earth with his own feet. Look at its sides and discover its beauty, not her. 

Y/n shakes her head, “Stay here, I’ll be back soon.” She pats his head and runs away. This time, Juyeon lets her hand escape his own. 

For a second, Juyeon looked in the opposite directions of his surroundings. Life as complex as his own passes him as if it all is nothing. The faces of the people become stranger and they all merge into one. The very real presence of others makes him shake his head and concentrate on the back of Y/n’s figure and how she stands in the queue. A bit less than a minute and the sun has fallen another centimeter towards the water, in contrast to Juyeon who has stayed in the same space she left him in. 

“Hey?” He feels a touch to the shoulder of his shirt. A girl stands beside him at the railing, staring at him with rather dull eyes. Juyeon turns behind him, but none of the people on the forever long railing turn to face her. 

“Hey?” She says again and Juyeon points at himself. 

“Yeah, you.” She nods and his eyes widens. 

“My friend thinks you’re cute.” 

The girl five centimeters beneath him wears an expression contrasting to the sun's drowned path. Juyeon watches her, who shows no emotions, therefore he slowly brings his hands closer to his chest. To break eye contact with her, his eyes yearn for the person under the smoke and thin roof. But to his heart that flows continuously and hands that grasp whatever’s familiar, she stands with her back towards him. 

“So?” Her voice overpowers the incoming wind and the waves crashing against the edge. How her body stands frozen as they’ve stared at each other, but suddenly she releases her crossed arms and motions her shoulders. His hands tightly knitted together come even closer to his chest under the sweater. When she sighs quietly, Juyeon feels a rush to bring him one meter below where his eyes fall now. To become out of reach towards human emotions and run under the nearest flower pot. 

“Yes or no?” She asks again. Juyeon’s eyes grow larger and the ends fall into a sort of curved motion. At this point, a white question mark has drawn itself over his head. 

“Are you going out? Taking her number?” She looks over her shoulder and tilts her head towards the friend again, “You think she’s cute too?” 

His eyes insist on keeping themselves open. To switch between hers and the girl’s presence underneath one tree. The two scenes start fading into one, colors leak into the other’s surface and the forms of the world become curved. Juyeon finally closes his eyes and feels the water accumulate on its end. 

“Forget it.” The girl sighs. Her white shoes hit the wood beneath them. How her hair follows the motions of her heels turning the other direction from his. 

A tension suspended to his shoulders, falters as Juyeon watches how her silhouette will falter from his vision. A bicycle passes him to grab his attention, and as it leaves the framed world, his eyes fall back on Y/n who talks with the person in white cloth behind the cart. At that moment, Juyeon’s hands let go of the other one and he takes for the first time one step closer to the other person leaving his sight. 

“Can you help me with something?” The girl turns back to Juyeon standing with one hand over his nape. 

She stays quiet for a few seconds. 

“Sure,” she sighs, “what do you want?” 

To search the world for phrases and listen to the conversations behind him, “Is that a good way to ask someone to be your girlfriend?” 

Her eyes dissect his life and his inner self. It uncomfortably tickles his shoulders and withers his height.  

“I mean…” He scratches his nape again, “what your friend did.” he clarifies. 

The silence that comes after his questions is rather painful. Despite constant talking and surrounding them, it can’t save the dying air between them. The sunset is right between tier two silhouettes, but is all but magical. 

“Yeah…” she looks at him weirdly, “I guess.” 

“Okay.” He smiles brightly, “Thank you.” 

“No problem.” The girl walks away with furrowed eyebrows. 

Juyeon, paints and sculpts the world in his mind when the friend under the tree eagerly walks towards the other one. He doesn’t see how she waves her hand before her friend’s face and turns her back onto the sea. 

When the sun has moved another centimeter down the horizon, Juyeon stands watching it falling towards its death. He hears footsteps become all the clearer from behind, and while smiling, he turns his back on the scene in order to become a background, and fully faces Y/n. In both her hands she holds a rectangular cardboard piece. The plate with its fascinating textures and worldly colors. 

“Sorry it took some time.” She hands him one of the plates and Juyeon receives it with both hands. 

“Did it go well?” 

She watches how his head lifts when he stops staring at the food in his palms. A wind comes right the moment he looks up and catches some of his hair strands. A part of her heart drowns in the sunset when he smiles after her question. Juyeon nods so that his fringe follows his motions and Y/n reach her hand out for it. She forces one strand to the left and Juyeon watches her face as she does. Thereafter, Y/n follows the patterns of his hair and comes to the highest point. Her hand gently brings the strands down to his scalp, and Juyeon closes his eyes and brings his head down to her height. 

/

“Eric?” 

The youngest at the table looks up from his phone to see Juyeon with his arms folded over the table. Those eyes, immersive and bright from the sunlight behind the store window. Juyeon is slightly leaned over the white table and Eric, naturally, forces his eyes wider to mirror Juyeon before him. 

“I need your help,” He says with seriousness. How Juyeon’s posture lean on the rest of his chair, and his eyes on a single point as if everything else has faded from him. Eric lets go of his phone fully, resting with the screen down against the white painted surface. 

“What is it?” To fully reciprocate his question, he too leans forward. Eric’s full attention lands on his friend, even when the bell from the front door chimes, he won’t look away. 

“You need to make me Y/n’s boyfriend.” 

Juyeon watches how Eric’s posture sinks in the single second those words leave his mouth. That expression, Juyeon thinks. It's all evocative to the girl from the sunset ocean. 

“Okay…?” He leans back into the chair, knitted eyebrows and a confused look towards him on the other side of the table. “Why?” Though, the question leaves his lips and his eyes observes Juyeon’s, a view of himself in bird’s eye perspective takes him off the back rest. Instead Eric leans forward again. 

“Or I guess that’s obvious,” Eric says as Juyeon looks at him with hands in his laps, “Why can’t you do it on your own?” 

Juyeon’s eyes across the table, looking at Eric himself, turned his back on God. At some point, Eric tilts his head and lifts one eyebrow. To live in the same apartment should be enough to find confidence in one's own relationship, he thinks. But as Eric finds no sympathy in Juyeon’s condition, the one with a confused way of looking at the world, earnestly shakes his head. Those eyes alone and the stare that reaches across the table, is enough to make Eric lean back again. 

“It’s not the right way.” Juyeon still shakes his head. The palm of his hands land on the plastic surface of the white table. 

Eric, once again, knits his brows and brings his arm to cross one under. 

“There’s a ‘right’ way to do it?!” 

Juyeon nods. 

Eric sighs, his head directs itself towards the ceiling. One square of the white patterns sits two centimeters off its white border. His vision falls back to where it was before, and Juyeon once again becomes the center of it. Eric lets his hands drop from the cross over his chest and he asks; 

“Okay, tell me then, what should I do?” 

His hands in his lap. How his fingers have started to fiddle with the other and Juyeon is enchanted by the motions and fabrics that follow it, “You tell her that your friend thinks she’s cute.”

Eric stares with wide eyes, lost its vigor during the ten steps the minute visor has moved on the wall behind him. Another coworker passes them by, asking them to walk over to the counter to take the next person who chimes the bell. Eric watches how, the second those words leave the person's mouth, Juyeon stands up from his seat to face him, the one that gave them order fully. How the fabric of their aprons lifts when he who has them orders turn back to the colorless door three meters away. Juyeon looks back at Eric who still hasn’t stood up. Juyeon’s arm reaches to his mid tight, and they hang awkwardly there like decorations when he asks; 

“Can you do it?” 

Eric wonders whether the older guy before him has a dating life more depressing than the rusted bench outside the window, as he sits there. Or hold some sort of romantic power, too strong and creative for his simple mind. 

“Sure, I’ll do it.” 

/

Two friends sit in the inner corner of the room, right by the pink letters on the window. How the r&b playlist paints time in this space and to Eric, who stands at the register without current purpose, each word becomes distinct despite its faint presence. Eric watches the clock on the right side of the room. How the second visor completes another round of teh silver frame, and the minute visor lands on a perfect number. Behind him is another one of their workers in white apron, but Juyeon is nowhere to be seen. And before Eric leaves the register, the clear chime of the golden bell goes off and casts itself over the bakery. 

He turns away from the backroom and sees Y/n wave at him from the white frame. A bag decorates her left shoulder and her hair in turn falls over the fabric straps. It is a slightly colder season than before, so with time, her clothes have gotten all thicker to protect the skin from the cold. Y/n comes up to the counter and greets him, similar to the birds singing when the first flowers in spring grow. The hands on the counter fall to his sides and he greets her too. 

Another second passes and the expression of spring converts into something differently. To look for the sprouts of life in mid-winter, there is nothing for her to find. Eric sees how her chin lifts to see the space behind him. 

“Where’s Juyeon?” Her eyes speak of liquid moonlight. 

“He’s getting something, outside.” Eric looks around, “He’s here soon.” 

She nods. With only the barely one meter register between them, there is a silence created when two desperately try to solve a sentence in desperation to fill time. 

“I need to ask you something.” Eric stammer. The counter surface covers the patterns drawn by his white shoes. Y/n opens her eyes a bit wider and grabs the single strap on her shoulder. Juyeon’s question runs circles in his mind. To keep reaching back towards the kitchen.

“My friend thinks you’re cute.” Eric finally says.

Her eyes widen while her arms become rigid. 

“I-that’s flattering” Y/n stammer, “but…” 

Her voice fades to silence as Eric tilts his head. Y/n continuously blinks as the side of his head desperately leans towards the left. To look at the erratic behavior, until she catches how a silhouette comes out from behind the metal. His hand on the silver side and the strands over lustrous eyes, it all that has carved itself a space in her heart. Y/n see it all, only for a second, but it is enough to understand Eric’s exact language and square demeanor. 

“Oh.” Y/n smiles and looks at Eric. He, in contrast, furrows his eyebrows and leans towards her. Seek for another soul in the room to connect over his, what Eric thinks is, love-drowned behavior. 

“Tell him to meet me outside then.” Y/n straightens her posture and walks outside. The bell goes off again and Eric is left staring at the empty spot without traces. 

The second the chime from the edge reaches the far corner of the kitchen. Juyeon comes out from the metal covering his presence. That the skin of his hands cover a significant part of the outer edge of the metal machine. Eric’s back faces Juyeon and he fully frees himself from the cover and walks up to him. 

“What did she say?” Juyeon asks, his eyes drowned in moonlight glitter. 

Eric, at the register, finally stops staring at the point Y/n departed from. 

“To meet you outside.” Eric says without any sort of surgarcoat lining between his words. As his face watches over Juyeon’s, the bright light from outside becomes uncovered by the clouds just as his lips beam.  

How the two last digits on their phones count upwards as they bring the chairs over tables and take the mop to clean off the irregular pattern over the wooden floor. The bell chimes endlessly as the workers leave the room with windows from floor to ceiling. Juyeon and Eric are the last two out of the bakery, and Eric brings the keys to the door and a low sound comes from within the door when  he turns his wrist. 

Juyeon turns away from the frame and out over the city. As the buildings ascend above the square bakery and between the towers that pierce through the atmosphere, the setting sun beams its last warmth for the day. The two of them take their step down the stairs. Only four steps or two until they reach the sidewalk concrete and wave the other goodbye. And when Juyeon sees Eric’s back face him and his shadow paints itself over the street and reaches the cars on the other side, he turns behind him.

How the tiles of the sidewalk and sunlight lead him straight to the bench where she stands. The shadow beneath her feet follows the motion of her right hand as she waves to him. For a single moment, Juyeon stands on the tiles as if they’ve forced him down onto them. But in reality, that the earth round the sun in a forever circle seems unbearable. Because, when Y/n takes a step closer towards his existence, the entire solar system could circle around her. 

“Did work go well?” Her voice is soft and familiar of daily life as she stands before him. When she looks at him attentively, he nods so that the loose fabrics around his body follow it. Soon after, Y/n take the end fabric of his sleeve and gently pull his body towards her own. Sounds of shoe surface scratching against the rough tiles reach his ears, and then, they’re letting the street guide them further down the city. 

People become faceless as they enter the immense circle in the middle of the city. Juyeon grabs onto Y/n’s arm and she looks up to see his eyes follow the paths of strangers. How they cross red light and half way through, then color turns on its spectrum and the green light illuminates the concrete. The constant pitched sound pattern grabs onto his mind and torments a part of each senses. Y/n watches how his eyes closes. Without another second between the two cars and two groups of people before them, Y/n brings the left side of his body closer to her right. By nearly running, the two of them get to the end edge of the street. 

Juyeon finally opens his eyes when a wind blows past his lids. The maze of skyscrapers, signs and music have opened up before them. And now they stand on the path dividing the capital into two. Once again, they stand by the side of the city river and soon walk where the railing paints the edge of the water. Like the couples, parents with children in neon blue padded jackets and high school friends on bicycles, they follow the railing up towards each bridge that decorates horizontally over the vertical river. 

Conversations of people without faces crosses their life and fades before they get to comprehend it. They walk past one bridge, and how the pillars underneath it shows its true massiveness. Though, as they walk there, side by side in the illuminated city center, Juyeon continuously takes glances at her beside him. 

To go through the scene in intricate detail. Count the seconds and paint the motions, Juyeon can’t find the strings attaching Eric’s help at the bakery to their moment by the river. Despite receiving his question and answering it, in what he guesses, is a positive manner, she once again is by his side without a mention of his action. Though, he thinks back on the scene during the sunset, when the girl said her friend thought he was cute. She never got beyond that. What is supposed to happen after that? he thinks. Has the universe now, with that acknowledgement at the bakery woven together their existences? Will a sensation from another world visit his dreams? 

The thoughts rushes from his mind out towards his fingers and radiate to the deepest corners of his body. Juyeon once again looks at Y/n when they come to the next bridge where three benches stand in a pattern of two meters in between. 

“Are we together now?” He asks suddenly. 

His voice binds her heart to his own, therefore, her body, with just a small measure shifts closer to his own. Y/n looks up towards him with eyes mirroring the open river and chin a bit higher as if to compare each feature under his fringe. When they walk like this, Y/n waits for his lips to imitate the crescent moon that stands before them. But instead, a midnight streak in his eyes pulsates before her and his lips slightly apart. 

“What?” She asks. 

Juyeon stops one step before her in the midst of the river path and asks again “Are we together?”

Another wind comes between them when they stand one meter away from the other. How the couples and workers walk past them without lending a lens towards the two of them in the midst of the open path. Y/n’s vision covers when the wind takes one of hair strands, and without looking away from him before her, she forces it back between her ears. 

“You need to tell me.” The words fall desperately as his fingers begin fiddling with the other. His eyebrows fall into a sort of outward motion. Another flash before the pupil pulls on her heart and forces her to breathe out. 

“I-we’re not…” She stammers. 

Juyeon’s shoulders falter even deeper. Tragic weather has taken on the single square where they stand. The continuous motions of her chest is the only part of her that can be seen from outside, as she watches how his eyes fall to her shoes. 

“It hurts me, Y/n.” He breathes, “can’t you feel it too?” 

Despite standing in the midst of the overcrowded city, a silence only at the edge of the world has fallen over it. Y/n opens her lips as if she’s about to answer him, but the silence draped over the buildings that circle them like walls, spreads like poison through her veins. To voice so much of a vowel, she’s afraid venom will falter. 

“But it’s not like that, Juyeon.” She takes a step closer, “You don’t love me.” 

The calmness of the sunset evening is gently wrapped between her fingers. And when her hand reaches out to his shoulder, it tears off in one motion and falls to the floor and withers. Juyeon backs away. The evershining in his eyes that she has come to adore, has melted off his pupils, becoming liquid starlight at the end of his eyes. 

“What should I do for you to believe me?” He finally breathes, “that I love you.”  The transparent wall suffocating them two, shatters in a single flicker as Juyeon walks out of it. Left before her is an empty space and a cold wind. She looks to the left to see his silhouette become smaller and fall in line with the bench. Her hand between sky and floor, desperately  calls for someone to take it. 

Y/n can feel something gripping at the parts of her lungs as Juyeon walks towards the bench. His silhouette is ever so small against the immense river. When her feet stand in the same position still, and another person brush shoulders against her own to get through. It too, takes onto her skin and forces a deep, cold, metal lining into her heart. Somehow, it turns to the left and Y/n can feel her own knees desperately standing still. 

When her heart aches, Y/n looks back over the beautiful scene. How in every preservation, she would want to see him in the center. She sees him like this, and the sunset falls over him as if it is their only purpose. In the midst of her existence, he has become smaller. And when standing still at the edge of the world, Y/n realize this sudden fear. That he’ll walk along the path without her, and at the end another day, he will have faded like summer when it grace to autumn. 

Y/n finally leaves the spot behind her without traces. She holds her eyes on his hair as if to make sure that every moment he’ll continue to exist. 

Juyeon looks towards her when she takes the spot beside him. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to be together.” he looks down, “Just say no.” He says while looking out over the lights in colors to form a path at midnight for those who wander, “Because, I just…want you to know that I love you.” 

When they sit by the river, his profile shows no sign of awareness of her own existence. Memories from before come back to her from every side and force itself into her heart. The scene up on the hill before the same river they’re beside now, plays behind her lens like a film from before. And when he breathes for a second time and the breeze from the water perfectly lies one strand behind the other. Y/n realizes how much he has grown. His emotions were gently wrapped in three sentences, ending in a yellow silk bow. A sort of sincerity in the golden lining threads her broken parts.

She finally smiles, when she looks at his hand that has reached out for hers. His smile that for the first time falters when he’s with her. At last, another conversation behind them fades and the world has fallen silent. 

Y/n takes his hand in hers and leans towards him with lowered head. He looks up at her through the hair strands and waits for her words to torment the deepest parts within him. 

“I love you too, Juyeon.” 

For a second, the line between the two falls in complete silence. It is this pitched sound that vibrates in the ceiling of one's ear, and it lingers there as each second passes. Though, finally Juyeon lifts his chin even a bit higher. His eyes clear as the sky curved over their heads and how the edges of his lips have formed a rose pink cradle. 

“You do?” 

Y/n nods. 

At this moment, Juyeon fully lifts his legs from the grass growing out between the tiles and crosses them over the bench. His front faces hers without a hidden feature and at last, he takes her other hand in his. And as they sit there under the falling sky, Y/n looks down onto her legs drawing circles on the gray concrete. How Juyeon sees his own life paints hers and he feels that sensation in the hidden corner of himself. 

The same feeling he recalls from their daily life. A sensation intimate with his new life takes his breath from the lowest parts within him before letting out. And his chest seems to bring him life for an eternity.  

“Can you feel it too?” Juyeon asks curiously and Y/n looks back up. 

Her eyes fall wider when he, without signs, brings his hand onto her heart protected in layers. Where the sensation mirrors his own. And an empty field without wind, Y/n watch him without motions. She looks at his eyes that concentrate on the pulsating on his palm. 

And he gasps with immense eyes, “You feel it too?” 

Y/n nods now with a smile reminiscent of his own. How the melted starlight died. But in the corner of his eyes, she sees the small shine of a newborn star. So delicate but enough to reach her own. 

And they sit there, legs over the ground and hands intertwined like the bridges beside them. Another pair of people walk past them, and Juyeon looks at her without words. Y/n tilts her head while knitting her eyebrows  with her smile. 

“What’s happening now?” He asks as he thinks of the movies playing hours on end by the TV screen. Her own mind fills in the blank spaces where two ears would perk up in union. 

She smiles even wider and Juyeon can’t seem to understand why she does so. As he tilts his head even lower and eyes grow wider, she finally leans forward. 

“This.” 

Her knees force the rest of her body up a bit higher. And her hands hold him even tighter when her lips fall on his own. Or, she overestimates the height in between them, and instead kisses the upper part of his lip, right underneath his nose. Y/n comes back down with redness from his own lips. At first, he stares at her without words. Expression the same as   before, all until his face lights up like the street lamps in every corner of their city.  

“It’s so fun kissing you.” He gasps. 

Y/n herself nearly falls onto the rest behind her, when Juyeon leans forward to press his lips against her own. She laughs and pushes him, the part of his chest right beneath the yellow ribbon. His eyes, like the city, shines up the passing darkness of the season, all while he pouts. 

“Just once.” She holds up one finger, “Once.”

_

Cat gets jealous :(

Y/n sees how his eyes move on from her own down to the spot beside her feet. She too looks down, Juyeon is brushing his head over her ankles and walks in circles around her. 

“This is Juyeon.” Y/n says. 

Her neighbor kneels down and reaches out his hand. The hand becomes all the more larger the closer he gets to Juyeon. The smell of his skin and light in his eyes. Juyeon’s fur stands up, he takes a step forward as the sharp teeth behind the soft fur shows. Juyeon’s eyes are formed like sirens and stare deeply into the man before them. 

“Juyeon.” Y/n quickly bends down and takes him in her arms. The stern tone fades into an awkward laugh before she looks down into her arms. 

“Sorry.” The man before her has gone back to the door and holds own hand, “He’s not usually like that.” Y/n smiles and looks down in her arms cupped to hold his light fur. His paws curl up under his chin and his eyes close when Juyeon can tilt his head onto her shoulder. 

“It’s okay.” He laughs, “Where is the leaking?” 

/

His hoodie falls over his shoulders like a blanket. In securing warmth from the material, he stands against Y/n’s back, watching how she cuts strawberries. The oven glistens in warm tones and it spreads over the four walls. He calls the sweet aroma from sugar and berries. 

“What is it, Juyeon?” Y/n turn her head back towards him for a second, then focus back towards the fruit. A familiar spark rushes through him when she talks to him with that high voice. He comes even closer and rests his head on her shoulder. 

“Is it something special?” He asks her. Y/n, despite looking at the plastic board and can only hear his whisper-like voice, sees his ears fold up. 

She smiles, “The plumber is coming over again.” 

The space on her shoulder becomes cold and she barely feels the edges of his shirt brush against her own. As a divider has moved between the two, Y/n looks behind her again and puts down the knife. In oversized fashion, hair strands scattered over his eyes and a small pout, Juyeon watches her attentively. Despite his disheartened demeanor and distance(distance being in juyeon’s world), Y/n laughs. 

“I need to thank him, Juyeon.”

His shoulders are still hanging low and the pout on his lips won’t go away. Y/n tilts her head and leans onto the counter.

Juyeon has circled her legs before, held her hand a bit tighter in public or strengthened his posture when someone else exchanged words with her. But when he stands before her right now, there are no walls or filters. With a yearning so transparent and a heart craving for her own, she can’t help but adore him even more. Y/n half a strawberry from behind her and walks up to his figure. Because of her motions, Juyeon’s eyes have formed from dissatisfied ones to asking questions. His own head tilts to the side and Y/n looks up at him before bringing the strawberry up to his lips. 

“Don’t sulk, Juyeon.” 

He bites down onto the strawberry and nods so that his fringe moves with it. Before bringing her attention back to the counter, Y/n reach her hand out towards the spot where his hair blossoms to all sides. 

_

Cat wants a pet name >:(

How the white curtains lie like a filter over the city during sunday morning. There are no calling responsibilities until another hour has passed them by. Y/n because of that lies with closed eyes, still under the covers. A sort of relief and satisfaction washed over her thirty minutes earlier as she thought she was late for university. But before Y/n could even throw off the sheet, Y/n felt her arm being pulled towards the bed-mit. She fell onto the pillow again and her hair scattered over the fabrics. When she took a glance to her left, she saw Juyeon with closed eyes and his soft skin up against her own. 

“It’s Sunday.” He whispered and shifted his head closer to hers, between her neck where Y/n felt him breathing deeply. 

Because of his low voice and silk skin, she could close her eyes without thoughts of dilemma grabbing her neck. Though, now the morning sun has struck her once again, and she shifts her head one step closer to the pillow, as to make sure she’s alive. Aside from the sun, there is someone else to bring warmth in the room she is in. Y/n has her face immensely close to Juyeon’s. So much that his breathing appears to move her own strands of hair. 

The clock continuously passes them by when time has stopped in the bed. Juyeon’s hair tickles her bare skin and she takes her hand to comb through his silk strands. His head falls backwards with eyes closed. In this angle, the sunlight strikes him perfectly, she thinks. 

“Y/n?” He whispers and she hums. 

To take notice how his skin shifts in pink and how his eyes open just to close as quickly. 

“What is it?” Y/n asks. 

He hesitates, “Why did you stop calling me kitten?” 

“Why?” He looks through the strands of his fringe. 

Y/n shifts away from his person, her face towards the white wall and the fabrics in a familiar shade folds over her. “It’s weird"...", she laughs. 

Juyeon won’t say anything more, or make a sound. And she conceives the way his scent intertwines with her own, that he has gone back to dreaming. But as the white paint of her wall fades from sight and her lids closes, the sheets fall a decimeter lower. The mattress shifts in weight and a sort of coldness comes from the empty spot and makes her pull the covers closer to her essence. Soon, Y/n opens her eyes as the left side of her pillow shifts closer to the morning sun and another presence in the same room affects the poi8nt below her collarbone. As it strains her body, Y/n makes a pained expression before opening her eyes and looks up.

“Juyomi?” 

He stays on her chest and takes one step after the other. To walk in circles on her upper body and sway his tail in her face. Y/n sneezes and takes her arms from under the covers and tangles within his fur. 

“Juyo?” Y/n sighs. Though, her grip around his thin body loosens as he stops turning and takes a seat on her chest. As he sits there, she references all the moments they’ve spent in  the same room staring into each otheräs eyes. Juyeon’s head won’t tilt to the left, but behind his small figure waves the tail from left to right in a slow rhythm. 

“Juyo?” Y/n says again, this time, in a tone much more playful. 

He walks even closer to her face and disappears beneath her vision. Instead, Y/n senses how his soft fur touches her neck. How Juyeon reaches his head between her chin and chest and lets the warmth of her self affect his own life. And when his face comes up to her ear, she hears faint breaths covered in white silk. 

“Okay, Juyo,” she says, “I'm tired.” 

Y/n wraps her arms around his fragile body and forces him down when she falls to the side. To look slightly down when her hair scatters over the pillow. She sees his eyes up towards hers, how the color spreads large over the white and sparks in the piercing sunlight. A second passes them by and Juyeon lets out a fragile sound before taking his head in her chest. 

Y/n  smiles how he falls blushy and gif eye contact with her in this state. Therefore, she hugs him a bit tighter before closing her eyes and falling asleep again on Sunday morning. 

_

mischievous cat :)

Y/n sits on one of the chairs at the white table. Her chin hangs over the computer as she stares at the black cursor. Though she has fallen into the digital world and nothing seems to be able to force her out of it. All at once, her shoulder falls backwards and she lets out a pained sound as a weight with cold claws lands on her shoulders. Her hands let go of the keyboard and grab the silk fur of the one higher up. 

“Juyeon, go off.” Y/n says, in which she only gets a meow for an answer. 

“Juyeon, seriously, we’ve talked about this.” 

Her words don't seem to reach him, or he doesn’t want to listen. His paws start to play with her hair and the collar of her shirt. 

“I’ll give you attention later, I need to work.” 

_

a/n: def not my best work. I promise to come back with something better! This took way to long than it should have🫠 thanks for reading💗

[ask-a-vetblr]

Disclaimer: kitten has already seen a vet, enucleation is planned as soon as she hits their minimum weight. Just asking as a vet student who feels like they have way too many little bits of info floating around in their brain to be sure about anything lol.

Kitten was dropped off at shelter with 0 history (of course), and my knowledge on this case is a little vague. Is this likely just from an infection left too long, that probably sealed the eye shut at some point and worsened? (Like, viral -> bacterial?) It looks it’s proptosed to me, but I’m also not sure if that’s just massive swelling. If it IS proptosed, is that a common sequelae of severe infection? Or do you really only get that with trauma in cats, and then secondary infection?

Not sure if my thinking is way off base, just looking for some general insight into how these eyes end up looking so gnarly. I feel like we’ve had quite a few dropped off this year. Thank you!

Hi, it's Sueanoi here.

I'm glad the kitten is getting some vet attention now. I hope the healing goes as smooth as it can.

As to answer your question, I don't think that's proptosis (eyeball goes out of orbit). I think it is ruptured cornea that has severe inflammation on top.

Anything at all can cause a secondary corneal injury if the eye is irritated, causing the animal to scratch it and worsening the lesion. Over time, superficial ulcers can become perforated.

Over here in SEA, young stray cats are very often infected with feline herpes. It is a very common cause of blindness (as the last consequence of virus-induced ulcer) here.

Your thinking isn't entirely off base, because virus -> bacteria -> catastrophic consequense IS probably correct.

Once it is time to enucleate, I suggest you observe the surgery. I am quite certain that the globe itself is still sitting within the orbit. The things that are coming out of the cat's head is the eyeball's insides that are spilled out of the ruptured cornea.

Keep clean and control infection. There is a chance that the cat won't even need the surgery if the eye shrink down and become enophalmos before it reaches minumum weight (which might take weeks...whichever happen first). Downside of keeping the shrunk eye is having to keep it clean for the rest of its life. So if that is a factor for the cat getting an adoption, removing it anyway for ease of care is still a valid choice.

Best of luck!

[giggly-squiggily]

Hey 👋! Can i request lee inumaki and lers yuta, maki and panda?

Heyo! :D Admittedly, I got a little sappy at the end there lols. I've gotcha covered, anon!

CW: Swearing, mild angst

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@thatbigbisexual29 @duckymcdoorknob @baby-tickles2022 @cupcake-spice13

“Hey, Inumaki…is something wrong?” Yuta asked one day, gaining the attention of Maki and Panda. Lately, the curse speaker had seemed…distant. He came to practice as required and worked with everyone when asked, but during free time he’d been especially quiet, keeping a healthy distance between himself and the group. Originally, Maki and Panda told him not to worry about it- “Inumaki has his rainy days. When he’s ready, he’ll come around.”

That was almost a full week ago. Yuta couldn’t hold back the questions any longer.

“.....Bonito flakes.” He offered quietly after a long pause, eyes scrunching some in a hidden smile. The lie was so obvious. Yuta hesitated before going on.

“Inumaki…you’ve been acting off since Monday. I’m worried.” Yuta offered a shaky smile, hoping he came off comforting. “If you ever need someone to talk to..”

Something darkened in Inumaki’s eyes, brief and heavy. Then he was faking a smile again, reaching out and patting Yuta’s head. “Bonito flakes.”

A clear cut but firm denial. Yuta felt himself blink back tears.

“Hey, Inumaki. Yuta’s got a point.” Maki climbed up the steps one after another, tossing her staff aside once she got to his spot. “This strange silence of yours isn’t normal. Talk.”

“Gentle, Maki.” Panda reminded as he came around, squishing his furry butt between Yuta and Inumaki. “But really- you had that mission Monday, did something go wrong?”

“....Bonito flakes.” Inumaki looked away.

“Lying isn’t a good look for you, recipe boy.” Maki elbowed him gently, sitting down. “Panda and I’ve known you forever. Even Yuta knows when you lie- isn’t that right?”

“Oh? Oh, um…yes.” Yuta yelped, shrinking some at the dirty look Inumaki gave him. “Sorry, Toge…”

“Don’t apologize, Yuta. He’s all hiss and no claws.” Panda teased, winking as his large paw stretched. “In fact- check this out.”

“Salmon roe…” Inumaki began, leaning away from the paw stretching towards his belly. He leaned so far back he completely forgot about Maki. “Sal-HEEEEEH!” He arched with a squeal as ten fingers suddenly pressed into his sides. “Ikuruhuhuhuahhaahhhaa!”

“Language, shithead.” Maki chuckled, her voice warm as she carried on prodding and poking at his torso, skittering her fingers along his ribcage. “Talk and we’ll stop, right Panda?”

“Hell yeah!” The animal cried, laughing just as much as his paws attacked Inumaki’s belly, tapping and dragging against the thin fabric of his uniform. “Yuta, get in on this!”

“H-Huh?” He blinked, not expecting the invite. He was more than content just sitting by watching the fiasco go down, figuring he wasn’t quite in the group just yet.

Still…

“Erm, where do I..” He began, hands fluttering as he tried to decide where to tickle. Inumaki was a mess of laughter already, cheeks pink and eyes squeezed shut as he cackled out “Flakes! Flahahahahkes!” His feet kicked against Panda’s belly, bouncing off harmlessly. Any attempts to push away Maki proved useless as she adjusted her grip, pulling some insane move where her legs pinned his arms back, giving her free range to tickle his torso. Despite the cries and fluster, Inumaki looked surprisingly happy.

Maybe he was enjoying himself? It did look kinda fun…

“Go for his pits, he’ll cry.” Maki ordered, pulling her leg back so there was more room to reach. Inumaki made a squeak sound, shaking his head rapidly as Yuta slowly approached, whimpering pleas of “Salmon roe”.

“Are you ready to talk?” Yuta asked. Maki and Panda paused briefly, giving him a moment to decide. After a few gasps of air, Inumaki considered. Then, with a shaky breath, he breathed out a firm “Bohohnito flahakes.”

“Stubborn ass.” Maki shook her head in mock disappointment. Panda wiped away a fake tear. “Alright- Yuta, it’s all you. Straight for the pits.”

“Right! Sorry, Inumaki.” He gave a quick smile before digging his hands into the spot. Inumaki arched with a squeal, practically flying off the ground as loud wheezy laughter boomed from his lips. Maki and Panda were quick to join in, returning to their original spots as the rice ball speaker giggled and flailed beneath him.

It took another minute of flailing, squealing, and the threat of being voice cursed, but finally, Inumaki gave in. Flapping his hands wildly, he managed to tap Yuta’s arm, signaling he was done.

“Ready to give in?” Maki asked as they came to an end, watching the pale boy curl into himself with huffs of laughter. He looked so…exhausted. Yuta felt his heart pinch in guilt- maybe they went too far?

But then Inumaki was pulling himself up and taking a deep breath. He looked at each of them carefully before pulling out his phone.

 Soft typing noises could be heard, and within minutes, the group chat notification went off. When Yuta looked, the following message said:

Monday, when we were doing our mission together- I scared you. I used my curse technique on you to prevent you from walking into an enemies trap. The look on your face when you suddenly couldn’t move…I hadn’t been able to get it out of my head since.

“Inumaki…” Yuta breathed, heart sinking in his chest. Another text popped up before he could speak:

Please don’t feel bad, Yuta. I’m not upset by how you reacted. I feel guilty for freaking you out like that. It’s not a fun feeling to suddenly lose control of your own body like that, and usually I can give the other’s a warning that I may have to use my technique on them. I didn't do it for you, and I’m sorry.

“You had to do it though. Like you said- if you didn’t freeze me where I stood, I’d be dead.” Yuta reached out, squeezing Inumaki’s hand within his own. “Sure, I was scared, but not of you. I was scared that I almost threw my life away. If anything- I should be apologizing for forcing your hand like that. So- I’m sorry. I really appreciate what you did for me.”

“Mustard leaf…” Inumaki’s eyes glistened some, and Yuta smiled as he squeezed his hand reassuringly. Maki and Panda nodded to one another, satisfied.

“Aww- isn’t that sweet.” Gojo’s voice shook them from their moment, drawing their attention to him and the bag of treats over his arm. “I’m back! And I got you all souvenirs! Come get them before I change my mind.”

“Is my souvenir the cursed blade I gave you? Cause you still haven’t given it back.” Maki stood, Panda already bouncing to his feet at the various candies in the bag. Inumaki and Yuta shared a warm look before they stood, joining the others for treats. As they went, Inumaki squeezed Yuta’s shoulder, the gesture loud without words.

Thank you.

Thanks for reading!

[seasidesandstarscapes]

Surrender

Summary: Don has to see Bobby

Rating: G

Genre: Modern AU, Post Break-Up, Getting Back Together, Angst with a Happy Ending

Words: 872

A/N: walk the moon invades every ship I become obsessed with lol

-

AO3

or

Don can’t sleep.

In fact, it’s been weeks since he’s had a good night’s rest. He’s plagued at night by thoughts of Bobby and all he wants to do is just see him. Except he can’t. They decided this together. It’s for the best. Yet, Don’s heart aches and more often than not he can’t remember why they’re apart.

The clock on his bedside table tells him it’s two in the morning. Don’s been sitting at his desk since the moment he got home, forgetting to eat, staring into nothingness. He can’t do this. He needs to get out of his house.

Grabbing his keys, Don climbs into his car and sits in the silence. Nothing is open, there’s nowhere for him to go, but still he starts the engine. He drives down familiar roads, but takes turns he never has before. He circles the town as his mind drifts, his desperation growing by the second.

This was his plan all along. Don stops his car in front of a house he knows by heart. He wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all himself. The porch light is on, but there’s no other signs of life. He doesn’t care anymore. Getting out of his car, Don approaches the front door in steady, focused steps and knocks on the screen, the rattle echoing in the still night.

He’s not terribly surprised when the door behind it opens within a few seconds and he steels himself. God, Bobby looks awful. It’s clear he hasn’t slept either, bags heavy under his eyes, and his hair is a disheveled mess. His face is gaunt, morose, so unlike what Don knows. Or used to know.

“What are you doing here, Don?” Bobby’s voice isn’t harsh, but Don winces all the same.

None of his answers are the right one, but Bobby deserves something, so Don just shrugs. There is a huff, as if Bobby can’t decide to laugh or yell, but he waits. He doesn’t open the screen door for Don though and this stings the most.

“Why?” Don finally speaks.

“Don,” Bobby sighs. “We agreed it was better this way.”

“But it’s not,” Don almost yells and shrinks back at the sound of his own voice. “Clearly it’s not. Look at you. Look at me.”

Don’s on the verge of tears and he holds his head in his hands. “I miss you. I can’t sleep anymore.”

He thinks he hears Bobby whimper but they remain still, caught in each other’s turmoil. Don lowers his hands, shakes his head before he turns to leave. He tried, as small as it was, he tried.

“Don,” the screen door opens and Don closes his eyes as Bobby’s fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Come inside. Please.”

Don can’t say no to Bobby even if he wanted to and he stumbles along until they’re in Bobby’s bedroom.

There’s piles on the floor, drawers half open but the bed is made up and Bobby sits down, tugs Don to do the same. Once he’s seated, Bobby goes one step further. He guides Don to lay down, falls in place next to him and their hands clasp between them. The ceiling is blank beyond the fan that doesn’t move and Don blinks. The unfamiliar sensation of sleep tugs at the corner of his mind.

“I haven’t slept either,” Bobby admits. “I know we— we can’t—,”

Bobby stills and Don turns his head to look at him. Bobby’s mouth opens and closes, but his voice is gone, a tear starts to escape from the corner of his eye. Don props himself up, leans over Bobby and places his hand on Bobby’s cheek. Blue, wavering depths stare back at him, Bobby’s lower lip wobbling. Don’s heart breaks again and he wipes away what tears he can with his thumb.

“So fuck it,” Don says, a wave of confidence pushing him forward. “If we can’t be apart, we might as well be together.”

Bobby lets out a choked laugh around a sob, heavy breaths stuttering out of him. He tries to shake his head, tries to speak, but all he can do is pull Don down in a desperate kiss. How Don has missed this. Even with the sobs, Bobby kisses perfectly, tugging Don’s hair just a little, gripping onto his shirt like it’s his last saving grace.

Don eases Bobby into deep inhales, steady exhales, until Bobby is no longer shaking. When their embrace ends, Bobby looks better than ever and Don runs his fingers through Bobby’s hair.

“Fucking love you, Don,” Bobby manages at last. “Can’t believe we even tried being apart.”

Don only smiles at this, kisses Bobby’s cheek with all the love he has. They’re back together now and that’s all that matters.

Shuffling up on the bed, the two discard most of their clothes and tangle under the covers. They hold onto each other as if they’re drowning, but they’re far from it. Don actually wants to sleep tonight, listens as Bobby’s words draw out, his own exhaustion taking over. There’ll be more to sort out in the morning, but for now, they need the rest.

Pulling Bobby ever closer to him, Don breathes him in until at last, he’s at peace.

[sisterofficerlucychen]

Hi there, its me again here to vent 👋🏼

I totally agree with you, in spite of some moments, it was super funny. One thing i love about the show is that is like Brooklyn 99 but lasting 45 minutes and a lot more of police stuff. The scene where she invites everyone to the party and its seen by the bodycams? THAT IS FUNNY.

What we asked for is here, those glances of I HATE YOU but I LOVE YOU from Lucyyy omggg or Tim trying to reach her not knowing how? S1 Tim being all I dontgiveafuckmywifeisanaddictidonttalkaboutit but this time dontgiveafuckbrokemygirlsheartdonttalkaboutit? THE PINING 2.0 IS COMING PEOPLE!!!

I see everyone got stuck in London and the face she makes when she close the door and Tim going there afterhours. But what I can't see bad about it. I mean sure this shrink is quite sketchy BUUUT I see a therapist that worked all day in building trust with a potential patience and is proud that got him to open up and say that need help. AND I also see Tim completly broken... the scene where he talks with Lucy you can see him about to cry and doesnt know what to say, aknowledging he can't give her what she wants (and adult talk) while she tells him he needs more help... Is that what pushes him to go and say Dr London this is URGENT.

Also I read other post where someone states that all this drama with Blair is because she is just a young pretty female AND I COULDNT AGREE MORE. If the therapist was a man or and old lady everyone would be 'ohh yes Tim finally'

Also I will die on this hill → the writers are not idiots, they wont make something so dark like hooking them up and screwing chenford being at risk of loosing the fans and for instance loosing the show, its what feeds their families lol

I gonna trust the process, Melissa's and Eric's sneak peaks, and thats all.

Also thinking about the 'OFFICER DOWN' in the promo thats Tim voice and last week here was a bts video where you can hear OFFICER DOWN ITS CHEN so IM PREPARING MY SELF FOR LUCY HURT TIM PANICKING AND BEING THE FIRST STEP FORWARD (or to become a professional clown)

My vent Is over, see you next week haha

hello, friend! pls vent away! ♡

adlkfjsdas omg yes! it definitely gives b99 vibes when it’s leaning into it’s comedic side~~ especially the funny cold opens remind me so much of it lol. THAT WAS BRILLIANT — i think the choice of filming it through the body cams and the security cam added to the chaos and awkwardness. lucy was so real for that but i will forever cry at tim not being there because he was there with lucy when they met and he practically lived with them.

yes! 😭👀 that first scene with them in the hallway was so angsty but what made it hurt that much more (than what we saw in the promo) was how lucy had just caught smitty in the middle of a betting pool about the break up like no wonder she just bolted and shook her head. THE ANGST WAS ANGST-ING. it hurt but i kind of loved it??? because it highlighted once again their struggle to communicate and be on the same page with one another (the “you know me so well” is fake news atm 😭. YAY ♡ so excited for angst and pining 2.0 eras.

i am definitely said people with the look she gave lmao. i swear as she closed the door there was something in her eyes that just felt off? personally for me it’s just how she’s treated aaron at the bar and then ended up with a hidden recording? especially the latter like that’s the only answer i can come up with because it’s clearly important for them to have added it into the scene but to me, when she turned it off, it didn’t struck me as her covering her ass because she had a moment with her client and she needed to put a stop to it - it felt malicious~~ OMG BUT YES. sketchy or no, dr. blair wasn’t lying when she told aaron she knows what she’s doing because she read tim without hesitation and said things he really needed to hear. tim is so broken rn 💔 yeeeees! the way he tried (and epically failed) at making small talk bc he was so off base but i think that was the first time in the day he actually smiled?? that scene was the angst i was expecting for the entire episode and i’m so glad we got it at the end of the episode because it was so important. i definitely agree with you like i think that was the final push he needed to seek immediate help.

oooh~ that’s a good point, i can see that! i mean for me it’s def just the sus vibes she gave with that video recording. like maybe this is one step past delulu but to the point you just made about how it’d be so different if the therapist was a man or an older woman (agreed), it makes me wonder what the casting call for the therapist was because i feel like that could be telling of the purpose/intention of the character? 

1000000000% - that theory has me a little confused, ngl. like maybe if it were grey’s anatomy and he was owen hunt? but it’s not and that’s absolutely not who tim is even at his lowest and most vulnerable. nothing about that would absolve him from his guilt, it wouldn’t be a way for him to punish himself, and he didn’t break up with lucy because he stopped loving her. i don’t think he’s hooking up with anyone any time soon because this man has completely lost himself and doesn’t think he’s worthy of anything but even if he did, she’d probably be the last person not the first. for sure on them knowing better like they know, they might be tugging at our heat strings but they aren’t going to do something that far-fetched that would add nothing to anyone’s character growth or progress any storyline. 

same ♡ they have yet to give me a reason not to believe them and if they’ve both said this is a needed thing and good things are coming then i’m gonna take their word on that.

YES, YES, YES, YES!!!!!! it’s so interesting that they layered that voiceover in the promo with what’s happening at the hospital because of that bts video eric shared. it’s definitely lucy and celina who get hurt because of how all the bts content lines up (and the synopsis) BUT OOOOH~ THAT’S GONNA HURT SO GOOD. like it’ll be the first time where she’s hurt and he likely can’t comfort her the way she needs?? because dod, he never moved from her bedside; and then with the shooting, he was also by her side reassuring her and ready to help support her. i am curious to see if he full on panics or panics, rushes to her side, and then once he knows she’s alive/okay, retreats? (but i’ll grab the make up and join you if we don’t get hurt lucy and panicked tim lol).

thanks for sharing! appreciated hearing what you had to say! see you next week ♡

[thebigshotman]

M!A (whenever the admin feels like it) where Spamton is an Addison again...however it's a painful transition, like turning into a werewolf. He'll actually look his age, and experience all the side affects that comes with someone who's pushing 50.

(Sorry this is starting two weeks after you sent me this lol! I hope any ensuing chaos is worth the wait! Let’s give this about 3-4 days; it’ll end on Christmas night!)

The second he hears the words “Addison again”, he is glitching and twitching happily with joy-so much so that the rest of the request, the catch as it were, goes completely unheard.

*4N [All we do is advertise!] AGA1N, RE-E-3ALLY?!?!? I’VE WANTED THIS F0R [*absurdly long number*] MONTHS, F1NALLY I CAN [[mwah!]] [Hazelnut] AND—

That’s when the transformation begins.

It starts with cracks forming all over his skin, and it feels unbearably itchy, like something is trying to burst forth from underneath. His hair is falling out in clumps-not again, it’s just reminding him of when everything started falling apart-his teeth are shrinking and growing back into his mouth. It feels incredibly uncomfortable; it should almost hurt more. But it doesn’t.

He tries to let out any sort of yelp of pain and confusion and panic, but can’t: His voice box is a garbled mess in the middle of transitioning back into a normal throat. He feels bumping in his chest, and that’s what brings him to his knees. The ground only does so much to center him, reassure him that what’s coming after this will be worth it. He pounds it aggressively with a fist, glasses spilling out static as he grits his teeth-

And the plastic falls off, revealing silicone skin underneath. Like a cascade, the rest of his body follows suit, and soon the itchiness stops and he’s back in his old, Addison body again. Natural hair-except this time it’s half-black and half-white, like the hair dye has almost run out-expressive eyes, a heart and a non-glitched throat. His clothing miraculously unaffected by the “painful” caveat of the transformation, instead having transitioned back to normal fabric clothes without a word.

Except…something’s different. He can feel something lagging still. Not in his mind, for once…in his body. He tries to get up, and it takes several moments of stuttering frames to do so. For Heaven’s sake…they didn’t just turn him back into an Addison. They turned him into an out of date Addison who hasn’t had their internal software upgraded in 25 years. What he should be.

*You…had to throw in a twist, didn’t you? Clearly I haven’t had enough deals with catches in my life, have I?!

He spits that out more aggressively than intended, less towards the anon and more for the desperate need for something to go right in his life for once with no strings attached. Looks like it hasn’t caught up to his voice yet.

But he can worry about that later. Right now, minus any catches, he has his old body back…and for how long, he has no idea. He’s making the most of this. The first thing he does, like before, is clip off his glasses and rub his normal, Addison eyes in relief. But now, unlike before, he goes running towards his girlfriend’s house.

*Eileen!! Hazelnut!! Where are you?! Come here, I want to give you a big smooch-l-like an actual kiss!! I’m an Addison again!!!

[quotemenevervore]

One exam completed today! Two more to go! I need more Shrunken Manhunt content to fuel my days, do you have any headcanons you are willing to share? Also, expect more feral gremlin energy and stories when exams are over.

-Gremlin Anon

You’re doing good! Keep at it!

As for hcs, I may have a couple but I won’t remember if I’ve said them before or not so we’ll just ignore the repeats lol

Puffy does not understand the whole nomming thing, Eret does not either. But after the events of the Red Banquet, Foolish offers it as a way to help them calm down. It’d be dark, and quiet, and they’d be close to him. (More for Puffy’s sake than Eret’s, but they appreciate the sentiment anyway.) the two find it’s not that bad, and Foolish finds that he actually likes the idea of protecting his friends in such a manner.

(He may or may not ask Quackity a few questions about it, and even ask him if he’d like to be stored a few times by him. He’s been denied every time but once.)

Slime’s had a bad habit of accidentally absorbing his shrunken friends/others. He’s absorbed Wilbur, Tommy, most of the Las Nevadas crew, and he’s almost absorbed Quackity’s fiancés too. Everyone learned not to wander around shrunk in Las Nevadas thanks to their goopy companion.

Sapnap’s stored Bad once, and Skeppy took it as full permission to do it too. The war in the Happy Duo’s household has increased tenfold, Skeppy’s gone full on feral after Bad because he knows how much being stored bothers the demon.

Fundy and Ant happen to be two of the only hybrids who refuse to store people. Their reasonings are simple; it’s just not safe for them to! Their hybrids don’t let them store people safely. Dream can’t store safely either, but it does not stop the admin at all.

Techno’s gone to the nether with people before, and returned alone because (and especially with family) if they get hurt once, his instincts go haywire. Phil, Tommy, Tubbo, Wilbur, Ranboo, hell, even Sapnap’s been victim to this.

Speaking of, Sapnap and Techno go to the nether together pretty often! Both being netherborns, sometimes all they wanna do is hang out in their home dimension, explore some biomes, raid some fortresses. Sapnap’s unfortunately not allowed in the bastion, but the piglins of Techno’s bastion have accepted that Sapnap knows better and doesn’t mean harm.

Techno’s also taken Michael to the nether before, but with the same result as the others usually get, he lost permission to take Michael to the nether.

Dream’s taunted Techno into nomming him before, same with Sapnap and anyone else who has extreme instincts/prey drives. He’ll shrink down and then dart around or start jumping around, climbing on shit, anything he can until he inevitably catch their instinctual attention. He’s also worn gold to taunt Techno before, but stopped doing it as Techno just steals it.

Wow those got pretty Techno centric let me try to reel it back lol

Wilbur’s nommed people for the hell of it, but it’s usually close friends. If he’s stored someone he’s not super close with, it’s for safety reasons. (This has happened with Niki before, she was a little wary of Wilbur for weeks afterward.)

Quackity’s done the same, but he doesn’t put himself far from close friends that much anymore. The person he’s had to store that he’s not as close to is Purpled, and he got one hell of a stomachache for it. He also had to sit everyone in Las Nevadas down and tell all of them how avian biology works because he was absolutely terrified that Purpled was gonna fight his way right into his real stomach, and he’d be helpless to stop it.

That’s all the ones I can think up for right now! I hope this helps you de stress a bit!

[sheliesshattered]

now that that bit of complaining is out of the way

I can officially call the pattern for Rhaenyra’s red dress done! Today I managed to squeeze in a bit of time around work stuff to finish truing up all the pattern pieces based on the experimental taking-in I did over the weekend, as detailed in the last post. Once those edits had been made to the paper pattern, I had to move a few of the markings on the curved seams and raise the armscye a bit, and then trim down the width of the skirt so all the panels match again.

Each of the skirt panels will now take up about 10.5″ of width there at the lowest point, so depending on how much the fabric shrinks when I (hand) wash it and (line) dry it, I might even be able to fit four panels side by side in the ~45″ wide red silk, even without staggering them. Because that fabric is a silk brocade I’m going to assume that it has a nap of one sort, color or pattern or both, and arrange all my panels with the same end up. But for the black silk organza for the underdress, I don’t have to worry about nap, and I should be able to get them in there at least four across, maybe even a bit tighter.

The 60/8 microtex machine needles I ordered arrived today, so I officially have everything needed to make the underdress. Even though I’m still at least a few days away from needing those needles, it’s nice to have them on hand and ready to go. I think the red silk should arrive by the end of the week, but I don’t think I’ll get to that until sometime in March.

My plan for the black organza is to trace the panels onto the fabric, then stay-stitch just slightly outside the stitching line, and then cut out all the pieces, just to avoid any sort of warping or unraveling. I don’t know if this silk is going to be nearly that fiddly or not, but better safe than sorry I figure. And I’m almost certainly going to do the same thing with the red brocade, so might as well give it a test run now on fabric that won’t really be seen.

Once I have the panels all traced, stay-stitched, and cut out, I’m going to hand-baste a couple of the curvier seams, particularly the one that runs over the bust, and possibly the one over the shoulderblade as well. That bust curve is so extreme, with no real way to change it, so all I can do is work out the easing issues during the basting phase, rather than trying to wrangle it with dozens of pins under the machine needle.

I think everything besides those curved seams should be really easy, tho. All the notches (well, triangles on the silk) should match up exactly since I measured so carefully, and the majority of the seams are those long straight perfectly matched skirt panels. Hopefully it’ll all go together really smoothly. Fingers crossed, anyway.

I’ve decided I’m going to do a mock-French seam finish for the black organza, since it’ll be easier than trying to adjust my seam allowance just for the underdress like a real French seam would need, but still give a nice clean inside edge and help prevent any fraying. I’ll finish the neck and armscyes by hand, and I have plans for a deep hem based on a picture from the HotD set, but I’ll talk more about that when the time comes.

As with most of my projects, I can see it all so clearly in my head, and I’ve planned several steps ahead of where I am now, but we’ll see if that plan survives once it’s put into action, lol. And my job may get super busy over the next week and a half or so, so it may be awhile before I can really dig into this again, I’m not sure yet. But either way, I’ll post pictures of the underdress as it starts to come together!

[thatdommegal2]

Hey Alexa, it’s me again. I wanted to give you an update! So, I took your advice and started with a cheaper plastic cage to test the waters. We measured him properly, like you suggested, and the cage we chose fits pretty well. I’ve had him locked up for two days now, and he seems to be adjusting. There was a little discomfort at first, but he says it’s manageable. He actually seems to be enjoying it even more than he expected.

But here’s the thing I didn’t expect to enjoy it this much either. There’s something incredibly thrilling about knowing I hold the key, quite literally, to his pleasure. Watching him squirm and seeing how much he wants me, but can’t have me, has been... well, it’s a rush. I’ve even started teasing him a little, just to see how he reacts. The way he looks at me when I do it’s intoxicating.

I’ve got a few more questions if you don’t mind. 😌

We’re thinking about moving to a metal cage in few weeks, like you recommended. How do you handle cleaning and hygiene with a metal cage, especially if he’s going to be locked up for longer periods? Any tips or tricks?

I’ve noticed he’s been really attentive and eager to please me since he’s been locked up, which is awesome! But I’m curious how do you balance teasing him without pushing too far? I want to keep the tension high but still make sure it’s fun for both of us.

You mentioned earlier about long-term chastity potentially causing things like shrinking. How long does it typically take for that to happen, and is it something I should be concerned about?

Lastly, do you have any recommendations for adding more variety to our play while he’s locked up? I’m really enjoying this dynamic, but I’d love to hear some of your favorite ways to keep things interesting.

Thank you again for all your help. This has been such an eye-opening experience, and I’m loving every moment of it. I’ll definitely keep you posted on how things progress. Take care! ☺️

🚶‍♀️

Hello again, I’m so happy to hear things are going well. When it comes to cleaning in a metal cage, I’d say about once a week in depth cleaning is good, but you can do it as often as you please. Take the cage off and clean with soap and water, make sure it’s dry before putting the cage back on. He can clean it, or you could clean it and have his hands unavailable to him using things like handcuffs behind his back or something similar. On the off days you don’t take the cage off to shower, letting water and soap run down does a decent enough job, but if you need a bit more you could always use q-tips to clean in between the metal and the skin.

As for balancing teasing with not pushing too far, he should have a safeword and you hopefully feel certain he will use it if he needs to. You can also have a world such as yellow for slow down or pause, and generally open communication. He should always feel like he can tell you if something is painful to the point he is concerned or if it’s no longer working for him. Other than that, I say there is no such thing as too much teasing.

Shrinking and how long that takes depends widely on the person and how you are using chastity. That really is something you two should look up together. It depends on things like length of time locked, teasing and erections while locked and unlocked, age of locked sub, cage size, testosterone levels, etc.

As for adding variety, I’m not sure what you’re currently doing, but you can always add more spice to life. lol to get ideas, Tumblr is obviously a good place to look, also smutty books are great for ideas or literotica. Also any personal fantasies, write them down if you have trouble remembering.

[stargatenerd]

Hello all, this is ostensibly my writing blog, though most of what you’ll find is things I’ve reblogged to use as references for writing or interesting ideas or pictures that I liked the vibes of. Things I post (both random thoughts as well as random snippets) will be tagged with “words from the nerd”, and posts regarding my various fics will be tagged with both the fic title and its abbreviation if it has one.

Feel free to ask me questions about my stories, but be polite.

List of things I’m working on under the cut, stories linked are to the versions of them on AO3 so you will need to be signed in to read them as I have them locked to registered users to prevent bot scraping. Please read the tags as some of these are fairly mature.

Current projects:

Shrinking Violets — MHA, Shinzawa-centric, omegaverse, underage arranged marriage (but nothing happens between them for a while) - feel free to ask me worldbuilding questions about this for my worldbuilding doc :3 Updates every two weeks.

Venus Conjunct Pluto in Scorpio — Hannibal/MHA fusion; ShinzawaMic with Hizashi as Hannibal, Shouta as Will, and Hitoshi as Abigail for a lovely little Murder Family <3 Very slow burn and does not stick to Hannibal canon except for some spots where it does. Can be read with little to no knowledge of Hannibal as a whole. Updates about once a month.

Color Seeping Through My Cracks — MHA, Yakuza soulmate AU, ShinzawaMic. Yakuza duo ShinMic find their soulmate in barista/waiter Aizawa and take in him and his totally legally adopted daughter. Updates about once a month.

Turning Tables — MHA, Shinzawa, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Seriously. Read the tags. Teen serial killer Shinsou gets kidnapped by more experienced (in every way) Aizawa. Updates sporadically.

In the drafting stage:

Parallelism — OC-centric, my Stargate OCs from SG-13 (Muki, Tyler, and Kira) get reincarnated in MHA and make friends. Worldbuilding abounds.

A sequel to Three Sheets to the Wind (in a bed for two) — MHA, genderbent Shinzawa, the morning after.

On the back burner (projects I intend to get to once I finish at least one of my current fics):

Schismatic — DCMK, originally KaiShin, now KaiShinHei. Set after Movie 13, my first attempt at writing dark!fic. A member of the Black Org finds out Conan is Shinichi and tries to protect him in dubious ways. Gotta figure out where I was going with the end of the plot (bc I have the middle plotted out) and write that.

Shadow Bride — RotG, BlackIce with genderbent Jack. AU where she and Pitch meet a couple hundred years ago and become friends, then eventually a couple. Finishing up the last few chapters.

A Wonderful World (of Magic) — Hetalia/HP, England becomes the History of Magic teacher during Harry’s sixth year, not HBP compliant. No longer write for either of these fandoms due to various reasons, but I have a rough outline of plot points and how it was going to end so I’m going to flesh that out for basically a summary draft of how the story ends.

SG-13 proper — Stargate SG-1/Atlantis, my OC team and their hijinks, mostly set during/on Atlantis. Might possibly rewrite it as a whole, might just write the parts that are vaguely referenced in Parallelism bc it’s changed plots so many times over the years with so many fandom crossovers and now I’ve swung back around to it being fully Stargate focused and all three of my characters have gone through a lot of development and I want to share that with everyone <3

On the counter, off to the side (who knows when this will happen):

The Universe of the Four Tanteis — DCMK/Fushigi Yuugi, members of the Fushigi Yuugi cast get reincarnated as DCMK characters. Gotta slap together a rough outline of where I remember the story going so I can post that and be done lol

In the Arms of Death — DCMK, veeery vaguely remember the plot I was going for with this one, I want to slap together an outline for readers and in case anyone wants to adopt it bc I think it’s a cool concept.

Hope’s Child — RotG/HP crossover, Bunnymund adopts Harry, JackBunny. I don’t write HP anymore but I have a sort of vague idea where everything was going for this fic so I might put together an outline for readers or just put it up for adoption ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Houseguest — RotG, pre-movie Tooth finds an injured Jack and takes him in. Apparently I started drafting a second chapter for this? Might finish it.

Stop Poking Logic-Shaped Holes in my School! — DCMK/HP, was pending a rewrite but since I no longer write HP I’m waffling on what to do with this. Pending decision.

A Beautiful Relationship — DCMK, KaiShin and HakuHei, a continuation years later from my oneshot A Beautiful Friendship. Might continue this, might post an outline; haven’t decided.

Love in G Major — Hetalia, USUK, PruCan, Giripan and a host of other ships, Nyotalia human high school AU. Had a vague idea of some plot points so might post that in case someone wants to adopt it.

Cardgate — YGO/Stargate crossover, I know I have like half a chapter in a notebook somewhere that I never posted, so I think I’ll finish that chapter and then post an outline lol

Relics of the Tau’ri — Hetalia/Stargate crossover, might post an outline of where the story was headed.

Magical Cicadas — Higurashi/HP crossover, Higurashi characters get reborn as HP characters. I have a chapter or two of this in a notebook somewhere that I’ll post once I find it.