#i'm trying to shift into writing mode

[nuclearanomaly]

something something First AU? pose ref

[quietlyblooms]

i really wanna leave it open as to why chiyo gets murdered in her modern fantasy verse, but the gears are also turning bc what if!! i kinda merge some of dorverold's lore with her verse!! and eyda, this old deity of death and the end, is back at it with his world-ending plans. i'm sort of imagining this as either post-dorverold and lightwielder storyline ( if you're confused, you can go here for a synopsis of what i'm talking about ) or an alternate universe altogether. the latter might be the better option to avoid getting into certain details, like the fact dorverold isn't supposed to be earth as we know it -- the countries and whatnot are different as are the cultures. a modern dorverold would look vastly different from our own modern society.

but i'm getting caught up in the details asdfg my point is!! if chiyo's visions of the future/past/present manifest in her art prior to her murder, it's entirely possible that an agent of eyda saw the art displayed in her shop and realized she was portraying eyda/their plans/etc. they likely watched her for some time before determining that she indeed might pose a threat if anyone else realized what her paintings meant, and when the time was right, they killed her.

of course, naoki then finds her and brings her back, ruining their plans and leading to chiyo becoming aware of her visions. and while eyda is a god that is supposed to be mostly forgotten, cyrillo would know who he is in this plot. he's a very old vampire with a lot of collected knowledge, tomes, etc., all of which he'd gladly share with chiyo bc they've always had a good relationship. and i dunno where we'd go from there but!!! wouldn't that be fun!!! if you don't have your own big bad that would want chiyo out of the picture, we got an old vengeful deity and his followers who we could bring into the picture!!

[typhoonvash]

// got called out at the ffxiv function (all friends) for being a big dork that's excited to take trigun inspired gposes in the wild west zone in dt...

.... i mean they got my ass, look at three of my glams

[thiefcant]

i am off work and having a not great brain day!!! but hello!!!!

[julietsf1]

Focus with Franco - Franco Colapinto x Reader

summary: Studying for exams is tough, but trying to focus while your yapper boyfriend, Franco, is around? Impossible. (2k words)

content: cute yapper franco, wholesome vibes only

AN: work starts again next week so I'm writing so much in advance rn!! I have this super cute halloween fic I can't wait to post ^_^

_____________________________________

I'm seated at my usual table in the cozy corner of my favorite café, surrounded by textbooks, notes, and a half-empty cup of coffee. It’s test week, and the weight of impending deadlines presses heavily on my shoulders. Normally, this is my sanctuary, a place where I can zone in and get things done, but today is different. Today, I have a very lively distraction sitting across from me—my boyfriend, Franco.

He insisted on joining me today, claiming he wanted to spend time with me, even if it meant sitting quietly while I studied. But quiet and Franco? Those two things don’t exactly go hand in hand. From the moment he sat down, his restless energy has been evident—he’s bouncing his leg under the table, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the surface, and stealing glances at the pastry display every chance he gets.

I hadn’t seen Franco in what felt like forever. Between my busy university schedule and his constant travels, the time we spent together had been scarce. I missed the ease of hanging out, the silly conversations, and his infectious laugh. So, when he suggested coming along to “keep me company” during my study session, I couldn’t really say no. I was excited to see him, even if I knew his presence would make focusing a challenge.

"Do you think I should get another cappuccino? Maybe a hot chocolate? Ooh, or one of those caramel lattes!" Franco muses out loud, glancing over at the counter. His eyes flicker to the pastries in the display case, and he grins mischievously. "Or maybe something sweet? You need brain fuel, right?"

"Franco, I’m trying to focus," I reply, smiling despite myself. He’s so effortlessly charming that even when he’s distracting me, I can’t be annoyed.

“I know, I know. You’re in full-on study mode,” he says, putting his hands up in mock surrender. "Silent as a shadow, I promise. Just here for moral support. Quiet, calm moral support. You wouldn’t even notice I’m here." He mimics zipping his lips and leans back, a mischievous glint still dancing in his green eyes.

“Right,” I say, fighting back a laugh. “Completely invisible.”

In truth, he’s anything but invisible. His presence is like a ray of sunshine on an otherwise cloudy day—warm, bright, and impossible to ignore. Even now, as I glance over my notes, I can hear him humming softly to himself, tapping his foot to some imaginary beat. His energy is contagious, but not exactly the kind that helps me get through chapters of academic content.

“You’re staring at your notes, but I don’t think you’re reading them,” he teases after a few minutes of quiet.

I let out a sigh, finally looking up from the page I’ve been pretending to focus on. “I’m trying. You’re just... a little distracting.”

His expression shifts to one of mock innocence. “Me? Distracting? You are offending me, cariño.”

I shake my head, amused by his puppy-like energy. Franco, with his boundless enthusiasm and natural charm, is impossible to resist. He’s always buzzing with ideas, questions, and random thoughts, much like a Labrador puppy who can’t sit still but is too cute to be annoyed at.

“I could help,” he continues, nodding at my books. “You explain it to me, and I’ll quiz you. I’m a great study partner, you know.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I chuckle. “I’m pretty sure you’d turn every question into something about racing or capybaras.”

Franco leans back and says with a playful sigh, “Ay, qué optimista eres,” (Oh, you’re so optimistic), giving me a grin that says he knows exactly how distracting he’s being.

I laugh, rolling my eyes at him, while he beams, leaning back in his chair, clearly proud of himself.

“Okay, maybe not racing. But capybaras? I could totally work with that. Did you know capybaras are basically the chillest animals ever?”

“See? Exactly my point,” I laugh. “I need to focus, Franco.”

He gives me a mock serious look, leaning forward again. “Okay, okay. I’ll be quiet. Silent. Like a... capybara.”

I try to hold back my smile, but it’s no use. He’s too endearing. As much as I need to study, it’s hard to be upset with Franco. He’s always so full of life, always so positive and uplifting. Being around him makes everything feel lighter, even during stressful times like test week.

After a few more failed attempts at reading the same paragraph, I finally sigh in defeat, setting my pen down. “Maybe I should’ve just stayed at the library…”

Franco’s face lights up, his grin spreading wide. “Nooo, come on! I’m helping, I promise! You need breaks, right? How about we take a little walk? Ice cream maybe? You’ll study better after some fresh air.”

“Franco…”

“Ice cream solves everything,” he says, not missing a beat. “You’ve been working hard! A quick break won’t hurt.”

I look at him, seeing that spark of excitement in his eyes. He’s like a puppy, always ready for fun, always eager to make me smile. And, as much as I want to get through my study session, part of me knows he’s right. A break might actually help.

“Fine,” I agree, starting to gather up my things. “But we’re getting back to work after, okay?”

“Of course,” he nods enthusiastically. “Ice cream first, study later.”

As soon as I stand, Franco’s on his feet, taking my bag from me before I even reach for it. “I’ve got it,” he says with a playful wink, throwing it over his shoulder like it’s no big deal. “This is what I’m here for—moral support and bag-carrying services.”

I roll my eyes, but a smile tugs at my lips as I follow him out of the café. The afternoon sun greets me as I step outside, its warmth a welcome contrast to the cool café air. Franco grabs my hand, swinging it lightly as we walk down the street toward the ice cream shop.

“So, what flavor are you getting?” he asks, already deep in thought about his own choice. “I’m thinking something with chocolate. Or maybe caramel? Or both! You can never go wrong with both.”

I chuckle at his enthusiasm. “You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”

“I mean, it’s ice cream. You can’t just make these decisions lightly,” he says, completely serious.

After we both get our ice creams—Franco, as predicted, goes for a mix of chocolate and caramel—we stroll toward the nearby park. The sound of children playing and dogs barking fills the air, and for a moment, the world feels simple and carefree.

Franco, of course, is still talking. He’s switched from ice cream to racing, then to a random story about a funny moment at a team meeting. His thoughts flow effortlessly from one topic to another, like a stream that never runs dry.

“Did you know,” he says between bites of his ice cream, “that capybaras are basically friends with everyone? They even let other animals hang out with them, like birds and monkeys. They’re so cool.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Why are you so obsessed with capybaras today?”

He shrugs, a playful grin on his face. “They’re fascinating creatures. Plus, I feel like they’re the perfect animal to study when you’re stressed. All chill and unbothered by anything.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I say, nudging him gently with my elbow.

“But you love me,” he replies, his voice softening.

“I do,” I admit, leaning into him as we walk. “Even if you’re the biggest distraction ever.”

The two of us finish our ice creams as the sun begins to set, casting a warm glow over the park. Franco slips his arm around me, pulling me closer as we walk in comfortable silence for a while. Despite the fact that I didn’t get much studying done, I feel lighter, more relaxed. The stress of test week seems distant now, overshadowed by the simple joy of spending time with him.

“We’ll really hit the books tomorrow,” Franco says after a few moments, his voice quieter now. “I’ll help you, and we’ll crush it.”

I smile, knowing full well that tomorrow will likely involve just as many distractions. But with Franco, everything feels a little easier, a little more fun.

“Deal,” I say, squeezing his hand. “But I’ll need complete focus tomorrow, no distractions.”

Franco grins mischievously. “I can’t promise that, but I can promise ice cream breaks whenever you need them.” He winks, and with that, I know tomorrow will be just as productive—and just as perfect.

[gyuwoncheol]

Vantage Point | Meet the Characters & Series Masterlist

Status: Begins tomorrow (January 20)!

Pair: Mingyu × f.reader

Summary: Pulling off the "No Strings Attached" arrangement with his best-friend-turned-best-friend-with-benefits was easy, but when a new condition is added onto the mix, Mingyu didn't realise just how much he held onto you when you finally let go.

Genre: College au. BFFs to FWB trope. Fluff, Humor, Angst, Smut [chapters with smut will be indicated and will contain the necessary warnings]

Author’s Note: Please take time to read this before starting the series ☺️

Hello, my darlings! Finally getting round to posting this after missing the commited date last time due to covid. But welcome!!! 🥳 This is the first story to my Snap Shoot universe! Before you get into it, let me just point a few things. This is the first time I'm ever creating a universe with interwoven stories, and while I've done SMAUs before, this is the first one I've done for SVT and the first time I'm also this adventurous about it. It's definitely very different from what I post on here but I'm having lots of fun putting it together. I know it goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway, this is very much a work of fiction. This is an AU. While Korea may be the assumed setting for this series, it is not explicitly defined. I'm also trying to avoid using lots of Korean cultural references (maybe except for food) such as use of honorifics like "hyung". While many of my other works refrain from over-describing oc's physical features, you may find that in this series (and universe), oc's features will inevitably be defined. You'll find that the visuals of the characters and the aesthetic of the photos/social media posts will be Korean/ Asian. It's a SMAU, so i'll have to place photos and these photos must maintain consistent. I absolutely do not mean any ill intention of being non-inclusive (I don't even fit the same aesthetic as oc).

Again, it's a work of fiction, while I want you to relate to oc, kindly also allow me breathing space to build the character. If you feel uncomfortable at any point in the series, you are very much welcome to stop/unfollow. As mentioned, this is a SMAU, but it contains several chapters which are purely written narrations. All edits (texts, social media posts, etc.) were done by me, however some photos (esp those of Y/N) are from the web, if they are yours, please let me know so that I may credit you or remove the photo. The texts are all done on light mode. Deal with it. This follows a FWB trope, expect lots of smut and suggestive content— specific smut warnings will be available in chapters where they are present, along with other necessary warnings. This series will have lots of fluff and lots of crackhead nonsense humor. I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Biggest shoutout to my dearest friend @wongyuseokie who has been nothing but supportive through all of this and through all my dramatic Mingy-induced meltdowns. I love you more than you’ll ever know ♥️

Meet the Characters

Mingyu: Sophomore, studying Film & Photography, yn/Camie's best friend since childhood

Yn: Sophomore, studying Film & Photography with Mingyu, Mingyu's best friend since childhood. Nicknamed "Camie" by her group of friends for her highly concerning camera collection/obsession.

Seokmin: Sophomore, studying Film & Photography, same friend group as mingyu and yn, Mingyu & Wonwoo's housemate

Soonyoung: technically a year older than the 3, but currently a Sophomore with Gyu, Cam and Seokmin after shifting into their major

Wonwoo: Junior, studying Film & Photography as well, Mingyu's guy best friend and housemate in The Man Cave, a brotherly figure to OC, Soonyoung's former classmate in highschool

The Man Cave: shared house near their university where Mingyu, Wonwoo and Seokmin live, and Soonyoung often crashes.

✨Other characters/members will come as the series progresses.

Series Masterlist

To be populated as each chapter is posted. There is no posting schedule. Chapters will just get uploaded as they come.

Teaser

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five 🔞

Chapter Six 🔞

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Tag List!

@strawberryya @idyllic-ghost @septemberskies @ladyblablabla

If you want to be tagged as each chapter comes out, do send me an ask or reply to this post so I could include you in the tag list 😊

[armpirate]

Naughty on the live | Jungkook

Bf experience

pairing: idol!JK x fem!reader

w.c.: 3.6k

Warnings: smut, teasing, male masturbation, unprotected sex (Minors DNI! Refrain from reading if you're not +18, and ignore if you don't like this type of content)

Aprox. time of reading: 11 minutes

Summary: After Jungkook started a live to try and get your attention back, you choose to get back at him using it against him (Not much of a plot on this one).

MASTERLIST

It was a comfortable and chill weekend. Both of you spent the night together, like you always did whenever he wasn't abroad for promotions, which led to you spending the rest of the weekend in his place. During those times, you'd usually watch a movie together, or play video games, or sing some songs in his karaoke until you heard his neighbors complaining because of the noise. It didn't really matter what you two did, because you always found a way to be entertained, enjoying each other's company even if you weren't doing anything together.

Like that day.

You were lying on the couch, finishing some of the statements you were asked to write just a few hours back -and which took you almost two hours to get half done. Puckering your lips, you moved your laptop from the coffee table to your lap, resting your back against the backrest to give it some final revisions before you could actually say they were done.

The clicking sound of the keyboard was about to fill the room, like it had been for the last two hours, until you heard your boyfriend speaking at your right. At first, before you raised your hair, you thought he was talking to you, but then you saw him smiling to the camera of his phone.

Jungkook understood you were working, he knew you were in a position where urgent calls were a priority -and that was why you started bringing up your laptop to his place, after you were called out for being unable to do something you were asked because you didn't have the resources for it. But he still was annoyed. And he needed to show it off whenever he felt that way. And the best way he could do it was to give you a reason to stop working, and focus back on him.

You gave him one annoyed look, knowing that a live being turned on meant you couldn't make any sound.

At least not in that room.

You crossed the living room, and headed towards his room.

It took you a while to finish your work there, but you still thought you were probably more efficient than you'd have been if you had stayed in the living room -live on or not. Your boyfriend was pretty much a dangerous distraction that kept you constantly shifting your eyes from the screen to him as soon as you had the chance -and most of the time without being aware of it.

You spent so much time inside the room that you thought Jungkook was probably waiting for you on the couch already, but he was still sitting on that damned chair while his head rested on the palm of his hand. And although you'd have wanted to interrupt that little session to get him to tell you how long it'd take him, you just looked back on the couch and reached for your phone.

If there was one thing that was dangerous for him, it was having boredom and your name in the same sentence. He should've known the big menace you were whenever you felt ignored, or tried to entertain yourself with something.

If he wanted you to feel the way he did, then he for sure succeeded.

You: We can watch a movie when you're done

You: Or get something to eat

You: Will you go on with the live for too long?

You: I'm bored

You left your phone next to her, locking the screen when you found herself bored of scrolling through your feed on social media. Giving one quick look to Jungkook, you almost found herself drooling at the sight of your boyfriend slicking his bangs back, before they fell back over his forehead. He was smirking at the screen, while he made his fingers creak. And it only took you hearing one sentence that he was in that flirty mode he loved using sometimes.

Jungkook was doing a good job at ignoring you, and pissing you off.

Your tongue moved through your lips, getting them wet and soft as a filthy idea crossed your mind when you saw him so focused on the screen.

It wasn't evident enough on his face, but you could tell how the muscles of his forearms -that were out of the frame- tensed as you walked carefully to the table he was sitting at. He was forcing himself to keep looking at the front as if there was no one else in the room, as if he wasn't reading through his girlfriend's intentions as you slowly dropped to your knees.

You crawled under the table, until you positioned yourself in between his two legs, slightly spreading them a bit more to be able to find yourself comfortable in that space. At the same time your fingers slid up his thighs, one of his hands sneaked under the table to motion you to back off. Although that only made you want to go on.

Jungkook knew you weren't going to stop there. And, as much as he wanted to hate the idea, he felt his blood rush in excitement when your fingers hooked on the elastic of his black sweatpants, ready to pull them down. And he helped you, faking he was finding a more comfortable position on the chair -and making sure nothing lower of his waist would be seen-, so you could pull them down to his ankles along with his boxers.

Your fingers moved up the skin of his thighs, gently holding his still soft dick with some of your fingers.

It started with short and innocent kisses, spreading all over from his thick base to his pink tip as you allowed him to feel you first, coating his skin with the warmth of your breathing before it all turned to open-mouthed kisses. Your tongue moved over his skin to taste him, getting that tiny salty flavor in your mouth as you moved up. You tried to be as silent and careful as possible, having enough with the way his thighs flexed against your upper arms whenever you traced one of his veins with the tip of your tongue.

His stuttering whenever he read a question out loud became worse the closer your tongue moved to his tip, twirling around his shaft before you fully concentrated on it. It was delicate and short kitten licks on the top, that slowly enclosed around his hole. A smirk formed on your face when a sudden dry sound was heart on top of your, at the table, assuming he probably dropped the controller as he distracted himself with looking for a song to play while he kept chatting.

Your fingers moved up and down his shaft when you moved back, spreading your spit all over his length, to the point of getting him shiny under the glimpse of light that reached down the table.

He could only hope that meant you were done teasing him. But he was so wrong that the spit almost got stuck in his throat when he felt your lips enclosing around your lips.

You sucked on it, feeling him growing bigger and thicker with every move of your tongue. You kept moving gently and slowly, enjoying every little second of that game you were pulling. It was in that moment that Jungkook hated how well you knew him, and how localized you had all of his weak spots.

Jungkook was quite sensitive, which served that moment on a silver platter for you. You loved getting messy, gagging and choking on him as he pulled you lower on his dick; but it wasn't because he particularly needed it to cum. He just loved seeing you fucked out, doing as much as you could -and more- to please him, just as much as you loved seeing him that way for you, too. But that time you couldn't risk it by gagging or coughing on him. You knew it was just enough to have your lips wrapped around him to have Jungkook fighting his instinct to squirm right in that moment.

You moved the tip through your lips, setting it free through the corner of your lips before you trapped him back again.

Jungkook felt your mouth sucking him off as if you were expecting to suck his soul away from his body. And probably you would be able to if you kept doing that.

His hips moved up when his tip rubbed against the rugous part of your palate, slowly sliding it through the roughest part until it found the softest part of it, almost making him sink deeper in his sit when he could feel the difference.

You slowly moved your mouth lower on his cock, taking further than just his tip -yet not that much to get yourself to gag on him. You just bobbed your head up and down at a calm pace, enjoying how every inch of his length slid against your tongue and hid in your mouth, before you pulled it out back again. And you'd be lying if you said you didn't like the way you were able to feel his pulse racing up against your flat tongue as time went by.

"I'm sweating?" he asked, moving the reverse of his hands down his bands to find that there was indeed a thin coat of sweat covering his skin, and that was more evident on the fins of his nose and his cupid arch. "That's because… the… the… It's so hot in here" he calmly answered. "Or maybe it's because of you".

Your eyes rolled at that comment, containing your chuckle when you heard him answer that way. The good part was that it probably worked with whoever was that asked the question.

Once you reached his tip again, you started rolling and twirling your tongue around it, getting rid of every drop of precum that would leak out of him. And that only made you want more.

Instead of going back to suck him off, you held his length with your fingers, keeping him up before you lowered your face. It was in that moment that you appreciated, and were thankful, to how much Jungkook loved to keep himself completely shaved always.

When he felt the warmth of your mouth covering one of his balls completely, as your tongue moved around it, he had to fight his darkest instincts to move the chair back and fuck you. Or just do the slightest move that could reveal what was going on under the table.

The way his cock twitched against the palm of your hand, whenever you moved it through his shaft, only encouraged you to go on, eager to see what reaction he could have when he couldn't control himself and ended up spilling himself in your mouth.

"Well, it was fun. But I have to go" you heard him say. "I'll be back soon. Don't get hurt, eat your meals, and be happy. I'll come to visit you again. Bye".

It was probably the time he had said goodbye the fastest, not even stopping to read some of the last comments before he clicked on one of the buttons and turned the live off.

He escaped your lips along with the squeaking sound of the chair being dragged over the floor, giving you a space to be able to come up while his hands tried to pull you out as well.

"Did you have fun?" one of his eyebrows raised with the cocky question.

"Lost, actually" you admitted.

"Well, I'm about to turn it hilarious" he warned you, pulling your gray sweatpants and panties down. "You're such a tease".

"You were ignoring me, and I was starting to get bored" you tried to justify yourself.

"Oh, so sucking my dick is the way you entertain yourself now?" two of his fingers moved through your slit, spreading your wetness all over and taking his time to give gentle rubs to your clit. "Maybe I should fuck you stupid now, and give you a better way to get some fun. Sit on my cock".

You had all weekend, but at that moment it felt like time was escaping your fingers. You straddled his lap, positioning both of your legs on each side of his, until your tip toes touched the ground.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips as Jungkook started stretching you out, pushing through your walls until he found himself completely wrapped with them. You gulped him in easily, just like you were supposed to.

One of his hands moved up your thigh, cupping and squeezing your ass cheek to ask you to start moving. And he helped you with those moves, making your body bounce a bit harder as he helped you lift your body a bit more than you'd have been able to by yourself.

The splashy sound made you aware of how needy for your boyfriend you actually were, unchaining the low moans and gasps that would combine perfectly with the sound of your bodies clapping together with every move you two made.

With a hand on his shoulder, and another on his right knee, you tried to change the sway of your hips, adding more to the in-and-out movements, by giving you two that deep touch that would soon change the pitch of both of your moans.

One of Jungkook's hands moved away from your ass, moving to the side of your body to start lifting your t-shirt, exposing your bouncy breasts when his palm reached your neck. "You fuck me so well" he praised you, rubbing your chin with his thumb. "Can you feel how hard I am?"

"Hmm yes" you nodded.

"I can even hear how wet you're from here" he groaned, denting his fingerprints on the soft skin of your ass cheek.

His sudden move almost had you chucking mid moan, feeling him lift your body easily until you were lying on the wooden table where he had been trying to hold back his composure the minutes you had spent edging him.

Jungkook's movements were fast and erratic from the very beginning, forcing him to hold you by your neck and hip to keep you in the same place as he drilled into you, and having you holding onto him for some stability when you were convinced you'd fall off the table at the minimum chance.

His forehead rested against yours, while your eyes were still linked to each other. And you could swear that was one of the most animalistic, yet genuine and desperate eye contact you had ever made, telling each other your deepest and filthy needs through your eyes, knowing words would only be a distraction of what your bodies were trying to tell to each other. He could even tell when you were closer to cum by how your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes shined with need. You were so easy to read for him.

His movements turned sloppy when he finally allowed the euphoria of the climax take over him, after your clenched walls due to your orgasm took him in tight. You were still drugged by pleasure, and blinded by its power, but you still managed to move his face to yours, pulling him for a needy messy kiss as you both tried to calm each other down from your highs.

"We're not over, babe" he warned you, biting your lip so deliciously that it almost made you moan again. "How much cum do you think your pussy can take?" his eyebrows arched, letting you know he wasn't done.

He wasn't even close to that.

[cripplecharacters]

Alright, I'm just gonna bite the bullet. Worst that can happen is I make a fool of myself. I've been working on superhero stories, versions of the same universe since I was in 8th grade and what I want more than anything is to modernize superheroes, create a world where they act for all people's social good and take representation to the highest level I can think of. From your position of expertise, what can I do with the creation of disabled characters that would buck the trend, do some good, and show a good side. The non-prosthetic and non-corrected for disability rep in the genre is basically nil, I have no ideas and nothing to draw on. I guess I just wanna know what disabled audiences might like to see for once in their lives.

Hello!

Disabled superheroes are awesome. There's really few of them but the ones that we do have are often really important to us - you can look at the reactions to Sun-Spider being first introduced to the Spiderverse, back then I couldn't open my fridge without seeing that one panel where she explicitly says she has Ehlers-Danlos.

Here are a few suggestions of what I'd like to see in the superhero genre:

Superheroes with facial differences. Comics love to use us for their ugly disfigured evil villains but not much else unfortunately. I'd kill for a superman type hero who saves people with a smile and a facial difference on his face. Especially for superhero stories that are geared towards kids and teens, we just desperately need something to help with shifting the public perception of people with facial differences from "evil and ugly" to "people that can be awesome". A hero with burn scars, with Treacher Collins syndrome, Bell's palsy, neurofibromatosis... anything.

Superheroes who use disability aids (and still need them when doing their job!). Sun-Spider is an awesome example, she swings from her crutches and has a spider wheelchair. That's cool as hell. But even a less in-your-face aid would be great. A superhero flying above the city with her ankle-foot orthoses visible would go really hard. Also, superheroes who are concerned on how much these things cost and try their best to make sure they're still functional while they save the city.

Heroes with different causes of their disabilities! The vast majority of morally good disabled characters were involved in An Accident or some sort of Attack that disabled them. That's not bad or wrong at all, but I think in media is kind of oversaturated with this specific portrayal when a lot of people have progressive or congenital conditions. We need more stories that show those who were born disabled as heroes equal to those who were born abled and spent most of their lives abled. Superheroes with cerebral palsy, chromosomal disorders, congenital rubella, achondroplasia, all the disabilities that tend to get ignored despite so many people having them. Same for really common chronic illnesses, diabetes or COPD are criminally underrepresented.

Disabled superheroes that aren't saints because of their disability. This is the whole "disabled person can do no wrong" trope that appears sometimes. I'm mentioning it since superheroes are more "perfect" than most characters in other genres, so try to not make it so the disabled ones can do no wrong. Disabled people can still make mistakes that are their fault, make poor decisions, or just simply be angry sometimes.

When there's no active superhero action going on, show the normal human parts of the disabled experience. Depending on the demographic you're writing for it would be different things, but there are some fairly universal concepts like inaccessibility, microaggressions, or just boring things like the prosthetic leg no longer fitting well after the character gained some weight. If your characters are from the US, don't be afraid to mention that their insulin costs are barely affordable with their superhero pay. Show how the common everyday kind of ableism affect them when they're in civilian mode. This will make it much more authentic to disabled readers.

These are my suggestions, and I hope they are helpful. My last advice is to have multiple disabled characters, and in different roles. Maybe a character with late ALS can no longer do superhero fighting, but he can still be a wonderful parent. Maybe the character with Usher syndrome is more interested in the hero than being a hero themselves (disabled heroes in relationships!). Maybe the character with phocomelia can't be a hero yet because she's six, but she can train hard to be one when she's older. Keep it varied, have them come from different life situations and have different goals just like abled characters do.

I hope this helps!

mod Sasza

[baddiewiththebook]

Over the Years | e.m x reader | p. 8

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

a/n I'm so sorry for the hiatus. My mental health isn't where it should be, and my brain isn't in writing mode. I finally got this written down, and I left it alone for a while until I felt a bit more creative again. Hopefully, this chapter is good enough. Love you all!

-> <-

June 1983 . . . again

It’s so silly to be upset about something as ridiculous as a birthday. Big deal! You’ve had plenty of those in the past.

This morning you crumpled up a piece of paper taped to your fridge into a tight enough ball that your fingers began to pierce the flesh of your hands. Then, you toss the stupid note into the trash. Your mom left again. This time she and Brad are going to his vacation house.

Brad is yet another nobody she met after her shift at the strip joint in the sketchy part of town. Rich men flock to escape unhappy marriages, and pray on the poor sad strippers. Your mom keeps having too much hope that one of these men will pay-out and he will buy her a big fancy house. Unfortunately for her, their ruse will always draw her in. She does a few lines with them, and lays on her back for less than she’s worth. How could she even bring herself to this?

Eddie does try to cheer you up when he shows up to your house for the annual birthday celebration and the lights are dim throughout the house, and you’re slumped over your sofa like a deflated balloon. Somehow he coaxes you to get off of that couch. He encourages you to get yourself dressed by handing you shirts and handing you pants until he gets a grunt of approval out of you.

After you put on your clothes, you’re practically carried out to his van. You hesitate. After your mom swore something bad would happen if you get into his van, you’ve been sneaking rides now and again. Eddie’s also been giving you lessons when she’s not around. You frown. Gripping the handle tight, and with purpose, you swing open the passenger side door.

“Yes!” Eddie pats the seat next to him. Your boldened confidence sparks joy in him. That is until you give him the meanest mug known to man. And, you don’t mean to be harsh. You actually don’t realize that Eddie’s heart sinks when you grouch like this.

Rubber hitting gravel tunes out your huffing and puffing. When you hit the pavement, the shocks thud underneath you. Eddie says he’ll fix those eventually. He can’t fix the band equipment rolling in the back though. That’s something that just happens because he’s the only one in the band with a big enough rig to store all of this junk.

“I forgot to ask if you’re hungry,” Eddie says over the gray cloud covering your head.

You thunk your head against the window. It’s nearly eleven in the morning, and you haven’t had anything to eat. You’re not hungry. But, your stomach disagrees letting out the most aggravating groan. Why do bodies do that? The moment that someone mentions food, or when the room gets quiet - your stomach growls. It’s humiliating!

“I could eat,” you hold your stomach.

The way through to you is almost always food, or a brand new book. Eddie doesn’t have the time to drive all the way to Indianapolis to get you books from The Bookshelf, which is your favorite place to receive books from (or so Eddie can guess because he hasn’t gotten you anything you hate yet). So, he instead takes you to the next best place; Benny’s Diner.

It’s a hot spot. That’s mostly because it has been almost the only spot since ‘53. Yes, you’ve heard enough of Wayne’s stories from his younger years. He and his brother, Al, spent enough time downing milkshakes and getting brain freezes there. A part of you wants to ask Eddie more about his father, and if he is truly as bad as this town says he is. Eddie pretends not to recall a lot of his youth that was spent with his father, but behind those big brown eyes he’s got stories he could tell if he wanted too.

You slide your way into a booth across from Eddie after being seated by a snooty waitress with low hanging jowls and no patience for the teenagers, who, arguably, gives Benny’s the most buisness.

Some jock from the basketball team clambers over the back of the booth like a monkey to scoop fries off an innocent girl’s plate. Rightfully so, she swats at him, then aims a bottle of ketchup at his nose.

“Hey Wheeler,” the man dubbed ‘King Steve Harrington’ cups his hands around his mouth like a bird call to get the attention of Nancy Wheeler, who is just a booth and a half away with a thick chapter book between her fingertips.

Nancy meekly looks up without saying a word.

“It’s summer time,” he snorts. “What are you reading for?”

Tommy, another bone-head, clocks Steve in the shoulder with an open palm. This seems to encourage Steve’s prepubescent behavior. And, Steve jogs over to the table to bother Nancy some more.

What more is there to say about Steve? Steve Harrington. The man had enough brain cells to form one thought, and that was usually “party at my house!” Yes, after every basketball game that the Tigers won (which is a lot of games to be fair), you could find almost every member of the student body at his house.

It seems that Steve doesn’t care that his parents are never home. You wonder what they do to live in such a cushy house that’s bigger than most of the houses combined in Hawkins. Maybe you wouldn’t mind living like this if your family was rich too.

“What can I get you?” The waitress holds her pad of paper in one hand, and a sparkling red pen in the other. She puts all of her weight on one hip, so she can tap the other foot on the tile below. Her patience is running thin, and those kids on the other side of the restaurant are really starting to make her angry.

You speed through the menu, “strawberry milkshake and fries.”

Eddie orders a burger that he asks to be left a little bloody. When she glares at him, he moves on to order a vanilla milkshake without a wince when she snatches his menu from his hands.

Usually, Eddie will order some kind of burger that he has to add extra bacon and extra onions on top of. His favorite line is usually “bloody and stinky.”

If you weren’t feeling so bummed about your birthday, you might ask him if he’s on a diet. That always revs him up to push his stomach out and to talk with his belly button. Sometimes Eddie can be so childish - and really, you find him funny.

Today you wanted to be under five feet of dirt. You could finally get some peace and quiet after all that humming and worrying that goes on in between your ears. Your mom should be worried about you - not the other way around.

Eddie watches you become the booth behind you. Someone might as well have thrown water on you, and he wouldn’t be surprised if you started sobbing ‘I’m melting!’ right about now. Not like he’s seen the Wizard of Oz or anything. It’s not important enough to ever be mentioned out loud.

“Happy birthday?” Eddie tries to cheer you up. “Look, I know it’s not a cake and some candles. I don’t know. My dad and I never celebrated my birthday, and look how I turned out.”

You try not to be mean, so you let a sarcastic comment slide off your tongue. “You have tobacco in your teeth.”

The habit Eddie promises himself to quit. It’s just cigarettes, weed and the occasional sip of beer or two (or downing half a case by himself) for him. He’s got to stay healthy if he wants to make it to fifty. That’s high balling his life span. Okay, let’s say Corroded Coffin makes the big leagues in a couple of years, and Eddie at least wants ten good years with them - thirty. Thirty years is well enough for Eddie Munson. Er- that math isn’t right. Is it?

Eddie sucks the tobacco leaves out from his teeth, while you pick at the napkin in front of you. Seeing you so down nearly tears him in two. Having an absent parent himself, he knows the disappointment that’s eating you from the inside out. For years, Eddie would wake up in hopes that his dad would just show up completely sober. If he’s really optimistic that day, then his mom would come too. They’d be a big happy family and live in the suburbs. There would even be space for uncle Wayne.

Eddie knows the fantasy is just that. But, it isn’t about him. Your head is nearly touching the table, and he’s not so sure how to fix this. There isn’t really a way to fix this, is there?

The waitress returns with two shakes that she places down in front of you. A straw emerges from her apron pocket. She leaves you.

Your milkshake is questionably pink, but the real chunks of strawberries pressing against the glass make you forget what you’re about to consume. A glass of whatever the chefs get in those prepackaged containers that come in powdery. With a little mix of some milk, you’ll hardly taste the chemicals. with chunks of strawberries pressing against the glass. A wedge of whipped cream towers atop the shake with a strawberry dipped right on top.

Something that Eddie realized recently is how bright your eyes get when you’re excited. Inflating like a balloon, you sit straight up to stick the straw into the thick shake. Your lips kiss the straw without much thought, as Eddie begins to drift away from the restaurant.

In front of him, Eddie could dive deep into why he’s chosen you as his best friend. Because at first Wayne was just babysitting the neighbor kid and you could have easily been ignored from the next day after. Eddie finds you interesting.

Your lashes flutter away from him to the space behind him. As though in slow motion, his fantasy snaps.

“Jeff!” The sugar has already rushed to your brain in the absence of food, and in a fog you hiccup, “Hi, Gareth!”

Eddie whips around in time, before the two boys get too close to the booth. Their clothes are sticking to their bodies, and a fair amount of sweat graces their foreheads. Aside from being sticky, their mood is pleasant. Jeff tucks a helmet under his arm, as he approaches in a cool step.

Gareth swipes the sweat from his brow because really the hair sticking to him makes him itch, before causing a rash due to him mindlessly scratching his forehead off. He resists the tempting sting.

Meanwhile, Gareth also refuses to admit that the reason he stopped Jeff on their bike ride into town is because you’re sitting at a booth across from Eddie. Despite knowing how close you are as friends, there’s a grumpy troll deep in his belly that’s stomping on his gut that tells him to ‘just make sure.’ He rolls his shoulders back, and begs his face to quit frowning.

“Who knew the circus was in town?” Jason Carver cups his hands around his mouth. “Freaks!”

Chrissy Cunningham whacks him across the chest for being rude. As much as she likes Jason, his attitude towards the nerdy group that they all share the same high school with does really bother her. She puts up with him because she’s already introduced him to her parents, and maybe in a few years he’ll calm down.

While Jeff, Eddie and Gareth are more or less used to the treatment they receive from the goon squad, you can’t help but notice the way Gareth shoots a glare behind himself. This goes ignored by Jason, as one of the girls at the table has a spilled her soda. Surely, Jason would have caught the venomous stare and thrown Gareth halfway across the room. You don’t go looking for that sorry of trouble.

“‘Sup!” Jeff greats Eddie and yourself. “What are you two up too?”

“It’s her birthday,” even though he does like Jeff and Gareth, Eddie wishes the boys could take a hint and scram. Jeff has other intentions and does the polar opposite by plopping down nearly on Eddie’s lap.

“Happy birthday, girl!” Jeff wishes. “Got any big plans for the day?”

You shrug, “my mom is out of town, so I don’t really have anything going on.”

“What’s she out of town for?” The boy scrunches his nose up, and Eddie elbows him in the side. A desperate attempt on his part to get Jeff to shut-the-hell-up. “Business?”

“Sort of,” if only the business your mom conducted brought more money back to the house, instead of drugs.

A tickle lifts inside your throat that you swallow down. Perhaps the glossiness in your eyes could be hidden behind your lashes, and suddenly your drink becomes a lot more interesting. Flicking the condensation on the glass, Jeff leans over to whisper to Eddie about something.

“Gareth,” Jeff turns to the boy standing awkwardly at the head of the table. He hasn’t dared sit next to you, yet. “Can you entertain the birthday girl? I gotta talk to Eddie about something out back.”

Gareth opens his mouth to protest, but the words die flat on his tongue because Jeff and Eddie have already scooted from the booths. Their “business” is a classic exchange. Gareth’s been apart of a few of these dealings. In some ways, Eddie’s a bit of a douche come pricing on his supplies.

Everyone at Hawkins has bitten into the apple per se. It’s only when they need him that Eddie’s treated decent. So, Gareth supposes Eddie has his reasons to up-charge certain clientele.

There’s no word as to why Gareth gets the treatment, but he supposes there’s a reason or two.

Someone loudly clears their throat behind Gareth. It’s the waitress from earlier holding two hot and heavy plates of food. Gareth apologizes to her rolling eyes, before sliding into the booth across from you without much thought. The waitress drops the food off, then without another word she scurries off back to the kitchen.

“Jesus,” Gareth stares at the grease pile in front of him. “What did Eddie order this time?”

“They definitely spat on that,” you question your fries. “You know Eddie.”

“Oh, yeah,” treating society like they treat him, as always.

Gareth pushes the plate to the right where the sun kisses the burger through the window. It doesn’t look any more appealing in the light than the shadows in front of him. The silence between you and he is filled with drumming that comes from Gareth tapping the table.

You offer him your fries just to get him to knock it off. It’s not annoying, but his fidgeting is making you just as anxious. The tension subsides when Gareth pops a fry into his mouth.

“Can I ask?” He swallows, before speaking.

You raise and drop your shoulders unsure you want to answer. But, Gareth takes this as permission.

“Your mom has been out of town for a while?” It slips as more of a question, but the statement is put out there. Your mom is an absent parent. The only one you have.

“She came home for a short time with-,” you don’t know why you’re still defending her. Maybe she’ll come around one day and she’ll realize how great having a child has been. Doubtfully, “her coworkers. Er- but she suddenly had to go out of town. Meetings.”

The coworkers in question are the bums that stay after hours to give her a reason to party. Lately, the parties have bled into the living room. You’re stuck holding out in your room until they sober up enough to slobber out onto the street like a pack of dogs on the loose.

Dogs behave better than them.

“Meetings,” Gareth repeats as a mutual agreement not to press anymore questions, then quickly pops another fry into this mouth. This time he misses the landing, and the fry darts off of his cheek.

It’s hard to remember when the two of you hardly got along. That Gareth had been stubborn enough to decide that you would become a distraction for Eddie and the band would suffer. It now seems that there’s a different storm brewing instead of the one before it.

You cover your mouth, but the sweet melody brushes past your lips. Gareth goes a bit pink in the face, as he covers up the glee that he has at least amused you today.

The diner has quieted by the large group of teenagers getting up, and leaving through the front door. Nancy stays at her table reading a chapter book, and is most certainly grateful they’ve all gone. She won’t admit to keeping Steve Harrington’s phone number, but she will tuck the napkin tight in her pocket.

Music plays overhead that you hadn’t heard when you first came in. It’s fifties. An appropriate theme for how old the diner looks. Bright red booths. Checkered floor. Stainless steel instead of gold metal. It’s classic.

Gareth watches your eye wander away from him, as he decides how he wants to pull your attention back in. If he didn’t know any better, Jeff and Eddie were taking a suspicious amount of time to get back. That’s not to say he’s complaining. Any time getting you away from Eddie is getting Gareth that much closer to becoming bolder about his intentions with you.

Your heart skips inside your chest when Gareth’s knee knock into yours underneath the table. In not so many words, you hear him out and you understand him. A bit of relief settles your belly, but not before another aggravated weight of tension.

Pavlov and his damn dogs! That familiar jingle of the front door has both Gareth and you scooting back in your chairs. The heat from his body fades away from you.

Eddie and Jeff return.

“I told you they wouldn’t kill each other,” Jeff snorts.

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Actually,” Gareth stands, so Eddie could have his place in the booth again. “We should get going.”

“I got something to do later,” Jeff pats his left pocket at his hip. No one is as amused as he is by his joke, but you pity him a laugh.

Before they can leave, a hand swings out to grab Gareth by the wrist. Eddie’s got wild eyes and a goofy grin. The boy is devilish, but he’s not the devil.

“What?” Gareth raises his brow.

Eddie retracts his grasp, and instead replaces it for an open palm reaching towards Gareth. “You owe me ten.”

“Eddie,” you scold. “He didn’t even touch your burger and he only ate a bite off of my food.”

Over the last couple years, Eddie has gotten better and better at the theatrics. When your at school together, he has this little habit of standing on top of lunch tables. You’ve gotten cautious now, and you’ll move your lunch before he kicks goalie kicks it across the room. Does he practice these monologues? One will never know with him.

“Not for breakfast, sweetheart,” his tone is firm. You’ve never been ‘sweatheart’ before. Sure, you have nicknames for each other. That’s just - weird. “I saw you with Jeff the other day. Ten bucks, big boy.”

Jeff and Gareth smoke sometimes from the stash that Eddie gives Jeff. After upping the charge for Gareth, they have a method that outsmarts Eddie. Or, at least their method used to outsmart him. Despite flunking a few classes, Eddie’s quick as a whip in his street smarts. There’s no getting around him!

“Come on,” Gareth protests, but reaches around for his wallet. “You can’t share amongst your good friends?”

“There’s nothing in the rules that says you can’t,” Eddie explains, “but, when you’re explicitly smoking from him to snag a free deal - Gareth, I feel duped!”

“Eddie,” you scold with open palms face down on the table. “It’s my birthday, and you can’t torture my friends on my birthday.”

Eddie snorts in disbelief, “it’s Gareth.”

You’re stone cold. That look might just pop Eddie’s head clear off. When did you give a shit about Gareth?

There hasn’t been a time yet that you’ve expressed any concern over Gareth. Jeff - yes. There was the time that Jeff had a paper due, you went through his mistakes in red ink, so that he could make corrections. You’re really good at writing. You should be with all the time you’re stuck in those notebooks writing away, and never letting anyone take a peak. Or, when Jeff needed to learn how to bake cookies for his Home Ec final. You were there too. But Gareth? Were you ill?

Eddie’s expression softens as he releases Gareth.

“Fine,” he sighs, “I’ll let it go.”

Gareth isn’t quite sure if he should thank you in front of Jeff and Eddie. Mostly because Eddie keeps one-eyeing him over his burger. Jeff wants to ask how you learned that trick on Eddie, as he can be quite persistent when he wants something done his own. Meanwhile, you’re snacking on another fry like it was nothing.

Before Eddie wants to start any more trouble, Jeff whisks Gareth away in a flash. They’ll probably smoke together, while digging an even bigger trench that they’re in with Eddie.

You’re left to enjoy a quiet meal with your best friend. Occasionally, you beg him to chew the food in his mouth with his lips shut. You’ll give up sometime when the burger is halfway down and done with.

Eddie won’t let you pay even though he’s practically down to dimes, quarters and dollar bills. It’s your birthday, and you’re going to be treated like the golden princess you are. Anything to let Eddie see your gleaming white smile is a win to him.

You don’t have a chance to spend much time with Eddie because he’s got an unspecified “something” to do today. It’s probably the band. They’re practicing this afternoon.

With that, you hop back into the passenger seat of his van. Eddie takes the long way around to your house, so you can practice your drum solo on his dash board. Slowly, you’ve picked up on a few of Eddie’s favorite songs. One day you might out-drum Gareth, and you could join the band.

Only in Eddie’s fantasies - not that he has a lot of fantasies about you. There’s an occasional rip in his friendship with you, as he likes to put it. A fluke. You’re not a fluke. It’s all him.

Anyway, you’re landing flat foot in the dirt right in front of your abode. Eddie wouldn’t let you walk the few steps across from his trailer. It’s silly how he does that. You wave like he’s going to be leaving for a journey to a far away land, instead of driving a couple feet and parking his van in front of his trailer.

You’ve got plenty of clean-up left to do inside of your home. There’s dirty dishes piled in the sink, the counters are covered in food and you might as well sweep the floor since you’re in there. The bathroom could also use a mop. Oh, but you might as well clean the entire bathroom. Because what’s the point in mopping if the bathroom isn’t clean?

The clock on your mother’s bed stand reads close to four in the afternoon when you finally finish making her bed with freshly washed sheets. It’s taken you hours, but the home is just starting to smell less like dread and a little more like hope - and lavender. You got a deal on room spray from the bargain store in town.

Stretching your arms way above your head, you decide to celebrate with a hot shower. The water running over your aching shoulders would feel good right about now. Plus, the towels are fresh from the wash as well.

Clean.

It’s such a simple, yet rewarding feeling. You don’t get to experience it all that often.

Cigarettes have stained the walls of your home, and buried themselves deep into your carpet fibers. There’s even a few burns here and there from your mother’s habit of falling asleep with a cigarette between her fingers.

You wrap yourself in a towel and forget about that for a moment. It’s just you and a bottle of lotion across your skin.

From your bedroom window, you can see Eddie pulling into his trailer once again. Back from band practice, Eddie skips up the steps to his trailer. You stop in the moment when Gareth jumps out of the passenger side. A dark t-shirt with missing sleeves and a pair of worn down denim shorts differ from this morning’s sweats. You don’t mean to stare, but really is it that awful to look over the menu? You’re not even ordering anything.

Snorting at yourself, you close the curtain for your own privacy to change and to loosen the thoughts bleeding your innocence. You throw a shirt over your head, and suddenly hear a single knock at your front door. It’s loud like a knock anyways.

Dressing yourself decently in a comfortable pair of pajamas (you have no plans to go anywhere), you head straight to the front door to figure out what the noise could be. Maybe your mom had come back, and she drunkenly forgot her keys.

Actually, the knock is a much prettier sight. There’s a bouquet of flowers in bright rich purples. You wonder who remembered your favorite flowers are these little orchards with the white center. There’s a card poking from the center of the bundle with Eddie, Jeff and Gareth’s nearly illegible handwriting. You hate to call their new band-mate ‘Freak,’ but he has signed the card as well. It says ‘Happy Birthday,’ and you coo.

You pick the bouquet off the porch by the glass vase the flowers are displayed in. Inhaling sweet aromas of warm days reading a good book in a field, you could cry.

“Thank you!” You wave to Gareth and Eddie, who are hiding neck deep in the engine of Eddie’s van pretending not to watch your reaction. They don’t really know much about girls, but you are one and so they try to make you feel different than them. They want you to feel special.

Eddie half waves like he’s too cool to admit what he’s done, but Gareth pops his head from the van and spins around to get a good look at you.

You hardly notice Gareth’s lingering gaze, as you’ve already closed the front door of your house with you inside.

It doesn’t take long for the phone to ring.

“Hello?”

“Are you ready?” Robin’s voice comes through clear and bouncing with energy.

You snicker. “Ready for what?”

“My mom is on her way to pick you up, you’re sleeping over at mine tonight,” she says as a matter-of-fact.

“Am I?”

“Eddie called me,” she explains, “Happy birthday by the way - oh! Your mom is a bitch.”

Robin begins rambling about the times your mom has irritated her because that’s what you two do. Among all things, Robin is your sibling by terms of the longevity of your friendship. She’s the only person to get away with calling out your mom directly to you.

“Robin,” you pause her rant. “If you want me over, I need to get an overnight bag ready.”

“Oh, right,” she clears her throat. “Five minutes.”

“Five?!” You exclaim. The line goes dead.

Oh, Robin. How you love her.

-> <-

[to be continued]

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @jesuisbuginette @starrywhitenight @meetmeatyourworst @munsonburn3r @5tud10-54r4h @pvdulmol @loveryanax

[leezlelatch]

I love your writing and style. It's been a hard week and it's made me happy after discovering it. Just wondering if you, if you had the time, could write a slightly smutty drabble. I love your take on protective doll baby Copia. He's perfect.

With the last few months I'd love to read a ficlette where he discovers the reader almost in tears after being torn down by people, told that she's worthless, and now doubting herself because of the complete lack of self esteem which is even worse after this. Copia goes into DarkCopia mode while loving her like the badass he is. He doesn't like it when people hurt his gal. And he makes sure she knows how much worth he sees in her.

Truly though, even if you don't have time...your stuff has made me happy. <3

Hello, my friend. I'm so sorry this week has been hard. I hope it has improved, and I am so happy that my writing has made a difference! Here is a little something for you from me, and Copia. <3

Copia x Reader - hurt/comfort, fluff, suggestive, a little smutty, protective Copia, suggestively Dark!Copia.

The old key slipping into the lock rouses you from your light doze, and your eyes feel heavy as you turn over, watching as Copia steps into his quarters, his gaze lowered as he shifts his takeout bag from one hand to the other, depositing the key back into his pocket. He raises his head, and you make eye contact. Two things happen in that moment that makes the hair raise on your arms, and your heart warm with affection at the same time. Copia takes in the sight of you, curled up like a burrito in his blanket, your nose tucked into the fabric, eyes red. He knows it’s because you’re trying to find comfort in his scent. He knows you, in and out. His expression freezes in a ghastly stare, his eyes narrowed, lips set in a deep frown which accentuates the wrinkles around his mouth. His brows are pulled down, and he appears paler than he usually does. In short, he looks ready to hurt someone. 

But then it falls away. Cold fury melting into concern, and he drops his bag at the door, uncaring as the takeout boxes tumble and rest on their sides in his haste to reach you. Gloved hands pull you from the blankets, settling you across his lap, his arms cradling you. His face grows very close to yours, searching your eyes with a certain desperation. Copia is another person when it comes to you. The endearing, funny Papa is gone and replaced by someone who is calculating, smart, one step ahead. The real him. The one he hides, the clergy unaware that the puppet is actually the puppet master. You’re precious to him, and there is nothing this man would not do to keep you happy and safe.

“Baby,” he says very softly, his accent curling around the endearment. “Tell Papa what happened, eh?” His thumb rubs beneath your eye. “What are the tears for?”

“I had a hard day,” you respond, your voice a little hoarse. His brow furrows, and one of his hands slides its way down your body, feeling, prodding gently, as if he were checking for some external injury. “I’m okay, Copia.”

“Okay is not finding il mio amore all wrapped up and crying.” He works at removing a glove, slipping each finger out of the leather. He flexes his hand once it’s removed, and it makes you smile, even if just a little. Copia said to you before that he was used to it, but you know the constricting leather became a little much after a long day. 

“Somebody said something to me today,” you murmur, taking his hand and holding it to your face. His fingers cradle your jaw, the warmth of his skin encouraging you to speak. “And I feel like I just…can’t do right. That I’m not right. I can’t even face myself in the mirror because I’m afraid of what I’ll see.” You pause, gathering your thoughts. “I’m afraid to see that they’re right.”

Copia sucks in a shaky breath when you finish, and you can already see his mind working. “My love, I don’t want you going after anyone,” you say, reaching to grasp his chin, squeezing it gently. “I’m not telling you this to make you angry.”

He stares down at you, and then he nods slowly. Copia shifts back onto the bed so his back is against the wall and he adjusts his hold on you, looking thoughtful as his fingers pick up a soothing rhythm against your cheek. “There are a few things I need to be correcting, amore. And I need you to be good for your Papa, and listen. I will never allow a single soul in this building or elsewhere to hurt you. That goes for all our Siblings, but you are not just a Sibling, sì? You are my amore. Also,” he clicks his tongue. “The peoples are wrong. They will learn that they are wrong. And you, vita mia, also need to be corrected.”

You’re listening intently, your eyes trained on his features, adoring how expressive his features are when he speaks, but his last words make you pause. “I have to be corrected?” That was the last thing you expected to hear. 

“Yes,” Copia says, drawing out the word, his expression set. You’re bewildered when he doesn’t elaborate, letting out a sound of surprise as he firmly guides you up and out of the bed. 

“Copia, no-,” you begin to protest as he approaches the full length mirror near his dresser, your hand tightly wrapped in his grip. Copia pins you with a look that shuts your mouth, and he takes you by the shoulders, setting you directly in the reflection of the mirror. 

“We shall start here,” he says, his fingers tapping beneath your chin. “You will watch, and listen.” Copia circles you like a vulture, his hands clasped behind his back. “When you smile, I want to smile too.” His voice has lowered, tender and affectionate. “I am not so proud of my teeth, but I would smile ear to ear just to match your joy. That is healing for me, amore. You do that.”

Fingers brush your cheek. “You blush at the sight of me. At the sight of me. So beautiful and sweet, and I am sure that I have seen the depths of paradise. And the way your eyes light up when you’re excited, oh…,” he laughs softly to himself, his voice almost a coo. “Do you realize how lucky I am to know your eyes? To watch your brow furrow or rise. To see emotion pass over your face. To read the story of your life through every blemish and line.”

Your breath is stolen from your lungs, and you’re already crying. Copia’s hands shake as they grasp your hips, standing now close behind you, his voice a gentle whisper in your ear. His breath makes you shiver, and you feel his hips shift against your backside. “You’re biased,” you whisper, and he laughs.

“I am very proud of this, amore. It is a gift to be biased,” he murmurs, his eyes catching yours in the mirror. “It is a gift to have you.” His hands slip beneath your shirt, grasping and kneading at soft skin. You make a breathless noise, leaning back against him, and Copia almost purrs. “Hmm, you are liking your Papa’s touches?”

They slip higher, fingers grazing your nipples, and he pauses there. You whimper, caught between your emotions and your arousal, and Copia knows how to play you like the finest instrument. When to touch, and when to pause, letting it all wash over you, giving you the time you need to feel safe in his arms. “Your body,” he says, pressing his hips firmly into the curve of your ass. “Ignites a fire inside of me, you know? I am incomplete when I am not joined with you.” He’s almost growling now, a rough edge to his voice. 

You’re spun around in his arms and he captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue thoroughly plundering your mouth and rendering you incapable of any thought. Copia has a talent at making you forget, and suddenly the cruel words from today have all but vanished from your mind. “I love you,” he hisses, nipping at your bottom lip. His hand grasps your chin, raising your eyes to his, and his tone softens. “I love you.”

He kisses you softly now, his lips curling into a smile. “You are worth everything. You don’t need to look into the mirror, amore, just look into my eyes. I see you. I see the glory in you. And you will always have a home with me. You are safe with me.”

Another tear falls down your cheek and he kisses it away. “I love you, too,” you whisper, leaning your forehead against his. Your hand slips beneath the waistband of his trousers, and he gasps, arching into your touch.

“Do not think,” he murmurs, his voice a little strained as he pushes you toward the bed. “That this does not mean they will be…removed. Papa protects what is his.”

[alexanderwales]

The worst thing about creative AI right now is that it produces bad results. The writing is bad, the images are bad, and the video is bad. It's impressive, sometimes, that the technology works as well as it does, but it's still bad.

I think if you sit down and go through a few hundred generations, then tweak and edit and inpaint and think intently, you can sometimes get something worth putting in front of people, if you have the right eye for it. I could definitely edit up an AI-written short story into something worth reading, especially if I was the one who had fed it the prompt and gone through the work of having my own ideas to insert. I think at least part of the output would be the AI's, and I could carve away everything that was nonsense or just bad, leaving only a few turns of phrase or some general boilerplate structure ... and this would take more time and effort than just writing the thing myself.

Most people who use generative AI do not want to do any work, and in fact, have no conception of what work would be required. Most of them are consumers, not producers, and they're used to the modes of content consumption, where you don't look closely at the details. Generative AI, in its current state, just kind of sucks when you're in a "press button, get results" mindset.

The stuff generated by "press button, get results" is the vast, vast majority of AI art that you will see, even accounting for filtering effects. There are a lot of people who have no love of artistry producing artwork via machines that are not good at making artwork, sometimes just for a lark, sometimes with profit in mind, and it's threatening to drown out other stuff in spite of being bad.

This is my thesis: generative AI produces bad results, and this is possibly the worst thing about it. If it were able to produce good results, I think that a lot of people would be less opposed to it. If you could get a short story that was worth reading, or a picture worth looking at, for no additional effort of manipulation or prompt engineering or whatever else, then we would be flooded with good art instead of bad art.

When it comes to art, I care about how it makes me feel, and what it's trying to say, and where the intent is, and what ideas it has. AI is not there. Possibly it will never get there. But sometimes I see a picture that the AI has made, and I do feel something in the sweep of the lines, or the composition, or just the juxtaposition of elements. It's just really really rare, and the product of either chance or really careful work on the part of some human. It's not something that the AI can do reliably, at least at the moment. You can also quibble about intent, because the AI "has none", but I find beauty in nature too, which is not trying to make a statement with its sunsets, and whose intents, if they can be said to exist, are mostly about things that are orthogonal to my perceptions, like the plumage of a sparrow or the curved leaves of a fern. To me, art is art because of the way that it can be read and the emotions that I feel when I look at it. Contentious, I'm sure, but I don't find other definitions all that useful.

But the art that the AI makes is, unless expertly guided, bad. And there's a ton of it, and it's impacting the ability of real artists to make superior work.

I think the future I see, if the AI doesn't get better, is one where we have a bunch of cheap shit that's replaced a lot of good expensive things. I am in favor of cheap things, but I'm not in favor of shit. I would love for translation to be as simple as pressing a button. I would love to have a good painting to go with every chapter I write. But we're in a world where the results mostly suck unless you're willing to put in quite a bit of effort and have some expertise in a field of creative endeavor, and that means we're in a world where the products are bad.

I'm interested to see how the conversation shifts if the results start getting better, because that seems to me like one of the sticking points.

[quietlyblooms]

chiyo's so lucky to have this much enrichment in her enclosure asdfg

[melancholy-of-nadia]

Distraction (m) | myg

title: Distraction pairing: yoongi x f. reader rating/genre: m ; smut ; Agust D Universe (AgustDverse?) specifically in the Haegeum Universe ; Gang Leader / Mafia AU summary: After a series of circumstances leads you to be the assistant/right-hand woman of Bangkok's local thief/gang leader Min Suga, you're diligent in fulfilling your role in helping him take down Detective (& Underground Mafia Boss) Agust D. What you didn't expect in this role, was to catch your own boss reading p*rngraphic material during his free time and finding out there are consequences to distracting him. warnings:  dirty talk, hair pulling, slight riding, fingering, breast play, nipple sucking, slight body worship if you squint, COCKWARMING, orgasm denial kinda, she's being punished, There's two Yoongis and Thief ver. is Suga/Yoongi while the Mafia Boss is Agust D IM PUTTING A WARNING FOR THESE MEN ARE DANGEROUS note: this is my first time ever writing a bts fic AND smut in a fic. I've written fics 10 years ago for different fandoms and i never thought I'd be doing this again but I got too stuck on this idea that I needed to LET IT OUT. shout out to my beta reader @daegudrama for beta reading and being a great supporter. Idk if I'll ever expand on this fic but here it is. FEEDBACK & Comments are much appreciated !! total word count: 3.6k drop date: july 1st 2023, 12:00pm pst CROSS POSTED ON AO3 here (honeyjamjoon is my user on there) - -

You stood at the entrance of Suga's run-down, yet aesthetically-looking office in the heart of Bangkok’s Chinatown.

After an abundance of incidents, you begun working as his assistant and right-hand woman in his underground operations to take down Asia Pacific Police Detective Agust D, who moonlights as a mafia leader on the down low. A mafia leader who looks exactly like him. Someone you used to be acquainted with at some point.

As you pushed open the ornate wooden door slightly, you found Suga lying down on the sofa, engrossed in an erotic women's magazine. His face adorned with his signature mischievous smirk as he turned a few pages. Men, you thought to yourself while trying to prevent a scoff from coming out your lips.

"Yoongi," you called out, your voice cutting through the silence of the room. Since you two were closer compared to his other men, you called out to him by his real name often.

Startled, Yoongi quickly closed the magazine and tossed it aside, his expression shifting to one of mild annoyance. "Hey doll, can't you knock? I was in the middle of something." Doll, his endearing nickname for you always made you feel some type of way. 

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence as you crossed my arms. "Oh, I'm sorry, Boss. I didn't know reading Playboy magazines was part of your daily agenda." you commented sarcastically, rolling your eyes in the process.

Yoongi's cheeks flushed slightly, caught red-handed by his sharp-witted assistant. He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure. "It's...research. Yeah, research on...current trends."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his unusually flustered response. You sauntered closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, Boss, if you're done 'researching,' perhaps we can focus on more pressing matters?"

Yoongi let out a deep sigh, realizing he had been caught in his moment of leisure. "You're right, doll. Let's get down to business.” He moved from his position and straightened up his posture, all business-mode Suga once again. “What's the latest update on Agust?"

As you provided a detailed report on Agust D’s actions, you couldn't help but notice a twinkle of amusement in Yoongi's eyes. He had always been a man of few words, but his gaze held a silent appreciation for your wit and fearlessness in this line of work. Since meeting Yoongi, your professional relationship with him had always been one of mutual respect and trust, despite the dark world you both inhabited.

"You've done well, doll," Yoongi finally acknowledged at the end of your report, his voice laced with admiration. "I appreciate your dedication in doing this. This isn’t easy work, especially with so many eyes and ears working for Agust."

Your heart swelled with pride, knowing that your efforts were recognized by your boss, your leader. However, you know you can’t be feeling a certain type of way over his innocent comments.  You took a step closer, your voice lowering to a whisper. "Boss, may I remind you that there are eyes and ears on you too? It's crucial to maintain a certain level of decorum and professionalism."

Yoongi's lips curled into a sly side smile, his gaze locking with yours. "You're absolutely right. We should be more careful, especially when it comes to our private activities."

Your eyes widened in realization, understanding the underlying meaning in Yoongi's words. He can’t be trying to insinuate something, right? Being the brat you are, you decided to play along with his statement . A playful grin spread across your face as you sat on the opposite side of the sofa, crossing your arms once again. 

"Well, Boss, if you're looking for some 'private activities,' you could always start by hiring a proper assistant to keep you entertained."

Yoongi's eyebrows shot up, surprised by your audacity. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes as he leaned back on the sofa. "Is that so? And who would you recommend for the position?"

You pretended to ponder for a moment, "Perhaps someone who knows your every move, can anticipate your needs, and can effortlessly keep you on your toes…”

“Someone like… you?" Yoongi smirked as he leaned closer, his voice filled with mischief. Your cheeks flushed with a mix of shyness and shock that he played this far into your game. "Well, in that case, I suppose I'll have to interview you for the position."

Damn, he got you cornered. Was this a dream, you thought to yourself. Usually when you’d have playful banter with Yoongi, he’d edge you on with his words and then immediately move onto business. But right now you’re left speechless. 

“Cat got your tongue?” He chuckled. Funny words coming from the same man who looked and acted like a cat himself at times.

“N-No..just.. dumbfounded.” You stumbled on your nervous response before giggling, “You got me good, Yoongi.” And this is where the game ended, or so you thought.

Yoongi locked eyes with you as he reached out and gently grasped your trembling hand. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, causing your breath to hitch. He tugged your hand gently, coaxing you to move closer to him.

"Doll," he said softly, his tone laced with a mix of authority and tenderness. "There's no need to get so shy around me all of a sudden."

Feeling a mixture of panic and excitement, you allowed Yoongi to guide you closer until you stood right in front of him. In a swift yet gentle motion, Yoongi pulled you onto his lap, your legs straddled him. Your heart pounded in your chest as you found yourself nestled against him, his arms wrapped protectively around your waist.

Yoongi's voice, now filled with a soothing warmth, resonated in your ear. "You may act bratty and shy, doll, but I can see through your facade. I know you're into this” He used one hand to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, “And I'm more than happy to oblige."

Your eyes widened, breath catching in your throat at his bold words. Yet, you couldn't deny the exhilarating truth behind them. A mix of embarrassment and desire coursed through your veins as you looked into Yoongi's eyes, your own filled with a mix of uncertainty and longing. You’ve been waiting for a moment like this for so long, but it felt silly to even believe it could happen one day. Let alone on a day where you catch Yoongi looking at porn. Sounds too good to be true.

In that moment, Yoongi tightened his hold on you and gently lifted you up a little. He glanced at you wholly, taking in the sight before him. He had always thought you were beautiful since the first day you encountered him in the night market while he was being chased by Agust D’s men. He too, didn’t imagine he’d have you to himself, but somehow the sexual frustration of not having time to pleasure himself pushed a button in him to try to make a move. 

He continued his movements by sliding his hands above your waist, approaching the peaks of your breasts. The soft touch sent shivers down your spine, and a blush crept across your cheeks. He looked at you to see if you were okay with moving further, to which you locked eyes with him and nodded your confirmation.

He began fondling your breasts slowly, tracing patterns of desire along your trembling flesh. His large hands on you felt so good it elicited soft gasps of pleasure from your lips. But you craved more. You wanted to feel him closer, and it seemed that he felt the same. He moved his hands to unbutton your sleeveless button front shirt from the top to bottom and then removed the garment completely. 

Under the shirt revealed a white floral lace bra with a cute pink ribbon in the center. "You know, doll," he murmured, his voice husky with desire, "Your bra is surprisingly cute." The sudden comment from Yoongi made your cheeks flush even more with a mix of embarrassment and pride. “It contrasts your workaholic demeanor. It’s nice to see a new side to you.”

Flushed and with a playful glint in your eyes, you mustered the courage to break free from your momentary shyness. With a teasing smile, you looked at Yoongi and whispered, “Shut up and just keep going,”

To which he smirked up at you and did just as you commanded. He went ahead and removed your bra, exposing your breasts to the slightly colder room temperature causing your nipples to pebble slowly. Yoongi groaned, squeezing your breasts together, and sucked a nipple between his lips. 

Mesmerizing sounds left your mouth when he flicked your nipple with his tongue and gently bit down. His tongue swirled around your sensitive areola, teasing it to a stiff peak as he cupped and massaged your other breast with one hand. Holding yourself steady with your fingers weaved through his pretty, long dark hair, you leaned back and arched your chest in toward his face.

You craved more besides these touches to your delicate breasts, but fearing changes in your ‘boss and right-hand man’ relationship with Yoongi had you hesitating further. You moved your hands to the top of his shoulders to push him away from your chest. “Maybe we shouldn’t keep going, Yoongi.” You looked at him, before deciding to look away and continue speaking, “We’ve been focused on taking down Agust D, and if we do this… it might get in the way of our goals.”

Yoongi let out a deep chuckle, “You know goals are one thing, but you think I haven’t noticed the way your body language radiates when you’re around me.” 

Your eyes widened, “W-What do you mean?” You weren’t being that obvious about these underlying work crush feelings, have you?

“The way you carry yourself when we tease each other? When you sway your ass in your little skirts to get me riled up?” He lifted a brow up inquisitively, hands drawing circles on your thighs to carry his point home. “I know you too well to know you want this too.”

You scoffed, “Hah? Yoongi, I think all the porn mags and hentai mangas you’ve read during your free time has gotten to your head.” You cupped his face with your small palms (in comparison to his large hands) and looked at him intently. “Maybe it’s time to ease up on that, sir.”

“I’m serious, doll.” He grabbed your hands away from his face and stared harshly, “I'd rather have you in my arms, feeling your warmth against me, than flipping through those Playboy magazines during my free time."

Literally, no words could release from your lips. You’re just awestruck that this carefree man who threw witty and sarcastic remarks on a daily basis could have conjured such a confession to you. You found it endearing in a way, knowing his exterior is just a facade and inside lies a compassionate soul named Min Yoongi. 

At this moment, you decided to surrender, allowing yourself to be consumed by the passion growing between the two of you. Embraced in the untamed fire that blazed in Yoongi's eyes. “Then, keep going. Waiting to see how you’ll keep me entertained.”

Quickly, Yoongi's lips descended upon yours, the kiss ignited an unknown sensation inside of you. The taste of anticipation lingered in the air as your mouths melded together in a fervent fight. His lips, soft yet demanding, explored every contour of yours, coaxing forth sighs of pleasure that escaped each others’ entwined breaths.

Feeling a bit assertive, you gently bit his lips as a signal for him to allow your tongue to intertwined with his, to which he smiled and let you in. Both your movements synchronized, a blend of dominance and tenderness. However, which each stroke of his tongue, he claimed your mouth, marking you as his own in a surge of possessiveness that sent shivers cascading down your spine.

As your bodies pressed closer, the intensity and eagerness to have him inside you grew. You once again let your fingers find solace in the soft strands of Yoongi's hair, tugging a bit which he responded to with a groan. Breaths mingling with the heady mix of desire that filled the room. Your hips meet Yoongi’s hard cock, visibly straining against his demin jeans, as you begin lightly grinding against him, needing to relieve yourself of this feeling blooming in your abdomen.

However, unbeknownst to you, Yoongi had other plans in mind. He suddenly held down your thighs to prevent you from moving further. You whine at him, frustrated. 

“Doll, I’m not gonna fully give you what you want right now.” The mischievous glint in his gaze betrayed his desire for retribution. He saw an opportunity to playfully punish you for catching him indulging in the guilty pleasure of his magazine. “Since you interrupted me earlier, I’m only going to let you sit on my cock as punishment. No riding.”

“Are you serious right now–” You paused, Yoongi lifting an inquisitive brow up in response. If you kept arguing with him, his stubborn self will deprive you of everything at this moment, his desires be damned. The thing you didn’t need right now was for him to command you to watch him jerk off or leave the room and go find someone else to fulfill his needs. “...Fine, Boss. Your wish is…my command.” You sighed, gripping his shoulders.

“Condom?”

“No, it’s okay. I take birth control.” He eyed you intently. “NOT for what you think. I take it to regulate my cycle.” You responded, annoyed while he chuckled. Not like you had the time to be fucking people left and right in this high stakes job you had. You take your role very seriously, mind him.

He lifted you so he’s able to lift his own hips up to pull his pants down. He pulled his dick out and you stared at how it sprung up against his stomach, almost to full hardness already. It’s so thick and fat, you thought to yourself. You had imagined how he’d look underneath his clothes, but your thoughts never compared to the [reality of his] pale pink dick with small drops of precum at the top of the head. Yoongi took note of your glances and exhaled harshly. He slid his hands up your thighs to the hem of your skirt and pulled it to where your pink striped panties came into his sight. 

“You’re seriously so cute, you know that?” You mumbled a shut up as your cheeks reddened from his continued compliments. He pushed your panties to the side, placing two fingers teasingly at your entrance, collecting the wetness that you already displayed. "Do you need to be prepped more? Or can you take my cock without it?" He locked eyes with you as he slipped his two fingers easily in, quickly causing your walls to tighten around his digits.

“I-It’s fine, Yoongi,” You moaned his name quietly. You knew you were wet enough from the previous motions that you could do without it. “Just put your dick inside me already so we can call it a day.." He raised his eyebrows at your commanding attitude. "P-Please..”

Chuckling, he pulled his fingers out and grabbed your hips again. He took his throbbing dick in his hand and lined it up to your entrance. He sunk you down, slowly taking him in inch by inch, the thickness stretched you out more than you expected. You moaned out as quietly as you could, still struggling to fit all of him inside you. Yoongi kept a hand on your hips to guide you down, while the other caressed your back in reassurance.

"Keep going, love." Love? A new nickname? "You’re doing great." He praised, while trying his best to hold in beautiful sounds of his own.

With his encouraging words, you took a deep breath and moved down until your pussy had swallowed him whole, his head right against your cervix. "Just right…you did it," Yoongi cooed. He cupped your cheeks and made you look at him. "How does this feel?"

You’re starting to lose composure already, "I-It feels g-good…" you stammered, dragging out the last word while letting your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

"Great, but..” He stretched out to grab the D-Grayman vol 22 manga lying around on the table “Don’t you dare move. I’m gonna read." 

“I can’t believe you… you sick, sick man.”  His laughter rolled through him, which involuntarily  created a ripple of pleasure building within your cunt, a warmth growing again and spreading through your every nerves. Besides the fact that his warm cock was snug within you, filling you more completely than a dildo of yours could ever, you couldn't recall another moment where you’ve felt so content. While at first you were scared of crossing a line in your relationship, you can’t deny this feels just right.

He wrapped his right around your waist, while using his left to hold his book and flip the pages. Perks of having big hands, you wonder what else they could do. You laid your head on his right shoulder, eyes slowly squeezing shut. Maybe you should take a nap. 

However, while Yoongi seemed to be nonchalant and relaxed, he was struggling a lot more than you to not say fuck this and fuck you roughly in a cowgirl position. Because just as you were relaxing, suddenly his cock fucking twitched. You gasped, your cunt clenching involuntarily and wrapping tighter around his length. A shiver shot up your spine as you instinctively pushed back on him, taking him even deeper into you from a higher angle. 

“Yoongi, I swear..”

“Sorry. That was on me, doll.” He went back to reading before adding on a few minutes later, “I’m tempted to fuck you, but I’ll save it for another time. If I give in now, I’ll probably want to fuck you everywhere and anywhere we go. Want to teach you a lesson.” 

“Yoongi!” Your eyes widened and you smacked his back. He chuckled lowly. Pisces men really are lowkey sex freaks. You don’t know what you’d do if this man asks you if he can tie you up with ropes or vice versa. Let’s hope he’s just into vanilla shit for the sake of your sanity,

For the rest of the time, he stayed true to his word and remained resilient. At some point, you drifted off to dreamland, feeling so comfortable and cozy sitting on his dick. You faintly felt a kiss on your temple, though you’re not sure if you dreamed it, or if Yoongi actually did it. You didn’t bother thinking too much about it now.

The next thing you know, you woke up later that afternoon, laying down on the sofa with a blanket covering you. You glanced around to find Yoongi, but he was nowhere in sight. You checked your phone on the table and saw text messages from 35 minutes ago

Yoongi: Hey doll, got a call from joon saying he found the drug operation Agust D is hiding above that one good noodle shop in chinatown. I had to go with him and some of the guys ready to bust it down. I’ll be sure to to get you a bowl of noodles when I’m done. 

Yoongi: Extra beef and very spicy, right?

God, you’re actually gonna fall in love with this man. He really does pay attention to the little details about you more than you realized. 

You text back knowing he’s probably not going to be back for a bit longer.

Y/N: Yes pls! Don’t forget to bring some chopsticks.

Yoongi: 👍

Not long after, before the sun sunk underneath the horizon, he arrived back to the office holding a bag of take-out food from Asian Beef Noodle shop. “Sorry to keep you waiting. We got everything taken care of.”

Your eyes lit up with admiration as you sat up on the couch, your lips curling into a grateful smile. "Great job, boss."

Yoongi's gaze softened as he placed the tray of noodles on the coffee table in front of you. He took a seat beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. "I appreciate your support, doll. So, I brought these noodles as a small peace offering."

"You're forgiven, I suppose,” You chuckled, voice filled with soft warmth. “Noodles are easily the best way to my heart."

Your playful comment sent a spark of anticipation through Yoongi. He grinned, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "Well, I’ll make it up to you later, for being so good. Look forward to tonight," he whispered, his voice laced with a sultry tone.

Your cheeks flushed at the promise in his words, your gaze meeting his with a mixture of desire and excitement. “You’re making me embarrassed,” you sighed, replying further with a sultry voice with anticipation. “But, you better not disappoint. I’ll leave your side!” You joked, both of you laughing at the silliness of this conversation

Despite the fluttering emotions from earlier reawakening from his words, you two continued to share a comfortable silence, the aroma of the noodles filling the air. With a newfound sense of closeness, you two dug into the delicious meal, savoring the flavors and basking in the afterglow of their earlier passion. It was a moment of shared contentment, where the chaos of both your lives momentarily faded away, leaving only the warmth of connection and comfort of each other's presence.

[electraslight]

the loss of the addiction angle in Kevin's character in the transition from ogs to uaf really shows to me the flaws in uaf's writing compared to ogs's, at least in terms of Kevin's redemption.

Kevin's energy addiction is a key part of his character in ogs. it's implied to be why he swings so drastically from being good to Ben out of the kindness of his heart to trying to kill hundreds of people in mere hours, and it seems like this has been going on a while, shifts in mood correlating to his energy consumption. the addiction is why Ben and Kevin break apart, because Kevin's behavior because of the effects of the drug and his pursuit of it stop them from being healthy friends. Ben never stops believing Kevin might have the capacity to change, though, trying to see through the person the drug created to the person inside, like him sparing Kevin in framed and helping him out in grudge match. Kevin is, at this point in his life, dangerous, but he's still a kid, and Ben's failure to protect him weighs heavy on him for the rest of his life. you see this narrative and think well, if he's redeemed later, this should be important. recovery should be hard, especially when he seems to have been in survival mode for years. it must be hard for Ben to trust him afterwards, especially with the sheer amount of pain they've put each other through, Kevin especially, because of his addiction.

in uaf, Kevin is already good. he can still absorb things, but they don't hurt him now, they aren't a compromise he makes, sanity for safety. he's a con man, he makes measured plans and scams, not drugged out bids of random violence. he's calm, mostly, and he's a good guy now, and he'll help Ben because he has "honor", and he no longer thinks of life totally selfishly. this, I feel, is a cop out.

main characters aren't really allowed to have rough edges in uaf, and when they do, it seems jarring and out of place, or a result of weird writing. Ben's transition from being a little too kind for Ben to being unreasonably cruel in a way he never was as a child is strange, unfitting of how perfect the show wants him to seem. gwen's random bouts of insulting Kevin or pettily harping on him for things he apologized for seem strange when paired with how kind she usually is to him. and Kevin, Kevin is a "bad boy", but not in a dangerous way. all of his crimes are amorphous "things he's done" that they never elaborate on, his scams not cruel but only conniving. even when mutated, he still seems lucid, way less vengeful and violent than he was as a child. he's not an addict. why would he be? he's a good guy. he's changed. even at times where it seems obvious to show that he's "fallen off the wagon", they don't mention it.

I feel like this leads into a larger discussion about uaf, mainly about character flaws and the white sheet covering specifically the alien trio. character traits that got lost in translation, Ben's hobbies, Gwen's love of technology, Kevin's addiction metaphor. especially in terms of flaws. in uaf Ben's "flaws" fluctuate, sometimes being perfect, sometimes randomly getting an ego, losing it, then gaining it back. Gwen in uaf has no stated flaws, or at least ones that are intentional, but because of that, the ones she accidentally has are more toxic and weird than she ever did as a child. and Kevin? he's an amorphous concept. vaguely criminal. vaguely angry. a doormat. what's the issue with writing Kevin in a way where he really does feel like a homeless kid with addiction problems and enough trauma to have that dead look in his eyes forever? I don't know. I don't know where I'm going with this. give Kevin a little violence back.

[angelmatthew]

₊˚.༄ ginger tea - sung hanbin

this is very self indulgent because i was sick last week too :(( i can never keep sickfics short and sweet because i'm a sucker for whump, this is very soft whump though ! my writing's still a bit rusty but it's getting better (i hope). also, i'm still not sure about the layout for my posts so i'm trying out different things, i'll stick to one layout eventually!

🖇️request

↬hanbin x gn!reader ↬2054 words ↬fluff, soft angst, one shot ↬tw: mentions of vomit, a little bit whumpy, not proofread

your muscles were aching, your head pounding like a bass drum and you could barely breathe with your stuffy nose. you had to be in class in an hour but getting out of bed was a daunting mission.

you rolled over, clinging to the warmth of your bed, hoping a few more minutes might work a magic fix. and, before you knew it, you were out like a light.

you’re woken up two hours later by the sound of your phone ringing.

"hey, where are you sweetheart?" you picked up the phone without even checking the caller. once you recognize the familiar voice, you immediately snap into a sitting position, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

"oh my god, bin, i’m so sorry i overslept," you confess. you hear background chatter and figure hanbin is already at the coffee shop for your study date. he promised to help you with your finals, despite his busy schedule.

hanbin's voice carries genuine concern. "it’s okay, your voice sounds tired, are you feeling alright?"

“i’m okay," you hesitantly admit, "just feeling a bit under the weather. i'm so sorry for making you wait."

you downplay your ailment, though you can never fully deceive hanbin; his perceptive nature sees through your attempt to minimize the situation. the guilt starts settles in.

"It’s alright, i'm coming over," he reassures you with his signature comforting tone. there's not a single trace of annoyance in his voice, even though he's been patiently waiting for you for the past thirty minutes.

"no! it's okay. I know you're busy, and you made time for me to help with studying, and—" you start to babble, but hanbin interrupts with a soft chuckle.

"my schedule's never too packed for you. plus, it gives me an excuse to escape practice." he speaks in that sing-songy voice you adore, prompting a genuine smile from you.

"well, in that case, i'm glad i could rescue you from the clutches of boredom."

he laughs, "exactly. I’m bringing some medication, tea and cuddles."

true to his word, a few minutes later, there's a gentle knock on your door. you’re greeted with a bear hug and whisker dimples.

“how are you feeling beautiful ?” you can't help but grimace at the pet name, your hair's a mess, you’re pretty sure there’s a toothpaste stain on your sweatshirt, and the fever's turned you into a bit of a sweat machine.

"i look awful," you grumble, stealing a quick glance at your reflection in the small corridor mirror. hanbin's eyebrows furrow, he's quick to interrupt your self-critique.

"you always look beautiful to me," he adds, a reassuring smile accompanying his words. he then, presses his palm against your forehead, seamlessly slipping into concerned-mom-mode. his eyes pop wide, and his lips pull a total 'o' move – the classic hanbin surprise face.

"you're burning up!" he exclaims, guiding you to the couch with a gentle urgency, concerned that standing might tire you out even more. your dizziness was palpable; even reaching the front door felt like a monumental effort.

"did you eat something since this morning?" hanbin questions while putting the grocery bags on the kitchen island, his focus shifting to the small pharmacy bag.

"no, i felt too nauseous," you admit, your voice laced with a hint of shame.

he pauses, worry etched across his features, but he swiftly transforms it into a warm beam, the last thing he wants is to make you feel bad. "no worries, love. let's get you cozy first,"

he disappears into your room, returning with a fluffy blanket and a pile of cushions. he arranges the cushions, making sure they cradle you just right. the blanket, soft and inviting, is draped over you, and he tucks its edges gently, creating a cozy nest.

you can't help but admire his simple yet caring gestures. there's a warmth in his eyes, a quiet assurance that makes you feel secure.

"better?" he asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

“yes, thanks bin, you're an angel” you grab his hand, trying to convey your appreciation as best as you can — can’t risk a kiss in your current state. hanbin takes your hand in his, and kisses each of your knuckles softly, you feel like your heart might explode. in moments like these, you wonder how you got this lucky.

“no need to thank me, now, you need to take your medication…" he makes his way to the kitchen and rummages through the grocery bags, revealing an array of medicine.

he hands you a cup of water along with a few pills and another cup filled with a suspiciously white liquid. "i know it looks like a lot, but the pharmacist promised it should work wonders,"

you nod reluctantly, eyeing the medicine-filled cup. you take a sip of the chalky liquid, the taste makes your face scrunch up in immediate disgust.

"ugh, it's gross," you whine, hanbin chuckles at your distaste.

"you did it! now, the water to wash away the icky aftertaste," he hands you the water with an encouraging smile. "bottoms up!”

you manage a small grin, appreciating his encouragement, and with a final gulp, you conquer the medicine ordeal.

"now, about the nausea, how about a little snack, you can’t take more medicine on an empty stomach" hanbin suggests, you manage a weak nod, grateful for his attention. as he heads back to the kitchen, you can't shake the lingering discomfort; the idea of ingesting any food makes you feel even more nauseous but you don’t want to discourage your boyfriend.

he returns with a plate of crackers and slices of apple, “you don’t have to finish it all,” he hands you the fork with an encouraging nod then turns on the TV and puts on your comfort show, in the hopes that having distraction will make it easier for your stomach to handle the meal.

hanbin watches you eat with a mix of hope and concern, his eyes searching for signs of improvement. after a few bites, your stomach rumbles, and you reluctantly set down your fork. he doesn't want to force you to eat but on the other hand that the lack of nutrition might make you feel worse.

"just one more bite, okay?" hanbin insists, his voice soft. instead of waiting for your response, he picks up a piece of apple and brings it to your lips, offering it with a reassuring smile. "small bites. we'll take it slow."

you take a deep breath before taking another miniscule bite, but as hanbin's hopeful gaze meets yours, the nausea suddenly intensifies. without warning, you get up abruptly, rushing to the bathroom as your stomach rebels. your boyfriend follows, concern etched on his face. you wish he didn’t but he holds your hair gently as you vomit, the sound echoing in the small space.

“i'm so sorry," each retch is accompanied by a twinge of shame, intensified by the fact that fever has left you a bit delirious. you can't help but shed a few tears. yet, through it all, hanbin remains unwaveringly calm and gentle, rubbing your back soothingly.

"shh, it's okay” he repeats, his voice a steady anchor in the storm. he stays by your side, offering comfort as you navigate through this less-than-pleasant moment. as you finish, he helps you rinse your mouth, his touch gentle against the fatigue and fever.

guiding you back to the living room, he reassures, "take your time," and tucks you under the blanket. "if you're not up for eating, we can try again later."

you stare at his expression, he looks even more concerned than before, and you're not sure why but an odd inclination to cry takes hold. maybe it's because hanbin is right here, taking care of you, even handling the less glamorous parts without seeming annoyed or bothered in the slighest. your thoughts became a muddled blend of exhaustion, an overwhelming swell of gratitude, and an uneasy undercurrent of guilt,

as you struggled to fend off the fever-induced haze in your mind, you hadn't noticed hanbin quietly settling beside you, extending a glass of water. "small sips,"

you accept the glass, your body still tense from the earlier ordeal. "i'm sorry," you repeat while trying to supress the sob that threatens to escape your lips.

"hey, don't be sorry," he says, wiping away a tear with a tenderness that melts the tension, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. "i'm the one who made you eat when you didn't feel like it. we'll take it one step at a time, okay?" his soothing voice intensifies your emotions, and you find yourself shedding a few more tears, feeling extra awful with your scratchy throat and stuffy nose.

being the empath that he is, hanbin seems on the brink of tears himself, but he doesn't succumb. instead, he gently rubs your back and strokes your hair, humming your favorite songs in an attempt to help you calm down.

"think you need some sleep," he whispers after a few minutes. you nod weakly, and he helps you shift into a more comfortable position, fluffing the pillows and adjusting the blankets.

"anything hurting?" he asks while tucking you in, his fingers gently ensuring the edges of the blankets cocoon you snugly.

"my whole body is aching," you murmur, the exhaustion evident in your voice. moments later, hanbin returns from the kitched with warm heat packs, their comforting weight carefully arranged on your body. as he tends to you, the furrow on his brow and his careful, deliberate movements betray the emotional toll it takes on him to witness you in discomfort. he refrains from asking more questions, not wanting to exhaust you or burden you; he still feels a bit guilty from the ealier nausea ordeal.

before he even gets the chance to check on you again, you've already drifted off to sleep. when you slowly open your eyes two hours later, hanbin is still hovering over you, changing the wet cloth on your forehead with a fresh, cool one.

"hey sleepyhead, feeling better?" he asks, gently stroking your cheek. you nod slowly, his cool hand soothing your warm face.

now that your mind is clearer and the fever has gone down, you feel the shame settle in — you've never been this vulnerable in front of hanbin, you know he doesn't mind taking care of you but you feel sorry nonetheless.

"thank you again, for taking care of me, i was a complete mess earlier," you shyly blurt out.

"it's what i'm here for my love," in response, he graces you with that infectious smile, reminiscent of fluffy clouds and blooming spring flowers.

hanbin leaves your side momentarily but returns with a steaming mug of ginger tea, its comforting aroma filling the room.

"here, this might help you feel even better," he says, handing you the mug. the warmth of the tea and his comforting presence start to chase away the stiffness in your body.

hanbin settles down beside you, wrapping his arms around you in a gentle embrace.

"You know," he starts with a mischievous glint in his eye, "you owe me. i've been exposed to your germs," you chuckle and hanbin's relieved to see you laugh.

"i don't mind as long as I get to cuddle you like this," you say, sinking deeper into the embrace.

"even when I'm all sweaty?"

"you did it for me, i don't see why i wouldn't do it for you," you say, your tone light but filled with genuine affection.

hanbin seems a bit taken aback by your response. even though he spends his time taking care of the people around him, accepting the same level of care from others has always been a bit challenging for him. it's as if he fears it might compromise his dependable attitude. however, ever since you started dating, he's been gradually getting used to the idea and the same goes for you — taking care of each other even in the messiest moments felt more natural.

"you've got yourself a deal. just promise you won't judge the sweaty, sickly version of me too harshly."

you playfully roll your eyes, "bring it on, i'm ready for it warts and all,"

with a smirk, he leans in, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead. "i'll hold you to that."

[hunnysnoops]

˗ˋ𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤ˊ˗

Chapter Six: Sweater Weather

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

I don’t mind if there’s not much to say.

Premise: It may be possible that hatred is beginning to dissolve. Peace ensues or at least something similar to friendship.

Also available on Ao3 and Wattpad!

Warnings: mentions of blood and injury / crude humour

MASTERLIST

It felt weird sitting next to Kyle willingly on your sofa but you hadn't had much of a choice when the due date for your final project was cutting so close. You were in too much pain to fill the static silence of the room with mindless chatter that would grate in his head, so you stuck asking him which parts of the assignment were already done before settling back into silence.

He wanted to say something, he just couldn't figure out what. It was unnatural to the both of you.

Kyle was still wearing the same thing he had gone to school in, a simple t-shirt, flannel, and jeans- you had resorted to poaching clothes from your dad's closet while he was out of town for a concert. The second you and Kyle got to your place you ran upstairs to slip into a pair of well-worn sweats and one of your dad's old t-shirts from when he was on his college rowing team. His clothes were just about the only thing that didn't irritate your turf burn further than the red segments where your skin had been scraped off.

You had slathered some type of aloe vera ointment all over the burn on your shins and elbows which scent strongly resembled eucalyptus and florals, leaving you and Kyle to work on your Biology project in a living room that smelled like a Bath & Body Works.

"Do you wanna write about the genetic basis of behaviour or should I do that?" You had broken the fifteen-minute silence which seemed like a record for the both of you. Your parents would've been astonished if they were there to see the pair of you sit without insulting the other. The only sounds that filled the room were the rain beating heavily outside like it wanted to be let in.

"I got it, don't worry," He said absentmindedly, focused on making the slide show look presentable.

"I'm not worried," You answer. As much as you liked to complain to your friends about having Kyle as a partner, he was one of the few who actually did their portion of the work instead of texting you last minute that it wasn't finished. You were still suffering PTSD from having to work in a group with Cylde.

There were some beats when the stillness was growing so unbearable that it almost made you squirm, you fought the urge to put on a sitcom as background noise, knowing that you would get distracted and veer off from the task at hand.

You were disrupted by heavy thumps making their way down the stairs "Hey, Kyle," Weston said, making his way to plop himself between the two of you on the couch, a backpack in his lap.

"Hey," Kyle gives your brother a quick glance paired with a smile before his eyes shift back to the screen of his laptop.

"What are you wearing?" You squint your eyes while trying to read the text on his shirt "The worst day of fishing beats the best day of forcefully withdrawing in jail," The shirt had the graphic of a bass splashing around in a lake beneath the lettering "Where did you get that?"

"I bought it."

"With what money? You don't work."

Weston shrugs and there's the glint of a smile on his face. You stare at him blankly until he answers "Okay, fine, Uncle Richie bought it for me, it's an early birthday gift."

"Dad will kill you and Richie if he finds you wearing that."

"Good thing he's in Vegas seeing Doodle mood," Weston leans back, wedging himself deeper between the two of you in a silent attempt to separate you.

"Depeche Mode," You correct and Kyle huffs the briefest of laughs, a grin lingering on his face while he rakes through paragraphs to find spelling errors. He didn't look in your direction but you could see the slight curve of his lips and the smile lines forming around his straight nose "Why are you down here anyway?"

"To see my sister," He raises his chin, tilting his head in your direction to see the screen of your laptop "What the hell is Pathophysiology?"

"I think it's too big of a concept for you to grasp," You say. While Weston's heart was usually in the right place, his head certainly was not.

"Huh?" He furrows his eyebrows "What?"

"You're dumb, shrimp."

"Hey, I'm not above hitting an old woman," He points at you, finger almost touching the bandage over your nose.

"And I'm not above hitting a toddler," You push his accusatory finger down and away from you. Kyle tended to stay out of bickering between you and your brother, the same way you let him and Ike fight it out without interfering. It would be like disrupting the intricate ecosystem that was siblings "What do you actually want?" You look down at the backpack in his lap, it was dirty from all the places he dragged it to. Both of your parents had begged him to wash it for months and when he finally got around to it, it did nothing, like the grime had set into the navy blue cloth.

"Can you drive me to Dustin's?" His face morphed into a tight-lipped smile, feigning innocence.

You let out a long, exaggerated groan and throw your head back into the plush sofa. The rainy atmosphere didn't help you to stay energized, halfway through the school day you decided that you would take painkillers and not leave the couch. You should've predicted that your brother would make plans on the one night when your parents weren't there to drive him and you were lethargic from pain meds. "Dude, I have so much work to do," You really didn't, all that was left on your part was a couple of passages and a statistics graph, you still had a week until you had to turn the project in.

"Why do I even have an older sister if you won't drive me places? I wish I was a lonely child," He rolls his eyes, shaking his head in the slightest.

"It's only child, Wes, a lonely child is what you'll be when I sell you."

"Can you please drive me? We're having a hurricane party and I'm sleeping over."

"We live in Colorado, there aren't hurricanes, just wine-drunk tourists," You turn your focus back to your laptop, turning it away from Weston so he can't see you open a Wordle tab.

"Don't be lazy," He grabs your bicep and begins to shake it back and forth.

You pull your arm out of Weston's grasp "I'm injured, you should be waiting on me and nursing me back to health like a good brother."

"And you should drive me to my friend's house, like a good sister."

"I can take him," Kyle peeps up and Weston swerves his head to look at him.

"For real?" Weston asks.

"Yeah, I need to fill up on gas anyways, I can drive him down and swing back to finish the project."

"Are you sure?" Your eyebrows were slightly furrowed. Usually, these conversations ended with Weston shaking you down and getting what he wanted, whether it was you buying him v bucks or taking him to the movies.

"Yeah, I don't mind," Kyle shut his laptop and gingerly placed it on the coffee table, pushing himself off the couch.

"Sweet," Weston slinked off the couch, hopping over your legs and making his way towards the door but not before slapping the exposed turf burn on your forearm. He hadn't intended to hit you as hard as he did but the skin contact made an audible sound that echoed in the room. A hand flung over his mouth as he watched you jolt forward, jaw hanging slack and eyes wide while you gently held your forearm. The look on your face alone made him grab a pair of sandals and run out the door before he could even put them on or close the door behind him.

"Oh my god," You turn back to look at Kyle who was slipping into a pair of your dad's hiking boots since it was quicker than the century it took to lace up his Converse "Please drive him off a cliff."

"That would make your life too easy," Kyle looks up at you through a mop of red curls, hazel eyes imploring; they tended to look like different colours depending on the light source, at that moment with the dim living room light and dark skies looming outside they sparkled with the rich colours of autumn, a beautiful medley of amber, green, and gold, like fallen leaves swirling in the crisp, cool breeze "Nicer," He says.

"What?"

"For your wordle," He points at the screen of your laptop.

"Oh," You look at your screen where 'river' had been the last guess, you type in 'nicer' and surely all letters flip to green. "Thanks," You say "Uh, do you want money for gas or-

"No, I'm good," Kyle dismisses immediately "My cab services are free, you've done it for Ike more than I can count."

"Okay," You scrape the walls of your brain for something else to say "Drive safe, don't actually drive my brother off a cliff."

"Got it," He shuts the door behind him, shutting out the roar of a heavy downpour. The rain was powerful, a relentless cascade, each drop hitting the ground with force, creating a thunderous choir that drowns out all other sounds, evoking a sense of calm within you, albeit muffled by the walls.

"Is she mad?" Weston stood at the edge of the lawn, waiting by Kyle's car for him to unlock it. He held his backpack over his head in a feeble attempt to keep himself dry though it didn't work, his shirt was soaked and his hair was so full of the droplets that he had to shake them off like a dog at the beach.

"Super mad." Kyle pressed the button to unlock his car, the moment Weston heard the locks shift, he dove into the passenger seat "She's waiting by the door with a shotgun for when you come home."

"Is she actually?" His voice was one hundred percent serious, he fully believed Kyle despite your family not even owning a shotgun.

Kyle ducked into the white Nissan, he prided himself on keeping his car tidy so it was the exact same every time he entered aside from the air fresheners that he swapped out. "Nah, you're fine."

"Phew," He dropped the backpack to his feet "I like your car way more than my sisters, hers always smells like cigarettes and girl stuff."

"Girl stuff?"

"Yeah like deodorant," Weston scoffs.

"You should be wearing deodorant."

"That's what my mom says," He reclines back in the chair, taking in a deep whiff of the air freshener that smelled of Jolly Ranchers "I wish I had a brother but I guess you and Ike are kinda like brothers." It was one of those rainy days that came to mind when someone mentioned a storm brewing.

The skies were grey as cracked pepper, a steady, rhythmic pattern of rain creates a continuous murmur, a comforting white noise that enveloped the surroundings, each drop merging into a flow that washes over the earth. Overhead he could hear thunder rumbling like an angry god was stomping around in the clouds. Cozied up in Kyle's car, safe from the elements, Weston thought that would've been the perfect environment to fall asleep.

"Brothers are overrated," Kyle casually gripped the steering wheel as the rain hammered down on the windshield, the wipers working furiously but barely managing to keep up.

"So are sisters, you're so lucky that you don't have one."

"You're actually pretty lucky that you do have one," His eyes were fixed on the road, a blur of grey and blue on the pavement and his voice was flat "Especially yours, she really loves you."

Weston cast him a sideways glance like he didn't believe him but he didn't prod the topic any further "What are you guys gonna do tonight?"

"Finish our project then I'm headed home," He answers, what he thought to be truthfully.

The younger boy nods, turning his attention to the world outside of his window. He wasn't used to seeing you spend so much time around Kyle or share mutual stories from track or biology, he had always hoped the two of you would get closer and now that it was finally happening he wasn't sure if he liked it.

Kyle cast a look down to your brother, realizing that the talking was over for the time being, he cranked up the radio until Nirvana filled up the car. The trees lining the road swayed and shuddered under the weight of the wind and rain, their leaves rustling like whispers in the night. Kyle could feel the tension in the air, the electricity of the storm to come.

As they drove on in relative silence, the rain seemed to intensify, each drop striking the car with a force like bullets beating down on the roof of his car. He squinted through the windshield, the headlights carving out a narrow path through the darkness, revealing the familiar road ahead.

"I'm just gonna grab some gas up ahead."

"Where do gas stations get their gas?" Weston asked, a crease forming between his brows at the thought.

"Do you actually not know the answer?" Kyle instinctively looked at him with eyebrows furrowed with confusion despite the urge to keep his focus on the road.

"Like did they just find a spot where gas magically comes out of the ground or do they build it over a gas mine?"

"Weston," Kyle said, flat.

"Or is it from a gas pipe that runs underground?" Weston leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his thighs and hands clasped together like he was deep in thought.

"No, they build gas storage tanks under the pumps, there aren't gasoline pipes or mines or whatever else you just said," He was utterly perplexed by your brother and it wasn't the first time Weston asked a question that left someone shocked with its absurdity.

"What happens when they run out of gas?" He asks like an interrogation "Do they tear the gas station down?"

"No, they refill the gas tanks."

"How?"

"Tanker trucks deliver it and they just fill the tanks up when they run out."

"Okay, okay," Weston rubs his chin, humming "So where do tanker trucks get their gas?"

Kyle's hands go flat on the wheel for a brief moment "From gas stations."

"And they all get their gas the same way? would it be illegal if they got their gas in another way?"

Kyle maneuvered the car off the road and into the gas station. The fluorescent lights flickered slightly, casting a cold glow over the puddle-filled lot. He was quick to bring the car to a pump and step out, Weston's questions were becoming a little too much.

"Stay here, I'll run in quick then you can show me to your friend's house," he said, pulling up his tighter before stepping out into the downpour.

"Can you get me some beef jerky?" Weston sweetened his voice "Please." He watched Kyle shut the door and raise his voice slightly so the ginger could hear him "Teriyaki flavour?"

The cold rain immediately soaked through his shirt, Kyle wished he had worn a hoodie to keep some of the rain off his head as he stepped out of his car and into the stormy night. He glanced at the neon glow of the gas station sign, a small beacon of light amidst the darkness and the swirling tempest. The wind howled, pushing him sideways as he made his way to the pump.

He fumbled with his wallet, hands slick with rain, and managed to slide his debit card into the slot. The machine beeped, and he selected his grade of fuel, gripping the pump handle tightly as he began to fill his tank. The rhythmic sound of gasoline pouring into the car was almost drowned out by the rain hammering on the roof of the gas station canopy.

Kyle squinted through the downpour, seeing the lights inside the convenience store flickering. With a sigh, he replaced the pump handle, pocketed his receipt, and jogged towards the entrance, each step splashing water up onto his jeans. The automatic doors slid open with a whoosh, and he was greeted by the bright, fluorescent lights and the comforting hum of refrigerators lining the back wall.

The smell of coffee and hot dogs greeted him, a stark contrast to the cold, wet night outside. Kyle wiped dribbles of water off his brow and ran a hand through his damp hair, making his way to the 'Jack's Jerky' stand he grabbed a bag of the teriyaki as per Weston's request, and he grabbed one for the boy and a little baggie of sickly sweet gummies to give to Ike when he got home.

That was all he had intended to buy but his feet had carried him to the back of the rest stop to the coolers. He opened one, the chill air a refreshing break from the humidity outside. He thought back to which flavour of Powerade was your favourite and silently prayed it was still the same from three years prior when you went camping and stocked up on solely green apple Powerade. As he closed the cooler door, he heard the rattle of thunder outside, the storm intensifying.

He walked up to the counter, the clerk giving him a weary smile. "Rough night, huh?" the clerk said, scanning the drink. Kyle had expected that he would see Kenny behind the counter that night since he had informed him that he would be busy and he tended to take the graveyard shift over weekends for some extra cash.

"Yeah, I don't plan to be out long," Kyle reached into his pocket for his wallet, sifting through it until he found his debit card.

The man nods, typing something into the computer "This is everything tonight?" He looked up at Kyle.

"Yup," He offered a tight-lipped smile, swiping his card through before snatching the green apple Powerade off the counter.

"Stay safe out there," His voice was gruff like he had been smoking for decades and singing folk songs around a campfire.

"Thanks, you too," He walks back out through the doors faster than he entered, rushing to the car like he was trying to race the rain.

Weston peered through the foggy window, watching the rivulets of water race each other down the glass. The interior of the car felt warm and safe compared to the bleak, wet world outside. He glanced at Kyle, who was bracing himself against the wind, his silhouette blurred by the rain.

The doors slid open, and he dashed back to his car, rain soaking through his clothes almost instantly. He slid into the driver's seat, shaking off the water, and turned the key in the ignition. Kyle placed the Powerade into the cupholder, tossed the beef jerky over to Weston and tucked the gummies into his pocket, buckling himself in and readjusting himself until his hands had thawed enough to grip the wheel. "Okay, what's Dustin's address?"

Weston took one look at the green drink sitting between the two of them and looked back up at Kyle "Do you like my sister?"

Kyle nearly laughed, but he caught himself, recognizing the seriousness in Weston's voice. "What?" The tone his voice carried was utterly perplexed "I think there's something in that jerky."

"I'm serious, don't get any funny ideas," Weston spoke through a mouth of beef jerky, words muffled.

"I promise all of my ideas are very unfunny," Kyle shook his head, trying to focus on driving through the storm.

"Yeah, sure," Weston's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Kyle felt his face flush, thankful for the darkness that hid his reaction. They drove in silence for a few more minutes, the storm raging outside, the only sound inside the car being the rhythmic swish of the wipers and the occasional rumble of thunder. Finally, the headlights illuminated the house where Weston's friend lived. His eyes weren't on Weston as he walked into the house but on the green bottle sitting in his cup holder.

By the time Kyle got back to your house, he was soaking wet, curls defined by dampness and clothes clinging to his body. "Is Kyle back? Is that him?" Your dad asked through Facetime to which you nodded "Turn me around I want to say hi."

Kyle squinted his eyes before recognizing it was your dad on the phone "Hey," He smiled "How's Vegas?"

"It is awesome," Your dad said "I got Ike and Weston these trucker hats," he held his phone away from him while he held up the merch "And I got you this hoodie, made me think of you," Your dad flipped the camera around to show the hotel bed where a black hoodie was sprawled out with the album cover of 'Violater' on the front.

"What did you get me?" You ask, turning your phone screen back to face you where you were bundled up and tucked into a corner of the sofa.

"Erm," He sucks a sharp breath through his teeth, turns his head and goes out of frame while he shuffles through some things. Your dad places his phone down, thinking that he has muted himself "Honey, what did we get for our daughter?"

"I dunno, we can buy her something at the airport." You hear your mom say "Can you tell her that I bought her ticket for the lock-in?"

"Oh my god," you can't bite back the smile you have purely from how ridiculous they are, looking at Kyle who has his eyebrows slightly raised.

"Gimme that, I wanna talk to her and Kyle," The phone shifts, and the view of the ceiling is replaced with your mother's face, she's holding the phone far out "Hi, guys."

"Hi," Kyle says half-heartedly.

"Did you guys read the storm warnings?" Your mom asks and continues before either of you has the chance to answer "There is a storm outside."

"Yeah, we know, we're in it," You say blankly.

"Yeah, big storm tonight," Your dad crams himself next to your mom so he can squish in frame "I got a notification from my weather app."

Your mom nods like this tame fact needed confirmation "He did."

In his damp pocket, Kyle feels his phone vibrate, his mother is on the other end waiting for him to pick up the call "Mom?"

"Kyle," Sheila says, she's on Facetime as well, wearing a blue silk heatless on the top of her head, red hair braided around it. It was the one you had gifted her for Secret Santa "Are you guys okay?"

"Yeah?" He furrows his eyebrows, looking up at you though you were just as clueless as he was.

"I want you guys to stay inside until this storm is over, there's gonna be hail and the last hail storm his not go well for you," This was very much true. The last hail storm was a year prior in early September, huge chunks of ice had plummeted from the sky in excruciating force. Kyle was at Stan's house when it happened, Sparky had gotten out and the two boys were desperate to chase him back outside but the hail only startled the dog further causing him to dash around the streets in a panic, not even resting for a moment. By the time Sparky was back inside safely, both boys had bruises cascading down their backs in an array of deep purples and reds.

Others weren't so lucky to get away with bruises. Butters had been hit smack in his head and had bled into Cartman's white headrest while being driven to the hospital. The poor guy ended up with five staples in a jagged line on the back of his scalp and a wicked scar to show for it.

"Is that Sheila?" Your mom asked, "I want to see her."

Both you and Kyle had turned the phone screens to face each other, trying to ignore the weirdness of doing so. "Hey," Sheila said, "I was just telling the kids to stay inside, there's a big storm down here."

"And hail," your dad added, matter-of-factly.

"There's going to be hail the size of tennis balls," Gerald hadn't heard your dad through the phone, you could hear him sink into the bed beside his wife.

"What?" Your dad asked "Gerald?"

Gerald peeped over at his wife's phone "How was the concert?"

"I know, crazy storm right," Your dad had taken his phone back from your mother and pretended that he could understand what was being said 562 miles away in the Broflovski household. "Kyle, why are you so wet?" He turned his attention to the boy awkwardly holding his screen out.

"He was driving Weston, you know this." You answer for him.

"In the storm?" Sheila asked.

"Don't go out in the storm," Your mom called from somewhere else in the room.

"Okay, I'm gonna hang up, we will stay inside you have my word," You wait for your dad to answer before hanging up.

"Okay, love you Jellybean, save me that gouda in the cheese drawer," His eyes shoot around the screen, in search of the exit button though, he taps around for a minute, muting then unmuting himself before finally hanging up.

Kyle had wandered off, slowly pacing around by the front door while nodding along to the things his mom was rattling off. It took eight minutes until Sheila finally let him go with one last goodbye "Okay, love you too, Mom."

"Uh," You look at Kyle, who was quite literally dripping on the floor, the white shirt beneath his flannel had turned translucent, clinging to the muscle of his stomach "Do you wanna shower or something?"

He looks down at himself his jeans wet and heavy before he looks back up at you "Yeah, I do."

You pry yourself off the couch, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders like a cape while you lead Kyle upstairs. You were forbidden from touching the thermostat without your father's permission and even though he was in another state entirely, you had a sinking feeling that some way he would find how so you thought it better to bundle up instead.

"Use whatever products, I don't really care," You open the door to the bathroom even though Kyle knew where everything in your house was and would've been fine on his own. To you, it felt like he was more of a formal guest than a friend and you had to show some form of courtesy. "I'll find you something from my dad's closet."

"Alright," Kyle says as you turn away, pushing the door to your parent's room open. You b-lined for the wardrobe, rifling through until you found plaid pyjama pants and one of his well-worn t-shirts that you had seen in pictures from his college years.

On your way back to the bathroom you stopped in your room to shove your feet into your cow slippers since the storm was quickly cooling your house down. Your knuckles wrapped on the door "Are you naked?"

"No," He answers. "Why are-

You push the door open and find him standing shirtless by the sink, looking at something on his phone while his wet shirt and flannel are hanging over the shower rod. Your eyes catch to the glucose monitor patch stuck onto his toned bicep before you catch your eyes shifting down towards the well-defined ab muscles, catching yourself within seconds and plopping the clothes onto the counter. "Taking mirror pictures?" You joke halfheartedly.

He turns his phone around to show you his 'mySugr' app where he had been checking his glucose levels "Yeah, something like that."

"It's just a shirt and pants, I don't want you sharing underwear with my dad," You say abruptly, giving the folded clothes a little pat.

"I don't want that either, so thank you," He presses his lips into a thin smile.

"Okay," You say, glancing around the bathroom to see if you were missing anything before you left, closing the door behind you.

You kept listening for the hail but all you heard was a soothing backdrop to the otherwise quiet house, Kyle's shower blending seamlessly in with the rain. You stood at the kitchen counter, wincing slightly as you adjusted the bag of shredded cheese in your hand. Your broken nose, swollen and tender, throbbed dully, while the turf burns on your leg stung every time you shifted your weight. The painkillers you'd taken earlier had dulled the edges of your discomfort, but they left you feeling groggy and disconnected.

With slow, deliberate movements, you laid a tortilla on the skillet, the soft sizzle of the heating pan. You sprinkled a generous handful of cheese onto the tortilla, your fingers fumbling slightly as the drowsiness made even simple tasks a challenge. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself against the counter, trying to focus through the haze of the medication.

The rain grew heavier, a steady drumming that matched the dull ache in your body. You reached for the second tortilla, placing it carefully on top of the melting cheese. Your reflection in the window caught your eye—a girl with tousled hair, a bandaged nose, and dark circles under her eyes. The bruising was beginning to ebb away and by the time of the junior lock-in, you would be able to take the bandage off for good. Eventually, you would be left with no more than a scar on the bridge of your nose and mark this down as your most tormenting injury yet

The smell of melting cheese filled the kitchen, a small comfort amidst your discomfort. You flipped the quesadilla, the action sending a sharp pain through your wrist, making you gasp. You clenched your teeth, riding out the wave of pain until it subsided to a more manageable level. The medication dulled the pain but didn't erase it, leaving you in a strange limbo between relief and awareness.

As the quesadilla finished cooking, you carefully slid it onto a plate. You cut it into quarters, each movement slow and deliberate, then carry the plate to the table. Sitting down, you gingerly touched your swollen nose, wincing at the contact, then picked up a piece of the quesadilla.

The first bite was heavenly, the warm, gooey cheese a small relief against the storm raging both outside and within your body. You chewed slowly, savouring the simple pleasure of a hot meal on a rainy day. Each bite eased a bit of your tension, the repetitive motion meditative in its simplicity.

You heard the familiar thumps signalling someone was coming down the hardwood stairs and didn't need to turn your head to know that it was Kyle. "Quesadilla?" He sits on the opposite side of the couch from you, grabbing his laptop off the coffee table from the exact spot he had left it.

Silence stretches between you as you wait to chew your bite thoroughly and swallow before answering him "Yeah, do you want one?"

"No, I'm good," He opens the tab with the presentation, picking up right where he left off. He would be stuck with you until the hail hit, and then he would leave. Like he told Weston, he was going to finish the project and go home.

"That's good, I wouldn't have made it anyway."

"Why would you ask me then?"

"Courtesy?" Your answer comes out sounding like a question.

While Kyle was dropping your brother off, you had finished your portion of the assignment, leaving you to scroll through your timeline, tuning out to the constant sound of rain and Kyle's quick typing. With a small groan from the soreness of every inch of your body, you grabbed the remote off the table and began to flip through thumbnails of shows and movies.

You had flipped your phone face down on the table and put on Do Not Disturb. You were the kind who didn't pick up the phone when they didn't want to speak and in that moment you had been forgetting that Kyle was even there until you heard him shift.

"Are you going to the lock-in?" You lift your head the slightest to look at Kyle.

"Maybe," He hadn't entirely wanted to go to a school event where nearly everyone in his grade would be locked in the school's gym overnight, it sounded similar to the nightmares that kept him awake though he was being coerced not only by his mother but Kenny who had been the first of his friends who paid for a ticket. "Are you?"

"Yeah, I was gonna stay at Red's and just tell my mom I went but she's going so," You blow a raspberry "I guess I am, I'll probably wanna shoot myself in the head though."

"Huh," He utters simply in acknowledgment.

Settling on watching a reality show where everyone was yelling at everything all of the time, you pulled your blanket higher, letting your head rest on the arm of the couch. Kyle would claim to hate trash reality but you always caught him sneaking glances at the screen whenever it was on.

The soft glow of the television cast flickering shadows across the room. The wind howls and rain lashes against the windows, creating a constant noise that only heightens your sense of isolation.

The reality TV show you're watching is a mindless distraction, a parade of drama and superficiality that you shamelessly indulge in. It's a welcome escape from the throbbing pain in your nose and the raw sting of the turf burn consistently stinging. You shift uncomfortably, trying to find a position that doesn't exacerbate your injuries, wincing as the movement sends fresh waves of pain through your body.

"How's it going?" you ask, your voice thick from the congestion caused by your broken nose. Speaking still hurts, but the silence is becoming unbearable. You had to say something, anything. It was like there had been a shift, where once you happily accepted ignoring Kyle in silence, now you felt like you were being smothered. You needed to talk even if your conversations were stiff and awkward like they had been all night and would only continue to be.

Kyle looks up. "Getting there. How's your nose?"

"It's chill right now." You lie through your teeth, it was hurting badly. "How's your eye?"

His hand absentmindedly moved upward to gently touch the bruised area. There were a few days when it looked like it was healing nicely but it quickly went downhill, he woke one morning to find splotchy colours over his eye and all he could do was accept the fact. "Better than your- well, everything I'm guessing," He gestured to the burn on your arm.

You glance down as well, moving your arm to inspect the injury "Yeah, it feels like a million miniature humans are stabbing me and kicking me like all the time."

He nods, a sympathetic look crossing his face. "Do you need another painkiller or something?"

You shake your head, regretting the motion almost immediately as it sends a sharp ache through your skull. "No, I'm okay, I have so many painkillers in me that I'm rattling like a maraca."

The room falls silent again, save for the drone of the TV and the relentless battering of the storm outside. You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, wishing you could fast-forward through the next few days of recovery. Your eyes drift back to the TV screen, where contestants are arguing over something trivial.

Kyle's fingers tap away at the keyboard, a steady stream of clicks. Finally, he sits back, stretching his arms and letting out a sigh of relief. "It's done," he announces, closing the laptop. "The project is finished."

"Woohoo," You bring your hands together to give him a weak round of applause. Still facing the TV you hadn't noticed the small smile that Kyle cracked, it wasn't the sheepish thin-lipped ones you had grown accustomed to but one that showed his perfect rows of teeth.

He leans back onto the couch, arms crossed while he lets himself tune into the awful show. Feeling a slight chill, he tugged on the blanket sprawled over you until it covered his lap. You hadn't minded when Kyle came under the blanket, giving him leeway so he wouldn't freeze.

You lay on your side, reaching to scratch an itch on your upper lip but instead being met with warm liquid on your fingers. Immediately you shoot up your hand out in front of you, the TV shifts scenes and the room is illuminated, the blood on your hand illuminated.

"Mother fucker," You hiss pushing yourself off the couch to rush to the bathroom before blood from your nose could trickle onto your dad's shirt.

Kyle wasn't sure what had you storming off, he partially thought you were upset about him tucking himself under the blanket but he didn't say anything, he just watched you usher off and up the stairs with perplexing eyes.

You slap the light switch to the bathroom, hands bracing on the bathroom sink while you assess the situation on your face. Sometime while you and Kyle were sitting in darkness lit only by a TV screen you must've irritated the laceration on your nose as it was nose gushing blood and soaking the bandage lying over top.

Despite the pain, you muster the courage to attempt changing the bandage on your own. With trembling hands, you carefully begin to peel away the old bandage, wincing as the adhesive pulls at your tender skin. You grit your teeth, determined to see this through, but as you try to pull the bandage away, you shudder, it is clinging to your nose from the blood soaking in and binding it.

"Shit," you mutter under your breath, frustration bubbling up inside you. You glance at yourself in the mirror, the sight of your bruised under eyes and the trickle of blood making you feel even more helpless. Pounding on the bathroom window you could pinpoint the exact sound that the hail had begun, the patterns of rain turned into a harsh banging noise that crashed over the roof.

 Sticky blood gripped onto your skin and the more effort you put into clearing it away, the harder you were pushing on your broken nose. Taking a deep breath, you grab hold of one end of the bandage then rip it off at record speed, trying to ignore the pain that shot through you and how it had tugged on the stitches but it was impossible.

"Fuck, ow!" You shout, throwing the soiled bandage into the sink in anger "I'm not fucking doing this."

Looking up and into the mirror, you see the gash over your nose, the blood dripping from it and pooling around the area, slinking its way into the crevices of your under eyes and knowing that you didn't have much choice. Dabbing a bit of rubbing alcohol onto a cotton pad, you brought it up to your nose and winced on instinct, body shuddering from the sting.

You put the cotton pad down, chewing your lip in an attempt to bite back the tears and the array of colourful words you wanted to scream. Tears were brimming in your eyes purely from the sensation. "Kyle!" You call out, hands cupping your mouth.

It took him a minute to reach you but when he did he paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of you "Are you taking out your stitches?" His voice bordered somewhere between panic and intrigue.

"No, but it's bleeding and I need to fix it and it really fucking hurts so can you please do it?"

He spends a moment just staring at you, drinking in the request before it finally rendered "You definitely can't do it yourself?"

"Yeah."

"And it's not one of those wait-it-out things?"

"Don't be a dick, are you helping me or not?" 

He runs a hand through his hair, the other on his hip. His nose wrinkled slightly at the thought of pressing too hard on your nose or making the stitches bleed even more "What if I hurt you?"

"I'm already hurt." 

"Yeah, okay, fine." Kyle pulls his phone from the pocket of his flannel pants and begins searching for guidance.

You propped yourself to sit up on the bathroom counter, eye level with Kyle as he bent down just the slightest. "Do you know what you're doing?"

"Uh, yup," Beside you, he placed his phone, it was open to a wikiHow article on bandaging a broken nose. He carefully soaked a cotton pad and began to clear away the blood, revealing the raw, stitched wound beneath. You clenched your teeth,  eyes watering from the sharp, stinging pain that accompanied the exposure of the wound. "Sorry," Kyle murmured, his voice bordering somewhere between concentration and sympathy. "I'll be quick, I promise."

"Okay," You cast your gaze to the side, trying desperately to avoid making eye contact with Kyle when he was so close to you and studying your face with such intensity.

He dabbed at the wound with a clean cloth, wiping away the fresh blood with gentle, meticulous strokes. The antiseptic came next, its cool sting causing you to flinch despite your best efforts to stay still. Kyle couldn't help the face he made at the sight of the bruising swallowing up your nose and the irritation surrounding the wound itself.

You were quick to catch onto this "I know I look gross."

"No, you don't look gross," He shook his head slightly, his hands moved to bring your head upwards, chin between his index and thumb while he wiped away the last of the blood. You held your breath, The strength in his hands and forearms was evident though each movement was slow and benign as a feather-stroke.

He looked like honey and you couldn't ignore that. His ginger hair was streaked with gold from sun exposure, and his hazel eyes were flecked with brown. He remained sweet as honey too, and as gentle as the wings that made it.

He placed the gauze on your nose for padding very meticulously and followed the guide on his phone while taping it.  "Done," Kyle said finally, pressing a new, clean bandage over the stitches. He secured it with tender, precise fingers, then looked into your eyes for reassurance "How does that feel?"

You took a deep breath, feeling the snug, secure fit of the new bandage. With a gentle touch, you tapped around at the freshly bandaged area "It's good, thanks."

Kyle nodded, quickly backing up, throwing out the soiled medical supplies and tucking the first aid kit back underneath the sink. He cleared his thought, looking at the window where the hail was slowing down, it was back to the heavy rain "Hails passed, I'll grab my stuff and head out."

"Um, okay," You stayed on the counter, watching him fumble around to his clothes that had been drying on the shower curtain rod. In one minute a million thoughts were mauling at your mind but there was one that stood out from the rest "Or we could watch a movie?"

Abruptly his head swerved to look at you. He had assumed this to be mocking but you just stared at him and waited for an answer, as cool as he wanted to play it he broke into a small small with furrowed brows "Yeah, okay." Suddenly he was wishing he had given you the powerade that he bought for you.

A/N: oml I meant to post this days ago, it’s just been chilling in my drafts