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felidlycanthr0pe · 5 months ago

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Title: You Deserved That Bingo Masterlist

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1813

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Bakubites

A/N: Created for @anyfandomfluffbingo / Square(s) Filled: Biting / Cross Posted on AO3

Three years of hero study with the same 19 other people meant that most of you had figured out a routine to destress with one another. Movie nights, on a rotating schedule of choice, were a staple- especially during test surges.

Typically, whoever’s choice it was for that week was predictable. This week’s romcom, courtesy of one Kaminari Denki, was no exception. Even in his movie taste, he was intent to lighten the mood if nothing else.

Of course, there were some who would voice their complaints early despite remaining in the common room the entire time. It didn’t matter who was choosing- Bakugou always had something to say.

Typically, you sat closer to him if only to hear this commentary.

Arms crossed over his chest, leaning back into the couch, he muttered to himself. “Fuckin’ stupid, why wouldn’t you just-?”

“He doesn’t know she got the new job, Blasty,” you reminded him with a small knock to his shoulder with your own, “only the audience does right now.”

Vermillion eyes slid over to you before darting back to the screen.

A few minutes passed before he continued: “why wouldn’t she just-?”

“She’s got an NDA,” you cut him off in a whispered tone, “c’mon Sparkles, keep- ow!”

Katsuki, arms crossed, glared at the screen.

“Did you just fucking bite me?” You laughed, “the hell’s wrong with you.”

“Annoying,” he responded simply with a shrug.

The bites were nothing new- some Bakugou branded way of expressing whatever emotion he so happened to be suppressing at that point in time. Excited? Bite. Happy? Bite. Upset? Bite.

“We should vaccinate (Y/N) for rabies,” Denki, against all logic and common sense, muttered.

A small explosion sparked in his palm as he stood up. “How’s this for a vaccination, Sparky?”

“Sit, Kats,” you sighed, tugging on his shirt. “See? She’s gonna tell them soon.”

Katsuki made a face at Denki, but sat down nonetheless.

A few months after movie night and you thought that he’d finally outgrown the tendency to gnaw on his emotions. You, of course, were corrected just as soon as you thought you were safe.

You hummed to yourself as you shuffled about the dorm kitchen- placing each piece of silverware, dishware, and glassware in its designated space. Typically, running a dishwasher and putting things away shouldn’t have taken more than an hour or two. Doing the dishes for twenty people (because of course they would do Aizawa and Mic’s with the rest- the man had literally lost a limb for them) took a bit more time, even with the industrial dishwashers.

One unlucky soul was stuck there per meal- and it just so happened to be your turn after dinner.

It was well past nine when you felt pressure on your shoulder. You hadn’t heard them creep up, nor had you seen any movement. So sue your fried nervous system for turning around and gut punching the perpetrator without so much as a second glance.

Bewildered, Katsuki Bakugou stared up at you- crimson eyes boring holes in your own as he sat on the ground.

“Katsuki! Are you out of your goddamned mind?! What if I had a knife in my hand?!”

He tilted his head, frowning. “Ya would’ve stabbed me?”

You stared back at him incredulously. “If you’re certain you’re alone, that there’s not going to be anyone around you and that you’re not going to be disturbed- why in the hell would you not stab someone who snuck up behind you and… pinched you? Bit you? What the-?”

“Bit.”

You rolled your eyes. “Right, why wouldn’t it be anything else?”

“I can help if you want,” he said, standing slowly. “Can’t sleep anyway.”

It was certainly past his usual “bother me and die” time of 8:30PM, oddly enough. You rolled your eyes and threw a rag at him. “They don’t dry right on the top shelf if there’s bowls. Dry off whatever’s puddled.”

He nodded, settling into a rhythm as you finished off the last few dishes. It was a comfortable silence, and you soon found yourself humming again.

You frowned at the package in your hands. “What’s this?”

“Jesus, don’t look at it like that,” Katsuki muttered, “it’s just something I made. For….you.”

You glanced up at the board to check the date- February 14th. You looked up at Katsuki, choosing to pointedly ignore the beaming smile coming from several of your classmates behind him. Then, your gaze fell back to the package.

It was tied neatly- a red ribbon around a takeout style box. There was no note attached, so you wouldn’t have had a clue who it was from had he chosen to do this the typical way.

“Don’t think I made ‘em too spicy, but if it is I can just…remake it. Or something,” he muttered.

You glanced back up at the board, then to the box. Carefully, you pulled the ribbon away from the box- its smooth, satin edges soft against your fingertips. You stifled a laugh when you saw what was inside. “Kats, what mold did you use?”

He stared back at you. “Mold? There’s no mold, I don’t need that shit.”

“You… okay that makes more sense,” you replied simply as you pulled out an oblong heart shape. “I was wondering if there was a broken one somewhere that I needed to put out of its misery.”

Katsuki grimaced. “If they’re so shitty, then why don’t I just-?” He lunged for the box, but you held it out of reach- nearly falling out of your seat in the process. You chose to pointedly ignore the scent of his cologne sweeping over you like a tidal wave of…what the fuck.

“Touch them and you die, Sparky,” you stated, taking a bite out of the chocolate. “They’re spicy enough. Thanks.”

“Enough? You want it more spicy?” He raised an eyebrow at you. “You get bright red when you eat my curry.”

“Chocolate’s different,” you replied, “it’s cut with the sweetness. I dunno. But they’re good. Don’t change a thing about ‘em.”

Settling into his seat behind you, he leaned his head on his hand. “Good. Didn’t really taste test anything.”

You didn’t turn around, but simply offered one over your shoulder as you watched Aizawa trudge up to the podium at the front of the room. Absent-mindedly, you shoved the box inside your desk for the time being.

You yelped as a sharp pain rushed through your fingertips, turning around to glare at Katsuki. “What have I told you about the biting?”

“Bakugou, if you can refrain from biting your classmates, that would be appreciated,” Aizawa sighed. “Lest I remind you that drawing blood equals an incident report which also equals a phone call. Neither of us want that.”

Despite the warning, Katsuki still wore his trademark smirk, settling back in his chair and folding his hands together on top of the desk. “No, we don’t,” he replied.

Even with the breeze, the summer heat had draped its suffocating weight across campus and clearly had no intention of moving. This was a type of heat with only one solution- ice cream.

“We’re gonna run out if you keep chugging ‘em like that, bro,” Kirishima whined.

Katsuki, with his third ice pop of the day in hand, snapped back, “it’s called quirk mitigation, Hair for Brains. You want me to drop nitro everywhere I touch?” He took a bite out of the green popsicle.

“Everyone knows you have gloves for that, Kacchan,” Midoriya sighed.

He rolled his eyes and spoke through a mouthful of popsicle. “Yeah, well the gloves are annoying!”

“Is that lime?” You turned the corner, frozen towel in hand. “I didn’t think there were any left.”

“There isn’t,” Katsuki stated simply, taking another bite as he flopped onto the couch.

You frowned. “That’s the last one in the whole freezer? Can I have some then?”

“Ew, gross. Get your own,” Katsuki responded. “Sucks to suck.”

You hummed. “So you’ve chosen violence.”

With a sigh, he stuck the end of the package in his mouth and stood on the couch. “Bring it.”

You grinned, lunging forward and all but tackling Katsuki off the sofa. He hit the ground beneath you with a thud, but quickly rolled out from underneath you. As he tried to stand, you swept a leg, knocking his knees out from under him to pin him again. “C’mon you’re not gonna let me win, are you really?”

Katsuki shook his head, carefully removing the package to not spill any juice beneath your grip. “Like you’d let me live.”

You shrugged, reaching for the popsicle in his hand.

“I feel like someone should get an adult,” Kirishima muttered.

“No,” you responded quickly- almost as quickly as Katsuki.

You shuffled your knees together- at which point Katsuki took the opportunity to flip you again. Unlike your own hands, it only took one of his to pin yours above your head. He held out the popsicle above his head, well out of your reach. “Call it.”

You rolled your eyes and raised an eyebrow at him. “Is a popsicle really worth all this?”

Katsuki rolled his eyes in response and leaned backward to let you up. He extended a hand, exaggeratedly waving it in your face. “I’ll get you one from the convenience store. But I’m not going alone.”

You took the hand offered and stood up straight. “Fine. But you’re buying.”

“You’re pouting, and yet you’re getting what you want,” he sighs as he takes his shoes off the rack.

“You don’t really have to…I was just…”

“You think I’m in the business of doing things I don’t want to do?” Katsuki retied his shoelaces, glancing up at you. “You’re crazy if you think you’re making me do anything. Now get your shoes, before it gets crowded with all the idiots finishing work.”

“I just…I just wanted some of yours,” you muttered.

Katsuki glanced up at you, eyebrow raised. Shoes tied, he stepped forward until only a few inches separated the two of you. “Do you want ice cream, or not?”

You rolled your eyes and nodded. “But not that badly…I just….”

He frowned, holding your chin up and looking over you- searching for something.

“What are you…?”

“Looking for signs you’re an imposter,” he replied simply. “Cause clearly I’m talking to a different person than 30 seconds ago.” He narrowed his eyes at you. “Nothing seems to be wrong, though. So shut it,” he muttered as he gently pressed a kiss to your cheek.

Just as soon as you were about to reach for your shoes, you felt a sharp sting on your cheek as you reeled backward. “Did you just fucking bite me?”

He pointed a finger accusingly at you. “You deserved it, even if you are cute as hell. And you know it. Stop apologizing and move it.”

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #mha #bnha

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mollymauk-teafleak · 2 years ago

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you can set my broken bones and i know cpr

I’ve been mentioning this fic for so long its not even funny but it’s finally here! What I imagine their first time to be like, as intense and messy as they are. As always this is dedicated to and comes with huge thanks to my wonderful gf @hangsters!

Please reblog and comment over on Ao3 if you liked this!

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What's your problem, Kazansky?

Tom is trying to work out the answer to that question when, all of a sudden, it walks through the door.

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What’s your problem, Kazansky?

It was a hell of a question.

Tom didn’t think Maverick had meant much by it, he was just riling him up, business as usual. Snapping and nipping at each other the way they always seemed to when they were forced into close proximity, testing each other’s limits, finding out where the boundaries were. Normal amongst guys like them, the best of the best, bold, young men used to defying the laws of physics as a day job.

But Maverick and Iceman found those boundaries just so they could break them. That wasn’t normal.

It was locker room posturing but when Maverick had said that, Tom’s brain had apparently seized it with both hands, eagerly replaying it over and over to drive him mad. What’s your problem, Kazansky?

Not just the words but the way Maverick said it, his hair slick with sweat and eyes sparking with leftover adrenaline, the collar of his too large flight suit turned up in a way that made Tom want to take a fistful of it. Just round and round in his brain as he tried to focus on his classwork, as he tried to distract himself by working out, as he tried to do anything but think about Pete Mitchell.

It was a hell of a question but at least Tom had answered honestly. Kind of. He wasn’t sure he could lie to Maverick, just take evasive action.

What’s your problem, Kazansky?

You’re everyone’s problem.

Maverick was everyone’s problem, he hadn’t lied, the guy was going to get someone killed one of these days. It was only that Tom probably had a slightly different problem than the rest of them. A different kind of crash and burn was waiting for him the more time he spent thinking about Maverick, goddamn Maverick with that smile and those eyes and that way of looking at Ice’s walls and knowing exactly where the cracks were.

Because Maverick had been honest too. He was dangerous. More dangerous on the ground than he ever could be in the air, at least to Tom. Up there, he knew how to fly right, keep it perfect and seamless to throw off cowboys like Maverick.

But down here, Tom was trapped. Trapped with that fucking crooked smile and his own traitorous brain that didn’t know when to let go of something that was going to ruin him, that refused to learn lessons he’d already had beaten into him.

What’s your problem, Kazansky?

It was a hell of a fucking question.

Being at Top Gun was a lot like being in high school, in a very depressing way.

Tom was back to fighting to prove he was the best, back to his unhealthy studying schedule, back to measuring his self worth on a scoreboard. Back to spending all hours at the gym to try and wear himself out too much to think about another guy.

It really was exhausting to realise how little ground he’d covered since then.

Slider wasn’t happy with him, it had been obvious on his face, when Tom tried to lightly, casually, shrug and say he wasn’t feeling home just yet, he’d stay and work out a little longer, trying to make it sound as though the thought had just occurred to him. Slider knew him far too well to be fooled, his face had fallen into the frown that Ice assumed he must use with his daughters when they tried to tell him they had no idea who’d tracked mud through the house or who’d scribbled in crayon on the walls.

He’d thought for a moment his RIO would dig his heels in, get stubborn the way he only ever did when Ice was doing this to himself. But he’d just sighed and shrugged and muttered something about making sure Tom paced himself, leaving him to it. Leaving Tom feeling absurdly guilty, of course, but he’d find a way to make it up to him.

Making sure he didn’t get kicked out of the Navy and leave him without a pilot would be a start.

So Tom headed down to the gym as the windows were filling with the orange glow of sunset. Breathing easily the way he only could in an empty room, he kicked the treadmill into a setting most people would wince at and lost himself in the act of running. It had always felt good, Tom letting his heart thunder in his chest and his pulse roar through his ears, his muscles burning and his lungs fighting in his chest. He’d spent so many evenings like this when he was younger, just running along the beach without caring where he was going or worrying about saving energy for getting back home. It had been the only way for Tom to satisfy his restless anxiety, at least until he’d learned to fly.

He’d never truly been able to run from the things chasing him. The shouting at home, the slamming doors and fists against the walls, the tension at school, the constant fear of anyone finding out. All those followed him, no matter how fast he ran, even now he was supposed to have outgrown it all.

But it was nice to believe it, for a little while.

At least until it tipped over from pain Tom could bear into pain he couldn’t. Regretfully, he thumbed the button until he dialled down from a headlong sprint to a rapid walk, panting heavily, eventually no longer at risk of hurling on his own trainers, just trembling and gasping and blinking sweat out of his eyes.

There was one blissful moment of silence or at least what passed for silence while blood was scorching through his ears and his heart was throwing itself against his ribs.

Just one though.

“What the hell is your problem, Kazansky?”

This had to be some kind of nightmare, Tom thought numbly. There was no other explanation for why the very man he’d come here to get away from would be standing there right now, towel in hand, eyebrow cocked in a way that was inherently punchable. It had to be a nightmare, on par with the classic turning up late for an exam you didn’t study for or appearing in the middle of the assembly hall naked. God help him, he really was back in high school.

“You trying to kill yourself or something? Jesus Christ…” Maverick scowled, as if he had any right to an opinion on what Tom did with his spare time, “If you’d tripped, that pretty face of yours would have been smeared about a mile across the floor.”

Tom swallowed hard and steeled himself, even as his skin burned and chest heaved and sweat ran in sheets down his face. Maverick was always doing that. Moving in close. Letting his eyes wander. Stretching and flexing when he knew Tom was looking. That pretty face of yours.

Tom had always had guys getting up in his face, that was being in the Navy, that was being a fighter pilot. But this part was new, this part was all Pete Mitchell. Those little jabs that could just be posturing, could just be Maverick’s own tastes, the ones that had been obvious to Tom since he’d first set eyes on the man.

But could so easily be a less than subtle I know. I know exactly what you’re thinking, Tom Kazanksy.

That was the part Tom had no clue how to deal with. That was where the crash and burn was waiting.

So he did what had been working for him so far, what he’d done when Maverick had given him that smile from across the briefing room and when he’d bared those teeth and got nose to nose with him in the locker room, trying to make the Iceman flinch. Tom just set his jaw, didn’t move a muscle in the direction Maverick wanted him and smiled like this was all amusing rather than terrifying.

“Sweet of you to care, Mitchell, but I’m fine,” he turned away from him to kick the treadmill up into a light jog, keeping him out of sight to make things easier, “What are you doing here? Sure there’s a small army of girls at the O Club wondering why there’s no overcompensating shortass doing bad karaoke in their faces.”

He heard Maverick give an exaggerated wince and sigh, “Damn…and here I was trying to make you proud, Ice. I thought good little pilots stayed up all night to make sure they were the best…”

“Realised you couldn’t keep up with me on nice white teeth and charm alone, huh?” Tom gritted his teeth and thumbed the button to take the speed up higher, ignoring the protesting burn in his chest.

He couldn’t see the way Maverick’s eyes crinkled and his grin turned crooked as he laughed but Tom’s turncoat brain filled it in for him anyway.

“Guess not…you really think my teeth are nice?”

Tom’s face burned for a reason other than the punishing pace of his feet, “Yeah. A pretty nice target.”

“There it is,” he laughed again, a highly irritating ease to it like this really was just fun for him.

Maverick slung his towel over the frame of the machine next to Tom. Of course, with the entire rest of the gym completely empty. What would be the point otherwise?Tom wanted to ask what the hell he was doing here. He wanted to ask where Goose was, at least he was a good, affable buffer. He wanted to turn heel and run away. But all of those were different degrees of letting Mitchell win so he just focused on breathing and running, on trying to believe that every heavy step would take him further away from this problem.

“God, you’re doing it again. Kazansky, if you wanna compare dicks with me, we can just go into the showers and get it over with, you don’t need to give yourself a freaking coronary.”

Maybe it was the mention of dicks- something a certain part of Tom’s brain was already doing way too much thinking about with Maverick in those gym shorts- or maybe it was because Maverick had missed but still hit far too close for comfort. Whatever the reason, those words shot right through a chink in the armour and Tom found himself snapping and throwing his fellow pilot a glare.

“Why do you care?”

Maverick arched his eyebrows, like he was just as surprised as Tom at the slip, “Aren’t you the one who told me we’re on the same side?”

“But you don’t care about that,” Tom panted, hating how weak he sounded, trying to speak as he ran.

“Well. Maybe I’m having too much fun with some actual competition,” Maverick quirked his shoulders, “Believe whatever you want, just be careful. Cracking your head open on a fucking treadmill would be a really dumb death for a fighter pilot.”

Figuring out why this was infuriating him so much more than the smug grins and raised fists would probably take more soul searching and therapy than Tom would ever have time for.

“I don’t need Pete Mitchell of all people telling me to be careful,” he growled, turning the speed up just to be an asshole.

Maverick rolled his eyes, “Kazansky, it’s just us here. I mean, for God’s sake…”

That’s what’s worrying me. So Tom clicked his teeth closed and focused his eyes ahead, resolving to pretend this conversation had ended despite all social cues. Whatever was coming at the end of Maverick’s exasperation, if anything even was, he didn’t want to know. He wouldn’t allow himself. The only thing he was allowed to do was run.

And then even that was taken away from him. Because his left foot suddenly caught on the edge of his right sneaker, because suddenly he was lurching forward with no way to stop himself or right himself, because suddenly there was no time to even make a noise or even brace for the pain.

Because suddenly a hand was slamming on the stop button and a surprisingly strong arm was wrapping around his chest and holding fast like the harness in his plane. The track halted and that solid arm was enough that Tom could jerk his foot out and catch himself. It felt like his stomach kept moving though, slamming sickeningly into the bottom of his feet with the realisation of just how close he’d come to a nose dive onto what was essentially a belt sander.

And the realisation that it was Maverick holding him upright.

“Fuck,” there was a fair amount of surprise on the other pilot’s face. His finger was still on the stop button and his arm was still around Tom, “Didn’t I say you were being a moron?”

Tom jerked back like the touch was burning him, so sharply that he nearly went sprawling all over again, “Don’t.”

Maverick frowned, “Don’t? Don’t what, don’t keep you from giving yourself a concussion? Jesus, Kazansky-”

“Why do you do that?” Tom wheezed, trying to get his breath so he could sound less like a pouty child, “You hardly ever use my callsign except when you’re making fun of me. It’s fucking infuriating.”

He wasn’t exactly going to recover from that so Tom just stalked off towards the showers. He’d run circles around his bedroom if he had to, so long as it wasn’t where Pete Mitchell was. Though the man himself seemed determined to make that harder, at his heels like one of those little dogs that just wanted to keep snapping at you, whether it was winning or not.

“What, you want me to call you Iceman? You sound like a Batman villain and not one of the interesting ones,” Maverick was bristling, though Tom couldn’t see why and had no desire to find out.

“What I want is for you to get out of my face, Maverick,” Ice scowled, pulling his sweat soaked shirt up over his head, training his eyes on the locker in front of him, trying to turn the other pilot into a buzzing irritation in the corners of his eye, something small and dismissable.

“For helping you? See, this is what I don’t understand about you,” Maverick squared his shoulders, Tom only knowing because he felt the wary prickle it sent down his spine, “When I’m an ass, you play the game and you bite back. But when I actually try to be nice…I don’t get you.”

“And why do you care about getting me?” Tom asked before realising with a wave of sickening panic that he wasn’t supposed to want that question answered.

That panic made him turn, looking to end whatever this was and head to the showers to probably do something embarrassing about it. But of course that brought him nose to chest with Maverick. Tom expected anger, he expected that smug, crooked grin, he expected gritted teeth and challenge.

But Pete Mitchell just looked uncertain. Not a look Tom had ever expected to see on that face but it suited his features better than it really should.

“Because…because it’s just us here?” he said. Like that was all there was to it. “So…so what's your problem, Kazansky?”

Tom swallowed hard, “You’re dangerous.”

Maverick’s mouth twitched, “And you’re smug.”

“You’re cocky,” Tom took a step forward, bringing them closer.

Maverick lifted his chin, “You’ve got a stick up your ass the length of my arm.”

“And…” Tom took a deep breath, though it didn’t do much to slow his heart, “And this is never going to work out, Mitchell.”

Of all things, Maverick laughed, his eyes so bright it looked like a fever. The way they’d looked when he’d first asked him that hell of a question, when he’d gotten right up in Tom’s face and turned the callsign that was his armour into a joke. The way they probably looked when Mav threw back the throttle in his plane and pulled off some insane, probably illegal manoeuvre that by all rights should have got him confined to quarters or slammed into the ground at mach two. Except this time his hand was outstretched and he was asking Tom to come with him.

“How do you know if you never try?” Maverick cocked his head and grinned.

Tom gritted his teeth, letting go of the last scrap of self control, “God damn you, Mitchell.”

He grasped the shorter pilot by the shoulders and kissed him hard enough to bruise.

Part of him, despite it all, was still expecting Maverick to flinch back in disgust, to shove him back and look at him the way all the other guys had, like there was a world of difference between them and him. Even if it had been them who’d pushed him onto his knees in the first place.

But Maverick only grinned into the kiss, like this was a triumph, gasping, “Forget God. I was kinda hoping you’d have the honour of damning me, Kazansky.”

“Showers,” Tom said firmly, giving Maverick a shove in that direction.

They were alone here, as far as they could tell, but there was no sense in being stupid. Guys like them didn’t survive by being stupid. Plus Tom knew he probably stank. So he yanked Maverick down to the stall furthest from the door and turned the water on high, looking to fill the small, tiled space with the sound of drumming water and some forgiving steam. But he was close enough to hear Maverick undressing behind him, fabric dropping to the floor, dog tags rattling lightly, movements urgent and shameless.

It wasn’t as if Tom hadn’t seen Maverick without his clothes on before, if you were in someone’s squad, you’d see their dick and that was just the way the Navy went. But the way the guy was just tossing his gym shirt and shorts aside like they were just dressing down after a hop, like there was nothing unusual about this. Like this had all been inevitable. Like he’d been thinking about Tom as much as Tom had been thinking about him.

Except Maverick hadn’t been torturing himself over it. Maverick had just gotten in his face and done something about it.

That thought was knocked out of Tom’s head as he was shoved under the water, still wearing his shorts. Thankfully he’d been standing there like an idiot long enough that the old pipes had finally started sputtering out warm water. So at least he wasn’t freezing as Maverick span him and pressed his back against the cubicle wall.

“What are you…” Tom blinked in confusion, watching Maverick sink onto his knees.

Maverick’s eyes narrowed, “You’re not familiar with the concept of a blowjob, Kazansky? You sure looked like you knew what one was when you were eating ice cubes at me in the O Club.”

Tom huffed out an irritated breath, “I’m not familiar with guys pulling me into showers to give rather than get.”

He wasn’t sure why he said that. There was no reason to tell Maverick that his experiences in the navy had never moved much beyond his high school ones, quick flashes that were never worth the shame that rushed in as soon as they were over, men wanting very specific parts of Tom and disregarding everything else about him, like he was a carcass they were dividing up. They wanted his hands but told him not to speak so they wouldn't hear his deep voice. They wanted his willing mouth but closed their eyes. They wanted his trustworthy silence and not to meet their eye in the locker room the next day, they wanted him to know the very simple rules of this and stick to them. They were never hooking up with him, he was just a body for them to put whatever face or hands or voice they wanted over his own.

Tom wasn’t sure why he said that. And he wasn’t sure why it should be any different with Maverick.

But Maverick just gave a derisive snort and wrinkled his nose, “What kind of major league assholes have you been taking to bed?”

He pulled down Tom’s sodden shorts, grinning at the erection that nearly smacked him in the face, “Fuck. Good to know you’ve got something to back up that smug grin, huh?”

“I got plenty,” Tom bared his teeth at him, curving his body a little more so the shower spray broke against his back, shielding Maverick from it.

But droplets still hung heavy in his eyelashes and his hair, clinging to the dark strands and making them shine. Between that and the sharp angles, the glitter in his eyes, he could have been half obsidian, like if Tom reached down and touched him, he might cut his fingers. But he reached down anyway, rewarded by the soft touch of his cheek, feeling his smile in the sweep of his jaw. After the chaos in his brain a few seconds ago, there was something oddly still about this moment. The steady sureness of a decision made with no way to turn back.

“Sure…wanna see what I got?” Maverick smirked, before leaning in and licking up the underside of Tom’s cock.

He inhaled sharply, that line of foreign warmth burning its way along him, “Yes…”

Maverick’s delighted laugh was lower, rougher, cut short as he kissed up and down the considerable length of him, focusing on the head, that spot that made Tom’s vision blur. He toyed with him, something playful in how he warmed him up, in how he let his breath run hot along his skin, in how he got him wet and slick with spit. Like he wanted to hear something and knew he could tease it out of Tom.

And Tom wasn’t about to disappoint him.

“Oh god, please,” Tom moaned, his grip on Maverick’s hair tightening as the other pilot’s hands went wandering between his thighs, “Mav…”

“Something wrong, Kazansky?” he nearly purred, voice smug and breathy. His fingers were still moving.

“You know damn well what,” Tom growled, feeling every nerve in his body thrumming like an out of tune instrument, everything Maverick was doing so much, yet not enough.

“No, no, if you’ve got a critique, I wanna hear it…” Maverick was somehow finding a way to grin and run his teeth along his cock in one smooth motion, “You’ve never been shy about it with my flying.”

“Thats a completely different thing and you know- oh god, come the fuck on, Mitchell.”

With a bark of borderline evil laughter, Maverick finally gave Tom what he needed, taking everything he could into his mouth and wrapping a tight fist around what he couldn’t. After teasing him so effortlessly, he suddenly became too generous, using every trick in whatever book guys like them built up over the years. He hollowed his cheeks, he swirled his tongue, his free hand caressed Tom’s thighs in a way that relaxed those muscles for what had to be the first time in years. Tricks that Tom knew but probably couldn’t execute as well, not that he’d ever be admitting that to Maverick.

Though he felt like he was admitting enough, his body not releasing he had a reputation to uphold in this rivalry that was becoming something very hard to define right now. Tom found the pitch of his voice soaring and plummeting without warning, his head tipping back so the water ran down his face in sheets but he couldn’t make himself care. Almost like if he drowned here, it would be worth it.

The noises coming out of him, the sighs and moans and bitten off curses, he could feel himself wanting to be embarrassed by them, like a muscle reflex. But Maverick’s hands on his balls, his thumb running up his dick, his teasing teeth kept Tom rooted in place. The little voice in the back of his mind that always whispered to him in moments like this, telling him this could ruin everything, had shut up for once. It felt more like a fist drawn back than any real relief but right now, he’d take it.

Tom held out as long as he could, clinging to every single second, because god only knew what was going to happen when this ended. But with Maverick sucking him off with the same infuriating competence he flew with, with the same reckless abandon, he couldn’t even be completely certain how long it had been before he was at the edge.

“Mitchell…” he managed to turn the gasps and moans and growls pouring from him into something like words, “Mitchell.”

Maverick didn’t slow, eyes flashing up at him like a crooked finger. He only took Tom down deeper, as many inches as he could physically fit, relaxing his throat and inviting him in. Tom’s voice broke first, then the tension in him. The moment he hit the deck, everything closed down, lost to the heat that flooded into him and out of him.

The next thing he could really be certain of was a two beat tune of his ass hitting the tile then the back of his head hitting the wall. Maverick was still on his knees, under the spray now too without Tom to be his umbrella. He was grinning, catching the white that had spilled out of the corners of his mouth, lapping it off his fingers, cat like.

“See? Wasn’t that more fun than fighting?” he hummed, diamond droplets in his hair and on those enormous eyelashes.

He looked too beautiful for words.

Tom realised he hadn’t replied for too long, voice breaking as he tried to, “Does that mean we’re buddies now?”

“Fuck no,” Maverick’s eyes glittered, reflecting the falling water with amusement, “I didn’t say all that shit wasn’t fun. Just that this is more fun. God, I’ve been waiting ages to see if you’d punch me in the jaw or fuck me and I’m so glad you went this way, Ice.”

“Yeah, I was waiting to see how things would shake out too,” Tom shifted so he was more comfortable, resting his arms on his knees, “But, technically, I haven’t.”

“Haven’t what?” Maverick paused, folding his legs underneath himself.

“Fucked you. Your place or mine?” Tom felt the corners of his mouth lift.

Maverick brightened so easily, so simply, it was hard to look at. Like flying right into the sun.

“Thought you said this wasn’t going to work, Ice?”

Tom leaned forward, until their lips were brushing, a promise of the kiss he was going to give him.

“Who cares? Like you said, it’s fun.”

Tom knew what a bad idea this was. He knew exactly the size and shape of the pain that was waiting for him on the horizon of it all, how it would hit him with the force of a truck, how he’d probably never be able to run fast enough to get ahead of it.

But Tom couldn’t make himself care. He was more than happy to have Pete Mitchell be his problem.

#top gun #tg86 #icemav #iceman #tom kazansky #maverick #pete mitchell #smut #please reblog and comment!

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mirror-imaged · 6 months ago

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i don't know if i've ever told this story on here but i feel like i should because it's insane and goddamn hilarious in a sort of What. way. but.

i had the somewhat good fortune of finally getting a referral for autism testing, which i hadn't actively been seeking due to not wanting to have the legal complications that come with an autism diagnosis on your record (it's complicated...) but the clinic with the best results kept refusing to get back to my psychiatrist over a period of four months. which sucked but he referred me to another guy for the sake of actually getting results, so i could deal.

i went downtown for this appointment and we ended up in the wrong building, because. the appointment listing was... at the wrong building. it was a four story old house converted into an office space for therapy and it was cool but it was not the right place, so i ended up driving down to the right place after a while and was a bit late.

i was already super anxious due to the lateness, and when we got there the guy was late letting us in too. this guy obviously usually works with younger children and because i was a minor at the time, we had to go there. so we sit down, he asks me some questions about my medical background for context, he asks my dad about my development schedule (which he either was wrong about or obviously didn't remember well) and then he asks my dad to leave the room. he starts talking to me personally and i was not on testosterone at the time, so i got usually clocked as Girl tm.

he asks about my other mental health problems. i kind of go over the list hesitantly, not really wanting to give details for more stigmatized stuff, and when i mention bpd he just. stops me. he asks for more like detail and i give it to him, and i do actually HAVE a bpd diagnosis. my psychiatrist was very supportive of me and my access to help. this assessment guy though, just starts interrupting me and like. telling me i don't actually have bpd because i'm not 18. which, that's not how it works. you don't just develop it the second you're an adult. it's a disorder rooted in childhood trauma. i get kind of emotional pushing back against the claims he's making about my situation and he goes on to say some dumb stuff about how i'm just like experiencing teenage stuff, which i already had experience with from my therapist so i was pretty resistant to it at least but christ.

so after he spends 40 minutes trying to thoroughly debunk my bpd diagnosis and telling me i'd never had psychosis because it wasn't exactly the same as the types outlined in the dsm-v (which, i think he also just had a copy of the dsm-iv in his room. lol) like completely forgetting the human experience is more than a set of rules on a piece of paper. uh. he asks about other psychotic symptoms i'd had, so i start going on about some of the other life experiences i'd had and eventually started opening up about some personal experiences with dissociation that i hadn't been able to talk about with anybody before. he did actually validate those though and somehow had never heard of structural dissociation which is laughable but after this moment where he did something actually helpful for me, he started trying to use that to explain any "gender identity disturbance" i had. which.? was something. like he didn't outwardly say i wasn't really trans, but he did imply it was slightly caused by my dissociative disorder. i don't even know what to say at this point LMFAO

and after that shit went down, in a 3 hour appointment might i add, he finally starts talking to me about the autism stuff. and goes through a checklist on a piece of paper for about 30 minutes total. he calls my dad back in and recaps the entire appointment to him and then after everything, hands me a packet of notes he'd taken and everything we discussed and tells me he's "really unsure about the autism at the current moment and it requires more observation time". MY GUY. THAT'S WHAT YOUR JOB WAS. THAT'S WHAT I WENT THERE FOR. NOT TO GET FAKECLAIMED ON MY BPD AND HALF DIAGNOSED WITH A DISORDER I WAS BARELY THINKING ABOUT AT THE TIME EVEN IF IT WAS CORRECT.

i was pretty fucking pissed by this and went to my psychiatrist a few weeks later with the packet he gave me, kind of like. enraged. and my psychiatrist told me he wanted to take a look at the notes between appointments after we'd discussed what happened, and the next time i saw him after that he told me (knowing me much better than the other guy) that it was some of the weirdest medical reporting and garbage practice he'd ever seen in his entire career. like zero professionalism involved. which was so validating lmfao but holy shit

anyway this is another reason why i hate the medical industry basically but at least it's so batshit i can use it as a fun story. thank you for absolutely nothing

#luca speakin #weird shit tbh #medical ableism is so odd #the way he talked to me was so like 'I see you as a hysterical woman.'#very nasty

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helenaheissner · 9 months ago

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Love During Robot Fighting Time: Chapter 17

Hello, lovelies! Hope y'all are doing well :)

Don't forget you can read three chapters ahead on this story, twenty chapters ahead on "A Dream of Summer Rain", and two chapters ahead on "Magical Girl Exorcist Squad", by becoming a paid subscriber on my Substack or my Patreon!

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And now, back to our regularly scheduled nerdy romcom shenanigans!

***

Zeke

4 Years Ago

“Hey there,” I said as I walked through the Lair, our school’s main cafeteria, renowned for its aggressively mediocre food. It was a wide room divided into two halves, and overlooked an admittedly gorgeous lawn leading to the big white chapel that was on all of our brochures. The lighting was dim in the late evening hours- the cafeteria was closing in less than an hour, but I’d been so busy at the library trying to get caught up on everything that I’d barely even looked at the time. And then my stomach growled and I realized I hadn’t eaten in almost twelve hours, at which point I braved the thousand yard trek from the library to the Lair. I’d managed to acquire a club sandwich for myself and searched far and wide across the cafeteria in search of someone, anyone, I even remotely knew, anything to say I was at least making some goddamn friends finally. I traversed all the way to the far end, overlooking the law, where, atop a pleather seat in a booth eating a caesar salad, I found someone. “It’s Watanabe, right? Don’t we have two classes together?”

The rumpled, exhausted looking boy with the shaggy black hair falling around his face looked up from his salad and his phone and made eye contact with me, seeming legitimately startled that anyone was talking to him. “Oh, uh, yeah, I think so. But, I… Uh, I don’t think I remember your name?”

“Zeke Underhill,” I smiled. “Mind if I sit? This place looks haunted at night, figured it’s better to have strength in numbers.”

He laughed weakly. “Yeah, I suppose so. Uh, go ahead and sit. I don’t know if I’m that great of company, though.”

“I mean you’re here, aren’t you?” I said. “That’s all that’s required.”

“Yeah, but I meant, like, conversationally.” “We’re talking right now, aren’t we?”

He gave another weak laugh, filtered through a snort. “Yeah, I guess. Anything else you wanna talk about?”

“You ready for Professor Eddington’s test next week?”

“We have a test? Already?” Watanabe leaned forward, panic encroaching on his acne-marked face.

“Yeah, he announced it yesterday,” I said.

“Shit.”

“You were there yesterday- I saw you,” I pointed out.

“I… Was distracted.”

“By what?”

He did a conspiratorial double-take, then pulled up an image on his phone and slid it over to me. “I call her Dai Gurren.”

“Oh, awesome!” I said. “Like from Gurren Lagan?”

“Yeah! You a fan?”

“Huge- love anime. Giant robots for days,” I said.

“Awesome!” he said. “What are your favorites?”

“Uh, Gundam, especially SEED and IBO. Raxephon, Mazinger Z, IGPX-”

“I! G! P! X!” he said, fist pumping at each letter. It was certainly something- he’d practically come alive once we’d both started speaking the shared language of nerd. We wound up talking for a while after that, and he invited me to hang out in his dorm’s common room with him the next night to watch Planet With. So, I headed over there at 8 PM, into a beige room with a collection of couches and desks and a plasma screen television adorning the far wall.

A girl was there with him, short and black with great hair and huge… Tracts of land.

“Zeke, this is my girlfriend, Olivia,” he said. “Olivia, this is Zeke, from our class with Eddington.”

“Nice to meet you,” Olivia said, half-heartedly offering a handshake.

I picked up on a disappointed vibe from her before even making hand-contact. “You too. Hey, uh, if you guys wanna have a date night, I can scram-”

“No, it’s fine,” Watanabe said.

I noted the frustrated look on Olivia’s face right away. “Aaaare you sure, Watanbe?”

“Please, call me Frank,” he said. “And yeah, it’s fine. Olivia and I wanted to ask you something, anyway.”

“We did?” Olivia said.

“Yeah, we did,” Frank furrowed his brow. “But not till later. For now, let’s watch this weird freaking show!”

And so we did, though after an episode, Olivia and Frank started making out right next to me. I tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the tv, but then it kept going the entirety of the second episode.

“I’ll see myself out,” I said, getting up from the uncomfortable couch and heading for the door.

Frank pulled himself off of his girlfriend for five seconds and managed to grab me by the back of my shirt. “Wait! WAIT! Not yet!”

I rolled my eyes and gave a mild exhale. “What’s up?”

“Still need to ask you something!”

“Then fire away,” I said, struggling not to laugh.

“Do you wanna join our robotics team?” he asked. “I want at least three of us for it, and based on our conversation yesterday, I’d say you really know your stuff.”

I turned around and looked at Frank, all pleading and hopeful and earnest and enthusiastic, while also noting Olivia’s face- annoyed, frustrated, but some of that was seemingly aimed at herself more than at me.

“Sure,” I said. I mean what the hell, it would be the closest thing I had to a social life. What was the worst that could happen?

***

NOW

Kate stood on her tip toes as she kissed me goodnight under the lamppost on the corner of my street, her lips wet and slick from her lipstick, her tongue entering my mouth as mine entered hers, her hands on my chest as mine squeezed her butt. She giggled, and gave me one more peck on the cheek. “You have a good night, Mr. Underhill?”

“I had a great night, Ms. Calloway,” I said, drinking in the cherry-blossom scent of her perfume. “Sure I can’t convince you to come up for a night-cap?”

“My heart says yes, my brain and body say I’m exhausted after tonight,” she said. “Say hi to Faith for me, though. Let’s all hang out again this week, yeah?”

“Definitely,” I said.

She turned around and started to scamper off, but then pivoted around and ran back to me and kissed me one more time. I stood there, stunned as she ran off again, but I smiled anyway. ‘Hate to see her leave, love to watch her walk away’ as she herself admitted she’d once thought about me.

I ambled up to my apartment, the witching hour long since past, whistling ‘Feel Good Inc’ under my breath as I turned on the hallway light and took off my leather jacket. Kate and I had gotten In ‘N’ Out and eaten our burgers together in the back of her truck while parked on top of a cliff in the Hollywood Hills. We looked out into the city and just… Talked. About us. About the tournament. About Kate’s whole ‘image makeover’ plan. I’d never been great at the self-promotion stuff, but she seemed to be taking to it relatively well.

And then, you know… We made out a bunch. Started getting a little frisky but stopped short of outright fooling around. We weren’t there yet, and Kate admitted she wasn’t sure if she was totally comfortable exploring her body like that at the moment. At least not until she was further along in her transition. Still, it wasn’t an absolute, and she’d even said if there was anyone she’d wanted to explore it with

I jumped when I saw Faith laying on the couch, staring up at her phone while All My Children played on mute from the tv screen. A handle of vodka sat on the coffee-table, significantly reduced in contents compared to when I’d last laid eyes on it. “Hey,” I said, walking over to the couch. “You okay?”

“No,” she said. “I’m drinking alone- does that sound okay to you?”

“It definitely doesn’t,” I said, sitting on the floor in front of the couch, pushing aside the table to make some room for me in this equation. “What’s going on? Who are you texting?”

“I’m not texting anyone,” Faith said, rolling onto her side and facing me. “I’m contemplating texting Olivia.”

“Oh?” I said, swatting her hand away when she tried to reach for the vodka. “What are you contemplating texting her?”

She looked at me with a tortured expression. “Please don’t make me say it.”

“Okay, I won’t make you say it. But if you don’t, then I can’t help talk you down from this proverbial ledge, girl,” I said.

She pouted. Which was in no way cute, definitely not, I definitely wasn’t still thinking that about her. Not in the slightest. “I miss her.”

My jaw dropped, and I blinked. Hard. “What?”

“I… She… I miss her.”

“You… Miss her. After what she did to you, you miss her?”

“She apologized,” Faith said weakly.

“After what she did to Kate, you miss her?”

“Kate started it,” Faith said with a wave of her hand.

My eyes narrowed.

“Okay, that’s not a great line of internal logic, I know,” she said, sitting up and crossing her legs. “But like… Kate did provoke her.”

“What are you gonna say next? That you provoked Olivia into cussing you out when you-”

“Don’t go there, Zeke,” Faith snapped. “And don’t… Don’t make that comparison, please.”

“Okay, but can you please consider this from my perspective for a moment?” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Olivia has now been weird and hostile about two trans girls coming out to her- one is my best friend, the other is my girlfriend.”

Her eyes, previously fixed on our rotating ceiling fan, shot towards me. “Girlfriend?”

“Y-yeah,” I said, flinching at her intensity. “We’re… Uh, well, we’re putting labels on it now.”

“How long has that been a thing?”

“About,” I started, then checked the clock on the homescreen of my phone, “Five hours?”

“I see.”

“What?” I asked.

“... Nothing.”

“Don’t do that, Faith,” I said, “If you’ve something to say, please just say it.”

“...”

“Faith.”

“...”

“Faith!” I said. No, no, stop getting angry with her- she’s drunk, you’ve dealt with drunk people plenty of times without losing your temper. She’s drunk and she’s lovesick and she’s dealing with the uncomfortable truth that someone she loved might not exactly be the best person ever.

Then again, it wasn’t like I was in any way unbiased where Olivia Root was concerned.

I inhaled and exhaled through my nose, letting the fresh air filter up into my brain and clear out all the junk. “Actually, it’s okay. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through with all this, you don’t have to tell me anything that you don’t want to tell me.”

“But I do wanna tell you, I just… Can’t,” she said, looking down at me, hair framing her face beautifully, freshly-shaven legs stretched across the couch…

NO, NO, BAD! I thought instantly. You have a girlfriend. Do not check out Faith like that. You are not gonna be like Dad. “Okay,” I said, “If you can’t, then you can’t. Just please, please don’t text Olivia the ‘I miss you’ text- I’m really worried about what’s down that road.”

She nodded sagely… And then hiccuped. I suppressed a chuckle

She failed to suppress hers, which I didn’t not think was cute. She’s. Just. A. Friend. I repeated the mantra in my mind over and over again.

“How was your date?” she asked.

“Really nice,” I said.

She winced. I squinted. Was she… Okay, no, no, no, no. Don’t read into that. Just don’t. Nothing good down that road either.

“Kate really is something, isn’t she?” Faith asked.

“Yeah,” I smiled, the image flickering in my mind of her on my lap in the back of that truck, the city below us and the stars above, all the time and opportunity in the world. I felt like I could be whoever I wanted to be when I was around her, and I knew she felt the same about me. “I’m… I’m glad you two have become friends.”

She gave a smile I couldn’t help but think looked a bit bitter, and said, “I am too.”

That was when both of our phones went off. We checked them, and I saw an alert from the robot fighting tournament committee. Next week’s fights had been announced. Faith and I’s next fight had been announced.

“Oh, crap,” we both said at the same time.

***

9 Months Ago

“Hey, uh, Zeke?”

“What’s up, Faithy?” I said, sitting at the kitchen table and eating a plate of turkey sausage and scrambled eggs while scrolling through some onboarding documents on my laptop that I had to read for a temp job that started tomorrow. Help getting a new type of passenger plane ready- they needed extra workers for a few months, but there was no chance of it leading to anything full-time. Perfect, as far as I was concerned.

Faith was having a bit more trouble finding temp jobs since she started her transition a few months back- nobody said out loud they didn’t wanna hire her because she was trans, but it was hard for her- or me, for that matter- to take it any other way when she was a bloody genius engineer and yet they kept hiring other folks from our graduating class who I knew weren’t as smart as her.

Such as me, for example.

“Will you take me bra shopping?” she asked. She stood in the doorway to her room, wearing a baggy black and gold West Point football jersey over her long red skirt. Interesting fashion choice in the middle of the last gasp of the baking summer heat.

I nearly spat out my black coffee. “Um… Yes?”

“Really? You mean it? I don’t wanna inconvenience you-”

“I’m just a little confused as to why you want me to go with you. Did you suddenly forget how to drive?”

“No, it’s not that,” Faith said. “I just… Look, my breasts are budding and my nipples are all poking through my tops, but I don’t really pass yet, so I’m kinda scared to go bra shopping alone, okay?”

I tilted my head, looking at the five-foot-three-inch girl with the perfect hair and the perfect makeup, and sincerely wondered how anyone could see anything other than a young woman. “Alright, sure. Just gimme a few minutes.”

“Are you sure- I know you’ve gotta read and sign all that stuff by tomorrow-”

“It can wait a few hours,” I said, closing my laptop and standing up.

As I made my way for my bedroom to put my computer away, Faith asked, “Can I hug you?”

She’d been asking that a lot, lately. “You know you don’t always have to ask, right?”

“Yeah, but, I… I don’t wanna make anyone uncomfortable,” she said, looking at her feet as they traced the surface of the floor.

I smiled gently. “You could never make me uncomfortable, Faith.”

“I did that one time, when Olivia and I kept making out right next to you-”

“Yeah, but that’s her fault for being a jackass,” I said.

Faith glared at me.

“Sorry,” I said, “Forgot I wasn’t supposed to do that.”

I stepped around her, but then she grabbed a fistful of the back of my shirt again. I chuckled, then turned around and hugged her.

And then I felt something, two somethings, poking my chest.

My eyes bulged. “Uh, Faith-”

Her eyes did the same, and she leapt off of me. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I said, laughing nervously, scratching the back of my head.

Silence, so awkward it belonged in an episode of The Office, sat over the room.

Finally, Faith broke it: “Well, uh, do you get the point now?”

My mouth curved up into a smile.

“Or do you need another poke?” she said, looking ready to mug for the proverbial camera.

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Just the tips, right?” she said.

And I laughed, waaaaayyy harder than I should have at puns that stupid. And she giggled at her own joke, swaying back and forth as she stood there, light from the window scattering around her hair like a brilliant halo, framing her in all her awkward, ridiculous, degenerate, glory. And I saw her. I saw HER. And she was the same person I’d met all those years ago, but everything that had always been good about her- her heart, her humor, her sincerity- had all been amplified twenty fold and was now wrapped up in a very pretty package.

A shot of emotion, hot and fierce and downright ravenous, went through my heart and pumped through the rest of my body. Yearning, desire, attraction, all slamming into me like a violent tide.

Oh, crap, I thought.

***

Present Day

The names ‘George Gregson’ and ‘Pendulum’ loomed large in the robotics community. Winning five championships and only having four total losses in the professional circuit to your name over a decade-spanning career tended to have that effect. Faith and I had been lucky enough to not have to face him at all our freshman season, and that he’d been knocked out of the championships due to mechanical failure in the semi-finals.

Yes, that’s right- Kate had beaten the guy. On a technicality- his engine just overheated and shorted out within ten seconds of the match starting. Kate hadn’t landed a single blow against the guy before experiencing victory by default, something even she admitted was pretty hollow. But it was also the only reason she’d gotten to the finals. Which was probably the only reason Faith and I had won last year, because I was convinced we would lose to Pendulum in a fair fight. Olivia and Faith had a similar opinion on our prospects against Gregson last season.

And given Gregson already had a 3-0 record and was basically guaranteed a spot in the championship bracket, I saw no reason for this season to be any different.

Faith and I stood in our rented garage in Culver City, looking at Dai Gurren, wondering what, precisely, the hell we were going to do.

“This is bad, Zeke,” Faith said.

“I know it’s bad, Faithy,” I replied.

“Please don’t call me that anymore,” she said, somewhat curtly.

I blinked. “Ooookay,” I said, hoping the bite wasn’t too obvious in my voice.

If it was, she didn’t notice, or at least pretended not to. “We need to win both of our remaining fights if we want a spot in the championship.”

“I am aware of this,” I said, breaking the power tools out of their plastic containers. Drills. Lots of drills. Appropriately enough. “So, Ms. Chief Engineer/Team Captain: how do we approach this?”

Faith took out a drill and pulled on a pair of safety goggles. “We work with what we’ve got. Also, text Kate the address and tell her to meet us here. I have an idea.”

I fired off the text, and then Faith and I started disassembling the front of Dai Gurren and removing the maw of six small drills. We replaced them with much larger, thicker drills, all made of titanium and sharp enough to puncture sheet iron. And which, hopefully, would stand up to Pendulum’s swing of death a bit better.

Pendulum was the type of unconventional bot that worked primarily through raw power. It was tall and cylindrical, painted jet black and made of carbon steel. Down the middle was a hammer that was normally nestled safely inside a slot, held in place by a magnet, but a flip of Gregson’s control panel caused the magnet to turn over to a reversed charge magnet that repelled the metal hammer with a terrifying concussive impact. I’d seen it undercut bots and tear their faceplates off, shatter weapons and crush wheels and brutalize engines. It was perfectly designed to destroy flippers and spinners, and most drills and other melee weapons weren’t safe to use in a direct assault. You had to come at Pendulum from an angle, stay out of its range. That was its only real weakness- the angle of its attack was limited to what was right in front of it.

Which would be less of a problem if Gregson weren’t also a ridiculously good driver. So good, the only driver I could imagine having even a fraction of a chance against him was…

Entering the garage right that moment, wearing ripped jeans and a purple tank top, her hair tied back and her face sans-makeup. “Hello there!”

I smiled. “General K-”

“We don’t have time,” Faith said. “Hey, Kate. Did you bring the stuff?”

“Poly’s in my truck,” she said, hitching her thumb back and pointing to the parking lot outside. “I’m not crazy about incurring a bunch of damage outside the box though.”

“Then it’s a good thing this will be a no-contact match,” Faith said. “We just need to work on our driving.” She pointed at me without making eye contact. “We both do.”

Okay, this was getting a little ridiculous. But now probably wasn’t the time or the place, so I let it slide.

We cleared out the workstation, swept the floor clean, and put the bots on the ground: Polyphemus, Dai Gurren, and Gurren, our minibot. It was barely the size of Faith’s handbag, with a single drill protruding from the front. But we would need every weapon in our arsenal if we had a snowball’s chance in hell on this one.

“Ready?” Kate asked from the other side of our garage.

“Ready,” Faith said.

“Ready,” I said, not feeling at all ready. This, a match against Kate, felt… Wrong. Even a training match, a glorified game of two-hand-touch football, felt distinctly off when fought against my girlfriend.

Which could pose a serious problem going forward.

Polyphemus’ ax was still attached, meaning it was moving slower than it would normally. Which was good- Pendulum’s slow and steady speed was one thing we could plan for. Even still, Kate hurdled towards us, dividing our two bots down the middle and pivoting left very suddenly to aim for DG. Faith went on the retreat, letting Poly chase DG in circles before suddenly changing direction while I went after Kate from behind.

That was when Kate shot left again and went on the retreat; Poly slid over to my feet and skidded into a sharp turn as both DG and regular G were giving chase.

I flanked wide and went around the room counterclockwise, going towards Poly at its center before banking right and connecting, very lightly, with its wheel. Faith did the same with its other side.

“You got me!” Kate said. “Great job!”

“Thanks!” I smiled.

“It’s not good enough,” Faith said.

“Huh?” I said.

“We need to be on the offensive the entire time, both of us. Gregson is relentless- he will not give us the chance to get our bearings. Let’s go again.”

And because she was, objectively speaking, correct, I nodded, and we went again.

Kate didn’t make it easy on us, forcing us to scramble for enough ground to try and attack her from the sides, but after a few minutes we managed it.

But it wasn’t good enough for Faith, so we went again.

And again.

And again, and again, and again, a few more times after that, until we all ran out of fuel.

“Okay, I think we’re done for the day,” I finally said.

“What are you talking about?” Faith said.

“We can’t expend any more of our fuel budget if we wanna be able to comp Katie for helping us today,” I said. “Which you agreed to do- in fact, you suggested it.”

“That… Okay, yeah, fair enough,” Faith said.

“Good fight, y’all,” Kate said, walking over and taking her goggles off, then taking mine off of my face and poking my nose playfully. “Boop.”

I smiled, and probably looked like a huge dork.

Kate went to do the same with Faith, but swatted her hand away.

“Sorry,” Kate said.

“You really need to work on not touching people all the time without warning!” Faith said with a nasty grimace and a clenched jaw.

Kate’s eyes dropped. “Sorry.”

My eyes narrowed. “Little hostile there, Faithy, don’t you think?”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that!” she snapped.

I balked, then raised a finger and took a step forward. “What is going on with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what aren’t you telling me?” I said. “Because it’s clearly something- you’ve said as much.”

“I also said I didn’t wanna tell you.”

“And that’s fair. But what isn’t fair is you taking out your frustration over that fact on me and especially on my girlfriend!”

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” Kate said, holding up both hands and offering a conciliatory smile.

“Like hell it isn’t- you came all the way over here to help us, your competition, do better in a fight, in spite of the risks to your bot and having to take time away from your own stuff to do this,” I said, “And Faith rewards you by acting like a drill sergeant and then hissing at you!”

“Oh for- don’t do that! Don’t use your girlfriend like a talking point in your argument. Your problem is with me, don’t make it about how she and I are trying to establish boundaries!” Faith said.

“You both know I’m standing right here, yeah?” Kate said flatly.

“Yes!” Faith and I both shouted.

Kate stared at us… Actually, glared is probably the better word. “I can’t believe I’m the rational one in this room right now. That literally never happens.”

I winced. “You’re right, I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine,” she said, “This isn’t actually about me. You both think it is, but it’s really not.”

“Kate,” Faith whined.

“What does that mean?” I asked. Oh no. Oh no no no.

“It means-”

“Don’t!” Faith snapped again. “It is not your place to tell him that!”

“Tell me what?!” I shouted. Please, say it ain’t so.

Kate breathed in through her nose slowly, then out through her mouth with equal speed and purpose. “Tell you guys what- I’m gonna run to the gas station on the corner, get us all some sodas. And while I’m gone, you two can hash this out.”

“Please don’t,” Faith said.

“Watanabe, seriously, it’s time to face the truth,” Kate said. “It really will set you free.”

She turned on her heel and left before either Faith or I could stop her.

Leaving the two of us there with nothing but the proverbial elephant in the room. Dread gnawed at my stomach lining like mud wasps digging into my flesh. It couldn’t be what I thought it was. There was no way.

But it would explain… Well, a lot of stuff, honestly.

I took off my work gloves and heaved a sigh. “So…”

“So?”

“So.”

“Yeah,” Faith said.

“Yeah what?”

“I…”

I closed my eyes. “Faith. We have the fight of our lives coming up on Friday, and we need to be a functional team when that happens. If you’re just stressed about that, then that’s fine, I’ll accept it. But I need you to talk to me.”

“I… Can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both?”

“Faith.” There was no other explanation. Nothing else made sense. But if she didn’t say it… It would keep eating away at her. But I still had no right to force her to say anything. “Maybe I should just go home, let you cool off.”

I started towards the exit, then felt a tug on the back of my shirt.

I turned my head, and saw her clinging to me, face scrunched up, tears falling out her eyes. “Wait.”

So I waited.

“I like you, Zeke,” Faith said, half a whisper and half a scream. “I like you a lot, and I have for a long time. Since… Before I was even living as the real me. You’ve always been there for me, propping me up when I just wanted to fall down, and… I can’t picture myself without you. I like you.”

My back went stiff, and I didn’t turn around. I… It just… Hearing that, from her, after all this time… It sent a hundred million different thoughts pinballing inside my brain simultaneously. The first one was an instinct, to turn around and kiss her, to sweep her off her feet and make violent love to her on the floor.

The next one, far louder, far angrier, was ‘I won’t be like Dad.’

“Why… Why did you wait so long?” I asked, still not facing her.

“I was scared,” she said, still not letting me go.

“Scared of what?”

“That you wouldn’t like me back. That I’d ruin things between us. That you’d reject me like Olivia did and then I’d… Then I’d be all alone.”

The words screamed inside my mind: I could never reject you. I could never let you be all alone. They were followed by the words, You only ruined things by waiting until now to tell me.

I gulped as I thought that, disgust coagulating inside my core. What is wrong with me- she’s pouring her heart out to me, and I need to say something. Anything.

“Do you hate me?” Faith asked.

“I could never hate you,” I said, and it was the truth. “You’re my best freaking friend.”

“And that’s all?” she asked.

“I… I don’t know what to say to that,” I said. “I’m with Kate- you know I’m-”

“I know. And she’s… She’s a gem. I was wrong about her. The fact that she’s okay with me having this conversation alone with her boyfriend is… It says a lot, I think. Especially about how trusting she is.”

“I agree. So you can see why it’s important that neither of us betray that trust,” I said evenly. Finally, slowly, I turned around.

I regretted it immediately upon seeing the tears flooding out of her. Faith said, “You’re right. And I don’t wanna hurt her like…”

I knitted my eyebrows together. “Like?”

“Like Olivia did with me. I don’t… I don’t wanna hurt either of you, and I feel like the longer I stay here, the longer I do this, the more likely it will become that I do.”

I reached for her shoulders. “That’s not gonna happen.”

She pulled away, stepped out of my reach, and said, with the guiltiest voice I’d ever heard, “It already has. You don’t even know that you’re crying too, do you?”

“W-what?” I reached for my eyes and found the water leaking out.

“This was a mistake,” she said, taking a few more steps back. “I’m a damn coward and this was all a mistake. I- I’m sorry, Zeke. I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you all this, and I’m sorry for putting you in this position. I know how much you don’t… Don’t wanna be like your dad. This isn’t fair to you. Or her. Or anyone.”

She started for the back exit, and I started after her. I reached for her.

She pivoted and swatted my hand away. “Don’t follow me. Please just… I need to be alone right now. Go to Kate, Zeke. Go be with your girlfriend. You deserve someone like her.”

She ran out, and left me there, too stunned to say anything or move. By the time I regained my senses and chased her out into the parking lot, she’d already gotten in our car and started driving away.

“Um… What just happened?” Kate said.

I jumped, turned around, and saw her walking up behind me with a can of soda in one hand and a plastic convenience store bag in t’other one.

She hugged me without asking- she didn’t need to anymore. And right then… I needed it. I just needed it. “I messed up.”

She held me close and tight, and we stood there a while under the harsh light of day.

#original fiction #serial fiction #trans woman #web novel #wlw #trans protagonist #action #comedy #romance novel #romance #romcom #romance author #indie author #bisexual protagonist #love triangle #enemies to lovers #friends to lovers #polyamory #polycule

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graysongraysoff · 2 years ago

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i know the lord works in mysterious ways but like okay

i have a deep pathological phobia of needles, right? especially of getting my blood drawn

and this year i finally worked up the courage to find a primary care doctor and undergo a blood test after ~6 years or so

and the reason i waited so long was because my last primary care appointment was such a nightmare and getting my blood work done was so particularly awful

anyway so i put my big girl panties on and i scheduled the goddamn doctor’s appointment and i got my blood work done and everything and i did it all by myself and no one had to hold my hand and i didn’t even cry i did so good and then a week later i got my results back and my thyroid is, as i mentioned before, fucked up again (i had hypothyroidism as a kid and I Guess It’s Back Now)

i had a follow-up appointment today and they wanted to redo my blood work to test my levels more thoroughly before deciding what dosage of synthroid to put me on but i panicked and asked if there was any way we didn’t have to do that today

and i’m kicking myself now bc all i did was postpone the inevitable, they’re gonna start me on the lowest dose of synthroid but i still have to get that blood work redone in a month regardless and idk i know the universe is vast and uncaring but i can’t help but be like

this is what i get??? for finally facing my fear and doing the Grown Up Thing??? my hypothyroidism returns and now i have to get blood work done at least once a month until we figure out what dose of meds i should be on and then i still have to get it done twice a year just to keep track???

literally after my hypothyroidism corrected itself the first time, around the time i started middle school, i would actively not tell my mom if i was feeling tired or sluggish bc i was so afraid of having to go back to the fucking endocrinologist, like that’s how deep this fear runs. and this is what i get. for being a grown-up and trying to take care of myself. like come on man.

#i want to Succumb to the thyroid depresh now i want to lie down on my bed and stare at the ceiling for eight hours #iatrophobia #trypanophobia

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60b3r · 2 years ago

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Job-seeking is (tedious): the paperwork.

One thing that demonstrates the utter worthlessness of the capitalist form of "freedom" is the job search. Education institutions like schools and universities are not an exception for this, since they operate like a business, albeit under the label of foundation. It's your freedom to beg employers for a job, and their freedom to reject you. If you lose, you starve. If they lose, they can always restart the hiring process, load their wage slaves with more tasks, or outsource the task out to even more underpaid and overworked honorary teachers.

I will start with the online application process. First, I need to make an online account in order to apply to a job I probably won't even hear from. Now, my profile requires a 16-character long password that contains at least 1 capital letter, 1 number, 1 unique character, 1 strand of unicorn hair and 1 toenail of a dragon. I'm glad my potential future employer is looking out for me and protecting my account from hackers who spend their day applying jobs for unsuspecting teachers with only a day's catering budget in their bank account. Somehow, they also do not keep a good method of ensuring that the personal details I provided during the registration process confidential. It seems like every now and then, whenever one of their IT guy left the job, they changed the recruitment and procurement management system as well. That didn't take into account the possibility of the former IT guy running around in the wild carrying sensitive information about your previous applications, which can be dangerous if fallen into malicious agents.

Also, I'm tired of hearing the Paleozoic advice of "dress up nice and turn in your resume in person." In the internet age, this usually does nothing except make you look like a confused dinosaur. Most of the time, all you're doing is handing your resume to a clueless reception officer who knows zero shit of what to do with it. The rare occasion that this actually works is when it is a tiny local course or homeschooling or you have connections to some higher-ups who already work in a small university.

After my account is made, I can finally attach the Word document containing my cover letter/resume... and also re-type my entire resume in separate boxes. You want to know my education, skills and previous experience? Why can't you check the resume that you already made me provide? Just a thought. Oh, and as if I haven't spent too much time already, they also require me to do an 150-question personality analysis (that probably won't even been seen by human eyes). One of the school I've applied to even gave me a mandatory simple addition questions (like 420+69) and write only the last digit as an answer. That useless test lasted for 45 minutes and the computer auto-generated the questions. HR departments seem to have a huge array of tests that are designed more to function as a literal stress test rather than actual performance benchmarking.

The curious part, even when it was just another paperwork to fill out before an interview (let alone the actual salary negotiation, which was yet to be scheduled) they have the audacity to ask for: a copy of my ID, my social security number, my tax-filling number, my bank account number, and to top it all off, my mother's maiden name. What the actual fuck are you trying to do here, getting a familial background check of potential candidates, or gaining access to stupid teachers' empty bank accounts? They also seem to be so kaypoh when it comes to the number of siblings I have. That doesn't seem to have anything to do with my professional and academic capability to perform teaching and research, does it?

I've also replied to job postings where after you send off your online resume through a website and asked a couple of screening questions, they required you to come in physically and fill out a goddamn paper application that had the exact same information as my resume, plus they also require me to sign a statement of faith acknowledging that their school is a closely-affiliated religious school and I would be okay with that. Well yes, I might be okay with you teaching my future students religion (since that is none of my business) but please leave the Bible teachings outside my evolutionary biology class. This has happened with every single interview I've had after my first interview at a Catholic school, which was surprisingly minimal in terms of such childish religious propaganda.

It's beyond infuriating to come there and force a respectful tone after you've handed them the email with the resume, filled out the online application which included basically another full typed resume, only to be told that they require an in-person paper application WITH the signed statement of faith as well. Since you seem to only want someone with a belief in Jesus AND specifically follow your tenets of your church ONLY, why don't you just come to the church board you own and paste your job ad there, above all things?

While most will talk about how universities and schools are in shortage of talent, that capitalism in the management promotes individuality and protects minorities, ironically valuable individuals and underrepresented minorities cannot find actual work. Employers everywhere look for a uniform type of employee: fun and extraverted (but not too loud or close to the students), smart only in "the right way", diverse (but not really crossing the school values), striving for leadership (but somehow complacent enough to be shoved around), blind to the pointlessness of careerist struggles, and conformist to an extreme. A good employee intuits what is expected of them, and acts with blind loyalty. Least of all is a good employee an individual. How can we progress our education if the teachers and lecturers working across the industry are procured in such cruel ways?

#antiwork #jobseeking #hrd #resume #employment #jobless #application #recruitment #frustration #education

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erin-bo-berin · 2 years ago

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just read your “this isn’t goodbye” and would absolutely love a fluffy follow up/part 2 where maybe steve goes to visit reader at school or the reader is home for the holidays and it’s just really cute and fluffy please?

Yes, yes! I couldn’t handle leaving it like that cause I was crying while writing it it broke my heart 😭 I’m not sure how it works everywhere, but I know of some colleges that are through with the semester before Thanksgiving until beginning of January, so it’s like an entire month off, so that’s what I’m gonna have it be like, just to clear up any confusion.

But yes all the fluff for this couple!

We Made It

Part 2 of This Isn’t Goodbye

Steve Harrington x Reader

You hadn’t told Steve you would be home for the holidays. Well, that’s a lie. He knew you would be home, he just didn’t know when.

He’d figured probably sometime in December, maybe closer to Christmas. He didn’t think he’d have the opportunity to see you for Thanksgiving or that you’d be home for an entire month.

You’d enlisted the kids’ help in surprising him. So, they had poor Steve out driving around for the last hour, while you awaited in the basement of the Wheeler household—most known as the home base for the group.

You heard footsteps and raised voices from upstairs and you waited in anticipation to finally see your boyfriend for the first time since the end of July.

It had been a long four months. Sure, you talked on the phone all the time. But due to Steve’s busy work schedule, hauling teens around town and your classes, he’d never had the chance to visit this semester. Talking to him was nice, you loved the sound of his voice, but you’d missed seeing him in person. Missed smelling his intoxicating scent, a mixture of his cologne, hair products and just him.

“Why did I just spend an hour driving you idiots around town if you couldn’t make up your mind where you wanted to go?” Steve’s voice carried down to you from upstairs, “We’d get to the movies, then you decided you wanted to go to the park. We get to the park and then suddenly you’re hungry. We get to the goddamn diner and then all of a sudden you wanted to go rent a movie! You’re lucky I didn’t ring your necks! Where are you guys going?”

“Just follow us,” Mike said.

You heard half a dozen footsteps on the stairs and soon the teens appeared, grinning like mad.

“Hey, come back here! I’m not finished with you!”

Steve’s footsteps followed next and when you came in view, he stumbled slightly, shocked to see you.

“Y/N?!”

His earlier annoyance was gone and his face split into a wide grin.

“You’re home!”

He practically went flying off the stairs and for you, picking you up and spinning you around as he hugged you.

“Surprise!” Dustin smirked.

“Was this why you guys had me driving all around town?”

“We wanted to make sure she had time to get here,” Max smiled.

“Okay, I take it all back. You guys aren’t so bad,” he smiled, in their direction, his arms still tight around you.

“Come on guys, let’s give the love birds some privacy,” Lucas said, herding his friends upstairs.

“When did you get in?” Steve asked, pulling you down to sit with him on the couch.

You put your legs in his lap, situating yourself before answering.

“About half an hour ago. I’m yours for an entire 5 weeks.”

He looked so shocked and happy that you couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re done with the first semester?”

“Mhm. Finished my exams earlier this week, just in time for Thanksgiving. Classes don’t resume until after New Years. You’re going to get so tired of me.”

“Never,” Steve smiled, “So what’s the updates on the grades?”

You usually kept Steve updated on grades you made on tests, essays, but hadn’t yet let him know your course grades. It meant so much to you to know that he was so invested in knowing about little things like this.

“Three A’s, one B.”

“That’s my baby girl!” he praised, giving you a high five, “I knew you could do it.”

“I’m just thankful to get a B in the mandatory science course. It doesn’t even have anything to do with my degree! It’s just one of those “freshmen have to take it” courses, but it was hard.”

“It may not be an A, but I’m still damn proud of you for getting a B,” he said, lacing his fingers through yours.

“So, what would you like to do during break?” you asked, shifting, so you could rest your head on his shoulder.

“Uh, how about everything?”

“Everything huh?” you laughed.

“Well, first, the big gang Thanksgiving is being held by Joyce and Hopper this year, so of course we’re going to that. I’m going to eat so much pumpkin pie.”

“You and me both,” you agreed.

“Then we have a week to just lay around being full and happy while we eat Thanksgiving leftovers. We can go Christmas shopping. I promised I’d take the kids.”

“Aw that’s sweet.”

“You’re definitely coming with us though,” he said.

“Definitely.”

“We have to go ice skating at that new rink one town over. We can even invite the kids.”

“Sounds like you want to hang out with them more than you do with me,” you teased, knowing that was far from the case.

“They kinda ended up becoming attached to me at some point.”

“Not that you mind, of course.”

“Eh, well,” he joked, laughing at the look you gave him.

You knew him better than that.

“What else?” you promoted.

“Hmm. We definitely have to bake Christmas cookies. Decorate the tree. Make some snow angels and snowmen when it snows. Have a snowball fight. We must go see Santa.”

“We must?”

“Of course! How else will Santa know what I want for Christmas?” Steve protested.

“Well, how can he get me what I want when I already have the best present?” you smiled, leaning up to kiss him.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” Steve grinned, resting his forehead against yours.

“I am too.”

“Hey Y/N,” he whispered.

“Hmm?”

“We made it through the first semester.”

“Yes,” your smile matched his own, “Yes, we did.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #stranger things blurb #stranger things fic #stranger things fluff

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tumbling-darkling · 4 years ago

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You Can’t Punch a Ghost

AO3

A classic Danny Phantom and My Hero Academia Crossover where Danny ends up in Japan by accident and needs to figure out how to get back home. Easier said than done of course. It helps that Danny is ridiculously OP and may be able to help out during his time there.

Danny knew about natural ghost portals, how they were very random, rarely showed up outside of ectoplasmic hot spots, and mainly only affected the unluckiest of people in terms of tearing them from this familiar time and space and spitting them out into something completely different. He also knew the ones in the ghost zone were ones you don’t go in willingly unless you want to ditch the world you know so well and never want to be found again.

So imagine his goddamn surprise when one decides to fuck up his life before he even gets a chance to process what the fuck was happening.

“This is honestly a new low, I mean seriously. I was pretty sure I was going to die again from a heart attack when I saw your ugly face. I mean, it’s not as low as the whole cloning incident, which I am still rightfully pissed about,” Danny hissed, shooting an ectoray in Vlad’s general direction, “but watching me sleep? Didn’t you already plant enough cameras in my house to do that from your castle?”

“I was not watching you sleep, Daniel. I had simply shown up to wake you up,” Vlad hummed as he dodged the ray, finally slowing down after the long chase Danny had given after the froot loop.

“Oh, so now it’s your goal too to absolutely ruin my sleep schedule, huh? The rest of the ghosts already cause enough grief, and now you’re doing it too? I have you scheduled in for times after NOON. Go back to bed and let me get at least an hour's worth,” Danny groaned in annoyance. Did he seriously just drag him all the way out here to tell him he wanted to wake him up? He didn’t have to deal with this, honestly he never thought he would see the day that Vlad would stoop to his level of petty pranks.

“Aren’t you even remotely curious about what I have to say?” Vlad asked.

“Nope,” Danny replied bluntly. What a waste of time.

“What about the fact that the thin veil around amity is spreading?”

Danny pauses, then glanced over, “again. You chose to wake me up by staring at me, then dragged me all the way out here, to tell me that? There is a special device. Called cell phones. Which I have. Which you have the number of. That you could have used,” Danny spat in the most condescending tone he could muster.

“You would have just ignored my texts or calls.”

“Yeah. Because this doesn’t seem like my problem? Maybe the veil spreads on its own then returns to Amity? Like natural patterns or whatever. It’s not causing issues. The worst is that natural portals show up and ghosts slip through, but they just end up back in amity. Even if they didn’t, your little bounty proved there’s other, less competent, but other ghost hunters that will deal with it. Eventually. I’m going back to bed,” Danny spun around and aimed to head back home.

He was surprised by the plasma ray to his back that shot him out of the sky with a yelp as he crashed to the ground. He snarled, taking Vlad’s invitation to fight as he shot back into the sky and threw an ectoplasmic punch into his gut. Vlad split into clones before Danny managed to land a punch and blasted him again, “you have no respect for responsibility, I was giving you a chance to prove yourself and you threw it away like the child you are. How you managed to obtain-!”

Danny shot a series of rays into Vlad’s clones, destroying them before he tackled the real one with a snarl, cutting him off, “oh fuck off with your tests! I don’t answer to you! You aren’t my dad, my mentor, or anything I will ever respect! Get that through your thick skull you psychotic froot loop!” Vlad grabbed him by the arm and threw him off, but that wasn’t very effective as Danny just spun in the air and slammed right back into the asshat, sending them both backwards and through something… that sent off a chill that ran down Danny’s spine.

Danny barely registered what he just did when Vlad slammed him against a building and disappeared, Danny’s vision swimming as his powers shorted out from the sudden pain and he reverted back to Fenton. Then he dropped into an open dumpster below him, hearing multiple crunches beneath and within him before a final slam knocked him out.

--------

Shouta was out on patrol when some guy ran from out of an alley and waved him down, or more like he was yelling out in general on how he needed to call for a hero or ambulance.

He landed softly, approaching carefully as he managed to calm the bystander down, asking what the issue was as he took note of the ragged clothes and scrawny look. Homeless from the looks of it, and not doing well. It explained why he didn’t have a phone to call in for help.

“I uh- was checking dumpsters, some of them have really good stuff people throw away like it’s trash and- uh…”

“You don’t have to explain why you were there, just tell me what’s wrong,” Shouta huffed, annoyed. He had a lot on his mind, especially regarding the recent events regarding his class and his problem children. He would rather punch out a villain than negotiate information out of a panicking citizen.

“There’s a dead kid,” he sputtered.

Shouta felt his blood run cold, “where?”

“The green dumpster, I opened it and he was just laying there- I freaked out when I saw him-,”

Shouta didn’t bother to listen to the rest as he rushed to the described dumpster and threw open the heavy lid. Sure enough, there was a raven haired kid laying in the garbage. Crimson covered his face and he looked almost as pale as a ghost, it was easy to think he was dead with a short glance. He couldn’t be completely sure the kid was in fact dead, unless he got a pulse checked, and it was hard when he had to hold up the dumpster lid while attempting to check. He glanced over to the bystander, “Hey, come hold this up while I get him out.”

The bystander didn’t argue, running over to hold up the lid as Shouta reached in and lifted the kid out, already assuming the worst as the kids skin was freezing cold. He carefully laid him down as the bystander dropped the lid and took a few steps back, shuffling his feet as Shouta took out his cell and dialed 911, then went to check for a pulse. He could feel any hope that this kid was alive slipping as he didn’t feel a pulse.

The operator picked up, “I need-,” Shouta began and paused as he felt the faintest hint of a pulse, his heart fluttering slightly with hope, “an ambulance, Musutafu, an alley just off Might’s Avenue. Fast. Looks like a head wound, loss of blood, very faint pulse and cold to the touch.” Shouta glanced back up at the bystander, “you may have just saved this kid.”

The bystander glanced at his feet, “Ah- just… he’s so young… I couldn’t leave him…”

Shouta turned his attention back to the kid, finding out the blood on his face was coming from a wound on his head. Either someone tried to kill him and dumped his body in the dumpster so it wouldn’t be found, or he got hit on the head by the lid. Both options had a variety of questions: who's, what's and why’s. But if the kid lived, he may just get his answers.

----------

Danny felt like absolute shit before he could even manage to peel his eyes open, the glaring light above him giving him an instant headache. He twisted, groaning in annoyance as he lifted his hand to his face to try and block out the light and struggled with the sheets he seemed to be wrapped in. In a fit of frustration, he managed to aggressively kick the sheets off and free himself from its bundled prison. He used his hands to prop himself up and felt a wave of nausea wash over him, causing him to pause slightly and wait for it to pass.

He glanced around the room he was in, his scrambled thoughts slowly falling into place as he tried to remember what he was last doing and where he could be. He didn’t recognize the room whatsoever… but it looked a lot like a hospital…

He looked down at his arms and finally noticed the IV, and frowned. Okay. Definitely a hospital. The bundled sheets on the floor, IV running up his arm, and very chemical smell in the air confirmed it.

He then remembered Vlad and forced down a growl rising in his throat, the asshole dragged him out in the middle of the night then threw him hard enough to knock him out, someone must have come by and noticed him passed out and took him to a hospital- shit did he transform back? Was he still-?!

He quickly reached up and pulled his hair in front of his eyes, taking note of the raven black colour and leaning back with a sigh. So, Fenton. Not Phantom.

The clicking of the door handle caught his attention as a man walked in dressed in scrubs; then paused as he noticed Danny staring at him. “Y-you’re awake?”

Danny blinked at the stammered question, nodding, “uh… yeah?”

Before Danny could ask him anything, the nurse was gone and Danny was left alone in the room once more. He glanced at the IV’s again and then around the room as he twiddled his thumbs a little. A year or two ago, he would be freaking out. Fearful of what doctors would find if they tried any sort of tests, but thanks to Frostbite he was able to figure out what parts of his human half were irregular in medical terms. Nothing that would suggest too strongly about his ghost half. At most he had a bit of ectoplasm in his bloodstream. But that was easy to disregard since his home was an ectoplasmic hot spot, it would be weird if he didn’t have some in his body. He bet Jazz even had some ectoplasm in her blood, he wasn’t as sure with mom and dad since they wore hazmats most of the time, but again it would be weird if they didn’t have any ectoplasm in their DNA anywhere, Danny just had a bit more thanks to his ghost half. The other irregularities happened to be conditions other people sometimes had, usually it would cause issues but there always seemed to be cases where it doesn’t bother the person. Slow heartbeat, slightly colder body temperature, that kind of thing.

So hospitals just weren’t as scary as he thought they would have been. The worst was that haunted hospital that Spectra decided to use to mess with him. This was like a hotel compared to that experience, so not bad. As much as he was tempted to be uncooperative in the idea that it was easier to just fly out of the building and head home, it would be weird for a kid to just… disappear. Not to mention news stations go nuts for kids disappearing from hospitals, so that draws a lot of attention from the media and the last thing he needed was more bad press on Phantom. The closest connection people have was the rumour that he was dating his ghost half, which worked, surprisingly. So no doubt there would be people guessing that Phantom kidnapped Fenton and then his parents would show up and shoot at him again and he would have to disappear and reappear and make some weak argument about how it wasn't Phantom, so it all just dragged out into a massive mess. If he answered the doctor's questions and got into contact with his parents, it was easier to say he was wandering and got lost then got mugged or something. His curfew would tighten, and his parents would hover for about a week but it was just a lot less hassle.

When a new person walked into the room, he was snapped out of his thoughts and looked up and jolted, choking back a squeak of surprise at what he saw. There was a person, they had a white coat like most doctors would, but it was their face- er-... head? Their head was… it was-

“Hello, my name is Doctor Ichiyo,” the doctor's alligator looking head spoke, their lips forming to make the words as they spoke instead of the mouth opening up wide like he had seen on nature documentaries. Were they a ghost? If they were, why hadn’t Danny’s ghost sense gone off? Was he hallucinating? “Can you tell me your name?” Danny opened and closed his mouth, unsure of how to react to… to the alligator face. The ‘Doctor’ gave him an odd look, “are you alright, young man? Anything in pain that we should be worried about?”

“Danny. Danny Fenton,” Danny squeaked out.

He saw the doctor's eyes widen, he was sure their eyebrows would be raised… if they had any. Which they didn’t. Because the doctor had an alligator head. And he was acting like it was normal. The nurse in the room was acting like it was normal. Was this normal? Had he finally lost his mind? “Do you have some sort of healing quirk, Danny?”

Danny sputtered, “uh- what.”

“A healing quirk? Or some other kind of quirk that may increase your metabolism? Some strength quirks are known to have positive healing effects.”

“What- I… what's a-...? A quirk?” He stammered through his thoughts, still very distracted by the person. With an alligator head. Were those glasses on the end of their snout holy shit how did he not notice that? How did they stay there? Tape? Or were they really good at balancing the glasses? Why at the end of their snout too shouldn’t they be right up to the eye none of this made any sense- hell the ghost zone made more sense than the Doctor sitting in front of him- what was happening.

“... Danny what year is it,” the Doctor asked, tilting their head.

Danny blinked as they did so, mirroring the action slightly just out of the fact that his brain was on rapid fire and he still had a headache and the alligator head was still tripping him up. Either he was dead. Or he was crazy. Both were very plausible. “2021,” he answered without a second thought.

The doctor frowned, why was he frowning- holy that was really weird to see though. An alligator frowning. The long jaw twisting to make the expression was still so weird-.

“Who’s the current number one hero?” The doctor asked next. The question was like a second punch to the gut for Danny at this point, number one hero?

That was an opinion thing, right? “You mean like comics? I’ve always been a fan of Spider-Man…” Danny trailed off as he saw the Doctors frown deepen even further, muttering under their breath.

Which Danny managed to pick up, hearing ‘the head wound was worse than we thought…’

Head wound?

Danny almost reached for his head, stopping himself when he realized that he shouldn’t have heard that, and kept his arms down with his hands on his lap. So was he really hallucinating? But why was it like he was answering all their questions wrong?

“One last question. Do you have a way to contact your parents or a guardian?”

Danny perked up again at this one, finally he knew he could get in contact with his parents, then maybe clear whatever the heck was up at this place. This had to be a prank, his vision being bad or some other reason. They’d show up and drag him back to amity park, familiar ground. “Uh yeah. I know the phone number, can I-,” the Doctor handed him a pen and paper and Danny nodded with a soft ‘thanks’. He quickly scribbled down his home number, Jazz’s number and finally Sam’s number, just in case. He handed it back to the Doctor who glanced at the numbers and nodded back, offering a new level of disturbing smile.

“Thank you, I’ll come back to check on you shortly,” and the doctor stood up and left, the nurse trailing after them with a more… concerned expression. As Danny was left alone once more he leaned back against the pillow and blinked.

“I must be hallucinating,” he stated to himself.

--------

“It’s… concerning,” Doctor Ichiyo shook her head, “he seems almost delusional. He stated the year was 2021, over 100 years off from our current date, he was confused about the mention of quirks and heroes, and the numbers he gave us for contacts are dead ends. We tried looking up his name, but it’s not in any Japanese medical records, not to mention it’s very… American? If he’s from America, we need a city or town so we can call someone there for possible records but from what information we did manage to get from him, it’s all false and odd. It’s likely he will give us a name of a fake town.”

Shouta blinked, “so the kid is lying? Hiding something?”

Dr. Ichiyo shook her head,” that’s the weirdest part. He genuinely seems to believe that his answers are correct. His reactions to my own made that very clear, we think it’s very severe head trauma, making his brain jumble up words, letters and numbers so what he thinks is correct comes out odd and jumbled. We plan to run an MRI test right after a quirk specialist checks him over, see if he does have a quirk we should be concerned about. It can get dangerous when a patient forgets about their quirk and it gets revealed, it tends to happen at the worst times, too.”

“And what happens if you can’t find anything?” Shouta asked, crossing his arms as he thought carefully. “No connections to America, or Japan, or anywhere?”

Dr Ichiyo glanced up, “Foster care. Most likely. He’s still young, and we aren’t going to toss him on the street. But he seemed very sure of the numbers he gave us. If he has a quirk and we reveal putting him in the system and he doesn’t like that…”

“He may run,” Shouta frowned.

“We have ways to prevent that of course,” the Doctor assured, “is there a reason why you’re so interested in this boy? Most heroes would have just left this up to the hospital by now.”

“He’s a young kid who was found in a dumpster with a serious head wound, my initial thought being the concern that someone wanted him dead. Do you know how he got there yet?”

The doctor shook her head, “we haven’t brought it up yet. The fact he woke up so quickly was surprising. We expected him to be out for a few days at the very least. We want to be careful about this kind of thing, head wounds always cause the most concern.”

Shouta nodded, “all right. I’ll be back later, and call me if you have any updates. I have work to do.” Shouta turned as he headed to leave, the mystery of the kid bouncing around in his head. Danny Fenton. He’d have to try and dig up information regarding that name. Connections. Relations. Anything.

Ever since the USJ field trip he’s been on edge. He took interest in young Shinso at the sports festival as well, offering training so he may eventually transfer to the hero course. The kids were all splitting up on internships, and he hadn’t had too much issue regarding it. His only other concern being about Iida. His brother being in the hospital thanks to Stain. But the kid would work through it, he had a strong moral sense to him. He didn’t expect him to do anything brash, that was more to be expected from his problem student… Midoriya.

So a kid ending up in a dumpster during the times Stain is active and after the League of Villains made their appearance? It raised questions. Concerns. Possible connections between either or both. It could be entirely unrelated, but he couldn’t take that chance yet.

--------

Danny was restless, and worried. Those questions were… weird. And the expressions he got in return (from the Doctor with an ALLIGATOR FACE HE MAY ADD) was not encouraging. Since he managed to get his thoughts together after the doctor had left, he noticed he was in one of those dumb hospital gowns. And that his clothes were neatly folded on a chair next to him. He reached over and dug his phone out of his pockets and turned it on, sighing in relief as the screen lit up and he quickly unlocked it. Immediately he tried to call Jazz first, lifting it to his ear and frowning as the cell beeped in response and the robotic voice of a woman told him the number was invalid. His phone was connected to wifi, so he tried the Internet next.

This was when he noticed something… off. The normal search engine he used was… different. It was spelled weird. The colour was off. The big thing that threw him off was the word ‘quirk’. It seemed… important. Extremely important. Ignoring the fact that the search engine was weird, he typed in the word.

The results were immediate.

And worrying.

They were… essentially powers. Powers people were born with. Powers that have been around since 2014. And apparently… The year was 2148.

Danny swallowed the lump in his throat.

So. At some point. He either went through a portal. Or. Clockwork decided it was time for another adventure. Across time and possibly even dimensions. The first reported quirk was a glowing baby in 2014. And he knew damn well that nothing like that ever happened in his world.

So different time. Different world.

Okay. Fun. Joy. This means these people think he’s crazy and he can’t contact his friends, his family, nobody.

He could feel his restlessness increasing by the second.

Amity was unguarded. His home, his territory. No- no Sam, Tucker and Jazz could handle it. They knew about the equipment and how to deal with lower level ghosts and higher level ghosts. And Sam and Tucker knew where to find his ally’s for any help when some of the more troublesome ones decided to show up.

They… they would be fine. They had to be fine.

Oh and mom and dad…

Time travel was one thing. He could be here and back within 5 minutes but this was dimension logic and who knows what that meant.

He could be gone for weeks.

Or hours.

He may just have to hope that whatever this mess was, dimension… time.. confusing mess, wouldn’t affect his time back at home.

And if it did…

You know what.

That’s a future Danny problem.

To distract himself, Danny opened his phone and checked out who this #1 hero was. It was an odd question, and seemed important. Once again, the results were immediate and he got his answer in the form of a list. A hero called ‘All Might’ was number one and had been for quite a few years. Then it went down the list, number two being a hero named Endeavor and three being a hero named Hawk’s. It was a long list and he decided to maybe not read off every single name. He almost missed the fact that it was listed as Japan’s Top Heroes.

So… did this mean he was in Japan? If he was, why was everyone speaking English? Or… were they all speaking English? He didn’t actually know- after meeting Wulf he tried to learn Esperanto. Which was difficult at first and then one day… it was like he knew it off the top of his head.

Or maybe this was just weird dimension language stuff. He didn’t know. Nothing made sense. He would just have to try to make sense of what he could.

So a world where almost everyone had powers, huh? Superheroes were a common sight. Maybe he could even pass off his ghost powers as a quirk or something… but the wiki page he found did explain some science… and the one thing that stood out was that people had one power. Usually being derived from one parent or a mix between the two. Danny… well his ghost powers were a big ol messy pot of powers. Invisibility, intangibility, not to mention ice is pretty new and not related at all to his ectoray’s…

Too much attention, and he may need to try to keep Phantom and Fenton separate, which meant if he wanted to pretend to have a quirk, he should limit it to one of his abilities. And let Phantom keep the rest. He chewed on his lip as he thought about his options. He had a really good handle on his ghost powers… but ice was still one he was trying to keep under control and he would slip up more often with it… he could also pretend to have no powers, quirkless as they called it here…

Would that be better or worse?

Scrolling through the information, he slowly began leaning more for the idea of having an ‘ice quirk’. There was a lot of history of quirkless people being targeted for various things, since they didn’t have much of a power to defend themselves against those that did… but also there was a profession of heroes. People getting paid to do hero work with licenses and everything. And heroes got a lot of benefits. Access to certain opportunities and the ability to use their quirks in public. Which apparently… using any powers in public was illegal unless in self defense. Vigilantes were like… super illegal. But to become a hero there was schooling, license exams, and it was listed to be very competitive. And Danny didn’t want to stay here for years.

Not to mention… he wasn’t the type to sit by and let people get hurt.

But the students did get access to heroes of the world, as well as some of the opportunities full blown heroes did. Especially this ‘UA’ school.

He tapped on the link to the schools information and swore under his breath to see he missed the time to get in. So much for that idea… so it would be sneaking around and into buildings then… guess he would really need to keep Phantom separate from Fenton, just to make it easier to survive in public. From all these news articles, it seemed like it was impossible to stay out of the light when a lot of attention is placed on someone.

He continued to try and think on what to do. How to get home. Then noticed another odd thing…

There was an app… one he didn’t recognize.

With a hesitant tap, he opened it and noticed it was some sort of notes app. And someone had already written in it.

Do not fret about Amity.

Remember to follow your heart.

— CW

Danny blinked at the note. Then blinked again. Then dropped his phone onto the table beside him so he wouldn’t crush it in his hands.

God.

Fucking.

Damnit.

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mikelogan · 3 years ago

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JDox Reclist (2022)

Previous JDox reclists can be found here

Up In Our Bedroom (After The War) by darknessandrageandkittens

Summary: How DID Perry get his name, anyway? JD’s curious, and for once, his lover opens up Rating: M Word Count: 909 My Thoughts: Everybody��s trans, we love to see it

A Study in Unconventionality by dashwood

Summary: “Well, you see…” JD trailed off, suddenly unsure of himself. Just an hour ago, it had seemed like a brilliant idea. He had even forfeited a round of ‘Find the Saltine’ to rush to the newspaper stand next door, proudly declaring, “Where’s the porn? It’s a matter of life and death. Trust me, I’m a doctor.” Rating: E Word Count: 7491 My Thoughts: This 3-part smut series is so good. Basically, Perry is a patient and JD needs to rule out conditions by testing whether or not Perry can… you know…

Pink in the Night by orphan_account

Summary: The music and din of the rag tag team was very pleasant if JD lingered on it. Which he was, by the way, lingering, in the kitchen and watching Elliot make that are-you-actually-this-sexist face as Kelso regales her with some ER story while the chief of medicine steadfastly gulps the spiked eggnog. Rating: M Word Count: 3601 My Thoughts: Christmas JDox? Yes please.

My New Schedule by backroombull (chinashopbull)

Summary: The one where Dr. Cox sort-of-accidentally makes JD piss his scrubs, and of all the things, this is what leads to them boning for the first time. Rating: E Word Count: 24,942 My Thoughts: While this fic probably isn’t for everyone, the second chapter really Does It for me. Also brilliantly written. Daddy kink!

My Captive Audience by RumCove

Summary: JD has been told that he gets too involved. He didn’t listen. He’s regretting it. Rating: M/E Word Count: 219,120 My Thoughts: Holy shit. Just. Holy. Shit. Absolutely heed the tags going into this series, but if you’ve followed me for more than like, a second, you’ll know how highly I recommend this author. I will admit that I put reading MCA off for quite a while because the noncon part of it put me off, and while those parts are very difficult to get through, I cannot think of anyone better suited for navigating the trauma JD goes through than Rum. The second work, My Caged Performer, is even better than the first, in my opinion. Probably because it’s much more focused on JD and Perry together, but you really can’t read it without reading MCA first. The final installment made me cry so hard (in a good way) – like almost Cancer levels of crying, just without all the pain and long-term emotional damage.

Relativity by nikogio

Summary: A rewrite/post-episode fic for 3x14 My Screwup. Rating: E Word Count: 24,747 My Thoughts: NEWBIE, IT’S THE SPRINKLES! Okay, for real though, amazing series by this author. It’s so well-written and has the perfect amount of angst, fluff, and smut!

My Unorthodox Treatment by RumCove

Summary: Perry Cox finds being an alpha doctor working in the hellhole that is Sacred Heart something of a headache. Not as much of a headache as he finds his self-appointed beta “protégé” constantly trying to get his attention and some sort of goddamn hug all the time, of course, but neither are great. Particularly not when deep down he really doesn’t find Newbie that bad. At all. And it just gets even more of a crazy, annoying headache when he finds out something that he really didn’t want to find out and can never not know again after a bad day in the ER. JD finds his entire existence something of a headache, when it all boils down to it. And now his crazy, terrifying boss knows the one thing that he’s kept from everyone since he went to college. This can only end badly, right? An alpha/beta/omega fic set in the Scrubs universe. Rating: E Word Count: 539,003 My Thoughts: This was my first foray into the world of A/B/O (I know, sweet summer child) and boy, do I love it. As stated above, I adore RumCove’s works, and obviously this is no different, but I also love her OCs and how they often make appearances in other works. I’d die for Io, no questions asked. But anyway, if you already like A/B/O or you’re curious about it, this is the (and probably only) Scrubs series for you!

My Thin Ice by RumCove

Summary: To Dr. Cox’s horror, the staff of internal medicine are being sent on a staff team building event. In Alaska. In goddamn Alaska. JD’s going through a personal crisis and maybe some time away will get his mind off it. Or maybe not. Then when things take a more serious turn it’s suddenly a case of life or death. Snow! Ice! Cold! A rec room! It’s sort of Christmassy… Rating: E Word Count: 26,529 My Thoughts: I knew it was gonna happen, but damn it all if this reclist isn’t just turning into one big ad for Rum’s fics. But there’s a reason! They’re all so good, and well, she’s certainly prolific!

His Secret Santa by This_Desk_Set_Wants_To_Fly

Summary: For Christmas, Carla holds Sacred Heart’s annual Secret Santa, and, after drawing a name, Perry struggles to find the right gift for his recipient. Rating: M Word Count: 2884 My Thoughts: Sweet, fluffy Christmas oneshot? I don’t care if it is July, go read it!

Run Right into You by nikogio

Summary: “You know, Newbie, the harder you fight against quicksand, the faster you sink.” “I know,” I nod, aware of the fact, though not quite sure of the point. “I suppose that’s why I keep letting you in.” Rating: E Word Count: 2319 My Thoughts: “He knows that he is home with me, and I know that I am sheltered wherever he is.” BRB, screaming crying throwing up

Turning Points by tyrionsoftywin

Summary: We’re strangers, the thought hits me as he turns slowly to look at me, a small, sad smile on his face and I know he’s going to read in my face all the questions I’m not daring to ask him. Rating: G/T Word Count: 5167 My Thoughts: A series of four, kind of bittersweet oneshots. I really love the idea of exploring them at this later point in their lives, after the show.

Meant To Be (Hand In Hand) by DobbyRocksSocks

Summary: Post EP 05x21 My Fallen Idol: Perry really only needed to hear from one person. They got there in the end. Rating: T Word Count: 2943 My Thoughts: The noise I made while rereading this and then literally went, out loud, to myself and my cats, “Boys!”

My Puzzling Jewelry by RumCove

Summary: When JD discovers something unexpected about Dr. Cox he gets curious. Curiosity killed the Newbie. Or is in danger of killing him anyway. Rating: E Word Count: 8350 My Thoughts: Besties, I love this fic so much. We all need some PWP every once in a while, am I right?

Canoodle With Me by DobbyRocksSocks

Summary: JD is exhausted. Perry wants to know why. Rating: T Word Count: 2337 My Thoughts: I’ll take “Perry taking care of JD” for 1000, Alex.

Hospital Nonsense by Chaoskitten

Summary: A place for my various JDox oneshots and anything else in the Scrubs fandom Rating: G/T Word Count: 11,341 My Thoughts: I love these two idiots so much and these oneshots are so great!

you look like mine when you wear my clothes by DobbyRocksSocks

Summary: Perry has a rather… primal reaction to JD wearing his clothes. Rating: T Word Count: 1106 My Thoughts: That sound you’re hearing? It’s me REEEEEEEing into oblivion.

Lay A Claim by DobbyRocksSocks

Summary: They’re away at a conference, and there’s only one bed. But… it was only three nights. Nothing would change between them, right? Rating: Not Rated Word Count: 3250 My Thoughts: Hi, welcome to the DobbyRocksSocks appreciation hour. Please take a seat and screech with me. Okay seriously though, this might be my favorite fic from them, and while I would put every single one of their JDox works on here, I’ll save you the scrolling and just tell you to check out their AO3 page.

My Mentor’s Fugue by suedepony

Summary: A canon rewrite of JD and Dr. Cox’s interactions during S03E14, “My Screw Up,” from JD’s point of view. Rating: E Word Count: 3958 My Thoughts: Angsty smut? Hi yes hello, table for me and the 3 other living members of the Scrubs fandom

See Through My Beautiful by JusteAmusant

Summary: My little newbie is either hella scared of the consequences of his being late, or he’s off in a daydream that not even he can find. He has yet to look me in the eyes, he looks like he hasn’t slept since I last saw him, and one of his shoes is untied. “Hey.” I give a sharp double whistle. My chest tightens at how long it takes JD to look up at me. “Anything you wanna tell me, Newbie?” JD shakes his head. “No, sir.” Rating: M Word Count: 9590 My Thoughts: Another one that you’ll want to heed the tags on before reading, but protective Perry is one of my favorite Perrys.

(But I Want) To Go Home by JusteAmusant

Summary: “Newbie, finish that sentence and I swear to all the types of gods I’ll have you flat on your ass before you can say ‘Carla please come save me,’ capice?” “Flat on my ass that you want to spank,” I snicker. Dead silence next to me has me turning to face him, eyes wide. “I… I mean um–” Dr. Cox’s face splits into a grin that has me unsure whether to laugh or run. “See, Newbie? Now you’re getting it.” That’s the scariest thing about Dr. Cox. You never know when he’s messing with you, and when he’s dead serious on following through… Rating: M Word Count: 5986 My Thoughts: In the wise words of those kids in that one AT&T commercial: “WE WANT MORE, WE WANT MORE.” DADDY KINK Y’ALL

My talent, her bet, his awakened interest by BeyondMadness

Summary: Being a fourth year resident about to become a fully fledged doctor brings about a certain cockiness in JD that’s beginning to really irk those he works closely with. Unfortunately for him the tables get tipped out of his favor which results in what is likely to be one of the most humiliating experiences of his life. Or perhaps he should have done this years ago. Rating: E Word Count: 17,282 My Thoughts: Yeah, hi, so when I saw this get posted earlier this year I was a little skeptical because burlesque? Crossdressing? Perhaps not my typical cup of tea, but it ended up being so good and I feel bad that I was so doubtful at first!

My Ill-Advised Road Trip by lunarqueens

Summary: Perry Cox finds himself, yet again, reluctantly roped into what some might call a situation. Except this time he’s on the road, in an RV, stuck in close confines with the world’s most annoying doctors. One of whom he might, possibly, unfortunately be a little bit in love with. What could possibly go wrong, right? Rating: T Word Count: 11,397 My Thoughts: Still holding out hope that this one eventually gets completed some day! I love this author and you’ll find a few works from them on my previous reclist from 2018. So yeah, if you didn’t gather already, this one is unfinished at 2 out of 3 chapters posted, but it’s honestly still worth the read for the road trip shenanigans.

My Hypocritical Hippocrates by RumCove

Summary: JD makes a mistake. A really big mistake. A really dumb one that he should have absolutely avoided. Dr. Cox is, as usual, livid. But for different reasons than usual and this one might just push him over the edge. Rating: E Word Count: 54,845 My Thoughts: A series of 4 works that are legit so good, I’ve literally lost track of how many times I’ve reread them. The smut is also chef’s kiss along with everything else.

My Empty Rulebook (Working Title) by nikogio

Summary: I’m not really someone who lives by any particular rules. In fact, I seem to have a basic aversion to most of them. But there’s one rule I’ve long upheld, which, as long as I’ve had it, has been one hundred percent ironclad: No sex in the Porsche. Rating: M Word Count: 4311 My Thoughts: PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, NIKOGIO, IF YOU SEE THIS, PLEASE FINISH THIS FIC, I’M BEGGING

My Dirty Imbecile by theOther_Will_Grayson

Summary: “Top surgery?” “You know, the titty chop.” John does an exaggerated karate chop, paired with an uncoordinated kick. “Whacha!” Turk doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry. “Dude,” he says, more dead serious than he’s ever been in his life. “I think we might be soulmates.” Rating: Not Rated Word Count: 7963 My Thoughts: It’s me, ya girl, back at it again with yet ANOTHER unfinished fic rec!! But trans JD is life and I’ll take anything I can get. Love that boy so much it’s stupid. This fic has actually been recently updated so there’s hope for us yet!

My New Perspective by RumCove

Summary: After a terrible accident, a doctor wakes up in Sacred Heart with no memory of who he is, who anyone else is or even why he’s the way he is. Which is – basically – an asshole. And, since he doesn’t remember who anyone else is, why the hell is he so fixated on his annoying, whiny, girly doctor? Rating: E Word Count: 51,423 My Thoughts: Hello, I’d like to talk to you today about our lord and savior, RumCove. Oh, you’ve heard of her? What’s that? I’ve recced literally all her other fics in this reclist? Well, this time it’s an amnesia fic that hurts so good, so go read it right now immediately.

And now we’ve arrived at my favorite part of the reclist: shameless self-promotion!

My Leap of Faith by pcrrycox

Summary: JD, in his final semester of med school and preparing for his internship, signs up for an online dating site with the goal of finding friendship – or something more. Perry, recently divorced and being incessantly bullied by one of his best friends, also signs up for an online dating site with the goal of appeasing his aforementioned annoying best friend. If anything else happens along the way, so be it. OR Two idiots fall for each other, all without ever having met in person. Rating: E Word Count: 42,659+ My Thoughts: This is my most current fic that I’m working on. Online dating AU, trans JD, smut, fluff, and angst? What more could you want? JK, but I do really love this one and the last chapter is going up on Sunday!

My Heavy Meddle by pcrrycox

Summary: In the midst of a breakdown, Perry goes to the only person who will listen. It turns out to be the best decision he ever made. AKA: The boys get together and are blissfully happy until someone has to open their big mouth and ruin it. Rating: E Word Count: 23,475 My Thoughts: This puppy had been sitting on my old laptop since 2017, and I recently resurrected it, changed it way up, and made it into an actual story instead of just a oneshot. It’s very different from what normally happens in a JDox getting-together fic, at least in terms of who presents a roadblock.

I’d Rather Be With You by pcrrycox

Summary: JD receives shocking news and the least likely person he expects to help him get through it turns out to be the perfect man for the job: Dr. Cox. But between navigating missed signals, inopportune timing, and other very annoying complications, things don’t exactly go as planned for the two of them. Rating: T Word Count: 21,162 My Thoughts: Heed the tags, but also I immensely enjoyed writing this one.

What A Feeling by pcrrycox

Summary: Perry doesn’t do weddings and he definitely doesn’t do receptions. Unless, of course, they involve an open bar and one slightly lost-looking Newbie. Rating: G Word Count: 2781 My Thoughts: I know I’m biased, but I feel like this is one of the cutest/sweetest lil fics I’ve ever written for these dumbasses. I love them so much!

Matters of the Heart by pcrrycox

Summary: When JD suddenly suffers a cardiac arrest, it changes his and Perry’s lives forever. Rating: M Word Count: 17,200 My Thoughts: Okay, I realize I keep saying how much I enjoyed writing these fics, but this is one that I routinely go back to and can say, wow, I’m really proud of this.

Warm Blood by pcrrycox

Summary: Revenge is a powerful thing and exacting it can have grave consequences. The supernatural was something JD never even thought to believe in – until it was too late not to believe. Rating: M Word Count: 20,934 My Thoughts: VAMPIRE AU VAMPIRE AU VAMPIRE AU

Everybody Wants Something From Me, You Just Want Me by pcrrycox

Summary: When Perry is getting pulled in every direction, he realizes that the only person who doesn’t want something from him has been right in front the whole time. Rating: G Word Count: 2783 My Thoughts: The things this Adele song did to me when I first heard it! I went back and reread this the other day and like. I’m really really happy with my characterization of Perry and his thoughts.

And before I go, here are some fics I have in the works! Let me know which one you’re most excited about!

An absolutely massive Ben x Perry fic that I’ve been slowly working on since December 2020

An established!JDox fic in which they’ve been having problems, but Perry finds JD in a horrible situation

Another established!JDox fic where JD gets in a car accident just days before their wedding

A Ben x JD x Perry angst!fic

A very basic idea for a sequel to my vampire!AU

A Neighbors!AU

A getting-together fic in which Perry has a heart attack

A fake relationship Ben x Perry fic

And an absolutely massive doc with even more fic/oneshot ideas (lots of smut lmao)

All of these are in various states of WIP-ness, from literally just a couple sentences of an idea to multiple written chapters. Anyway, I just want to say a huge thank you to everyone who’s still helping to keep this tiny little fandom alive, whether that’s by writing fic, reading/commenting/leaving kudos, yelling at me on anon, or putting up with my various manic reblog-sessions!

#jdox #perry cox #john dorian #scrubs #scrubsfic #jdox reclist

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tipsydipsydo · 4 years ago

Text

Pairing: tall! & sub! Reader x dom! OT7 BTS

Gender of the Reader: male

Word Count: 2.3k

Rating: 18+

Genre: Smut/PwP

Warnings: Dirty Language + Dirty Talk; Dom-/Sub-Dynamics; accidental overhearing of a phone call, Mentions of Exhibitionism & Voyeurism; Mentions of Sex Toys & Masturbation; slightly mentioned Double Penetration; mentions of Anal play; Praising; Petnames; some Degradation; Daddy-Kink; Teasing; slight Edging; the boys are teasing the poor reader to Death

A/N: Well- that was a quick writing. Instead of studying I decided to write this funny request and to use my procrastination in a better way than scrolling stressed through TikTok. I hope y’all like it!!

Status: unedited bc I am lazy and should study.

Request: i want to request a drabble/one shot: sub taller male reader and his seven boyfriends in which he confidently talks naughty things with his friend on phone but when he realized his bf are watching, he became crazily shy because he is just a big cute boy, then his bf decided they want to test those ‘words’ he has said, poor boy =))

Requested by: anonymous

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「© tipsydipsydo」

This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

After too many and super busy weeks full of work, you’ve finally managed to find a free afternoon in your schedule where your best friend and you have enough time for a nice, long telephone call on the couch. You are already over one and a half hour on the phone, exchanging the newest stuff that happened in your life with each other and joking around. Slowly your conversation turns their focus to your more private life and your bestie asks you about your polyamorous relationship with your boyfriends. At first just normal things like, how’s it going in general, how you all manage the relationship with all the different time schedules, how often it comes to fights and how you deal with that etc. Just normal stuff and the ‘typical’ questions you’re already used to, when people realize that you’re not in a monogamous relationship.

Your best friend and you grew up together. You met each other in elementary school, went through the curses of puberty as an inseparable team and even survived middle and high school thanks to the other one. Already in your teens, where both of you made your first experiences and got into your first relationships, your best friend had a guess that you’re not as straight as you want him to believe. No, they even assumed that you’re maybe not made for the typical monogamous relationship which the society preach every fucking day.

Well, turns out that your best friend really knew you better than you did yourself back then but honestly, nowadays you’re thankful for their suggestions and that they gave you the save space you needed to dare to make new experiences in those directions.

Nevertheless, they were still more than surprised when you introduced him to not only two or three boyfriends, no that you brought seven (!) other men to their birthday party two years ago. At first they were a little worried if you didn’t overload yourself with such a complex relationship dynamic and that it’ll turn out as a serious burden and not an enrichment for your life. Turns out, now it was their turn to make a false assumption about what’s the best for you and theu were more than happy to admit that everything turned out just fine. It truly makes their heart swell to hear the happiness in your voice through the phone everything you mention something about the boys.

Quickly your phone call turn into an even more private talk and dedicate itself to the really interesting stuff. You’re sharing every detail in your life with another, so why should it stop when it comes to sex talk? You have absolutely no problem and any shame to talk freely with your best friend about your kinks and dirty thoughts. Sometimes you even think that you’re better informed about each other’s preferences better than your actual partner(s) are.

“I think, I already told you that idea more than once... that I have a thing for exhibitionism and the thought of getting catched doing something ‘forbitten’ or ‘dirty’, right? Uhm... TMI but I don’t give a shit, whenever I am alone at home because they’re busy and we can’t meet for some days... I mastubate with some of the toys they’ve bought for me and imagine that they catch me. You know, when we have sessions with Dom and Sub Dynamics, they’re only temporarily and usually we go back to normal in the moment when the scene is over... that means, when I am alone and horny, I can do whatever I want to. I can jack off or fuck myself as much I desire and they wouldn’t say anything about it. It’s not like, I don’t appreciate my personal freedom when it comes to masturbation or that I want something completely different, no! We both already talked about that too, I don’t like the idea of Total Power Exchange, I prefer to be an independent person as soon as I walk out of the bedroom- okay, not only bedroom, we have sex in other places than the bedroom too- ANYWAY, what I wanted to say with that: ...”, you mutter and take a deep breath into your lungs.

After holding such a long monologue your mouth dried up terribly and now you need quickly something to drink. You get up from the couch and walk over to the kitchen island to pour some soda into a glass. A satisfied hum leaves your throat after you took some gulps of your favourite sparkling sugar bomb.

The whole time, where you moved around in the eat-in kitchen of the apartment, you are not that alone anymore as you thought you’d be, especially right in this moment. Namjoon, Hoseok and a boyish smirking Jimin joined you around ten minutes ago, leaning casually against the wall next to the door of the room and listen very interested to the conversation you have with your friend right now. They didn’t mean to overhear your private talk, they just wanted to know what kind of take-out food you’d prefer for tonight.

Unfortunately your conversation turned out to be very, very interesting for them, so they decided to give you some more time to talk with your best friend about the sexual fantasies you have which they don’t know about... well, until now.

Hoseok texted the other boys in the group chat to join them in the living room as well, they need to hear those very important information too!

Poor you, completely oblivious and naïve to what’s happening in this moment, not getting any kind of hint that not only your best friend would get those significant informations...

“...-what I actually wanted to say with that: I prefer to be independent in relation to all other non-sexual life-responsibilities. Well, that doesn’t mean we couldn’t increase the Erotic Power Exchange, right? To be very honest, I can’t get the fantasy of them taking my sextoys away and to forbid me to touch myself without their permission out of my head. I love to be their good boy and to get praises, I really do... but there is this thrill to be break the instructed rules, getting caught while doing it and getting punished for it. I want... I want to get called bad, filthy and dirty names, I want to be a disobedient, greedy and insatiable slut for them. I want to get spanked, edged and overstimulated, I want to get fucked into the mattress so bad, up to the point where I can’t get a single clear thought together and my brain turned to mush... I want to get used, ruined and wrecked by their cocks, getting my holes stuffed full with their cum and then plugged up, so nothing can run out anymore- God fuck, I should stop talking like that or I’ll get a serious problem! Well... sorry for so much detailed TMI, you know that this shit always happens when you tell me to stop overthinking and encourage me to spill everything that comes to my mind. Now you got every filthy detail you’ve asked for, you’re welcome.”, you joke sarcastically and facepalm yourself. You can’t believe how incredibly blunt and shameless you just threw your latest sex fantasy in every fucking detail at your poor best friend.

Usually you’re more than shy to talk about such things, in your understanding the magic for your shameless mouth towards your best friend has to reside in the deep thrust you have in him and simply the knowledge that your relationship is platonic. It’s not like that you couldn’t trust your boyfriends wholeheartedly, god no! You know, that they would never kinkshame you for anything,

it’s just... after sharing those thoughts it would result something out of it. You don’t want that they think you’re a weirdo or that they only do specific things because they know it would turn you on.

The other one just snorts in amusement when you voice this slight helpless apology, they can imagine the significant blush which has settled down on your cheeks.

“Hey buddy, don’t apologize for that. There is nothing to apologizing for, I am way too curious for my own good as well and I need to make sure that you’re happy in your relationship, especially when it comes to the point if they are able to fulfill your sexual desires. I need to know that, believe me. Okay, there’s one thing... I knew you were submissive, my dude. But I didn’t expect that you’d be such a masochistic hoe and that you’d have such a thing for degradation, Jesus! Nevermind, more important: did you talked with them about that fantasy? Would they be down for this idea and would they like to be more in charge? Please do not tell me that you’re too shy to talk with them about it, not again! I tell you this every goddamn time, communication is key!”, your best friend says to you in a serious tone.

Here you go again, getting scolded by your friend all over again. He is right, you know that... y’all already talked about ‘how to deal with certain kinks some of them or you have but the others aren’t into and how to not make them feel bad or insecure about it’ several times, you tend to overthink everything you have ever said to them all over again. You are always so flustered when seven pairs of eyes are looking at you, waiting for an answer. You are tall, even taller than Namjoon, but under their curious stares you feel always so small, fiddling with your fingers around like a little schoolboy. You love that about them, putting you into such a submissive place just with their aura and charisma and giving you the feeling as if they overtower you physically too.

“I can absolutely agree with Y/BF/N, communication is key. Why didn’t you told us those nasty fantasies you have in your cute head up here, right away? Too shy again? Do we really need to call your best friend the next time to get some hints to your secret kinks, Babyboy?”, Taehyung rasps into your earshell and wraps his arms around you. He chuckles slightly as you squeak high-pitched in surprise.

An equal surprised yelp of your best friend comes out of the speaker of your phone which takes Yoongi out of your hand and excuse you with the apology that ‘they need to have an important talk with you now and that you have to hang up unfortunately’.

The display of your phone turns dark and Yoongi puts it on the surface of the kitchen island before he flashes you a dirty smile. That you’re mortified that they caught you spilling all those filthy fantasies to your best friend is the understatement of the century. Never and you mean never did you hoped so bad that the floor opens up and swallows you whole, saving you from this embarrassing misery. But Yoongi give you much time to drown in shame, coming up to you and connect your lips to a rough kiss.

“God, I love it when our so sweet and shy Baby has such nasty and indecent fantasies in his head... why don’t you tell us these ideas in every single filthy detail once again? I think we could turn the information into some very good use, big boy~”, whispers the smaller one with blown-out eyes against your lips.

“...or would you prefer that we call you a needy cumslut, hm? The things I’ve heard give me the assumption that you want to get fucked stupid and pumped full with cum as if you are our personal playtoy?”, growls Jungkook and grabs himself a handful of your right asscheek, kneading it with a firm grip in his big palm.

“Come on, big boy, admit that you want exactly the things Jungkook just said... I can feel how fucking hard you just got from his words... already so hard and swollen against my palm even though we barely touched you. You’re truly such a pathetic, needy slut... I bet you’d already cum in your pants if we just tease you enough... Am I right?”, chuckles Namjoon in his deep, arousal soaked timbre against your neck, nibbling at the sensitive spot of your Adam’s apple.

“...what about we change our location to the bedroom and talk about the things you’ve said to Y/BF/N? Maybe we could try some of your newest kinks out? Would you like the thought of us watching you from the couch while you prepare your needy asshole for us? Showing us how you stuff you clenching rim with a girthy dildo? Wearing a cockring so you couldn’t cum without our permission? Prepping yourself all messy, whining for our finger, tongues and dicks in your ass like the greedy slut you are? Yeah, you’d love that thought.”, Seokjin teases you mercilessly, rolling your sensitive balls in his palm, just how you like it. “Y-Yes, Daddies... I’d love to be a greedy cumslut for you... please turn me into one!”, you wisper.

@cys-mental-escapades; @bangtanloverboys; @btsxmalereaders

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jiminrings · 4 years ago

Note

bestie what if jungkook finally finds out that jin’s friends with y/n 😭😭😭 he’d live in embarrassment for like eight business days

cold senior!y/n x stem major!koo masterlist :D

jungkook wants to crawl in a ditch for bADLY misjudging a situation he should’ve foreseen in the first place

yoongi has never been this dedicated to curing his hangover

well actually, nO ONE was really forcing him to pick you and taehyung up anyway

you didn't even ask!!! you could 10/10 just call for an uber to bring back taehyung to his place

maybe, just maybe, it's your fault that when yoongi asked you where you were when he's just woken up from a long night of partying, you mentioned "i'm with taehyung" and hospital and go home in the same sentence so that's why he went to overdrive

did he process what you said correctly?? probably not <3

that's the whole reason why yoongi had wasted sIX eggs this morning!!

he read somewhere in passing and watched song-hwa from hospital playlist enough to know that drinking eggs apparently helps you with your hangover and some other things

first, he wasted tHREE eggs because apparently, you're not supposed to drink the eggs !!! whisked !!! because it "defeats" the whole purpose

but it's still an egg whether you whisk it and no one's sane enough to drink raw eggs unprovoked

yoongi nailed it on the second try and he might have gagged a few times but the important thing is, his hangover is all-cured from the stress of digesting raw eggs :D so now he can safely drive at a borderline dangerous speed to pick you and tae up

"hey kiddo."

you peer your head up to see yoongi looking down at you, ruffling your hair in greeting

you've been held up here for less than five hours anyway, and it's not that yOU look tired,,, it's just that maybe you could use a little more sleep

lol you got yoongi thinking for a second that you're the injured on

"hey champ," yoongi acknowledges taehyung who's smiling from his bed, getting a forehead flick from his senior to which he rolls his eyes to

taehyung's... dressed up already in his normal clothes?

he already has his shoe on too so yoongi doesn't quite get why the two of you still aren't standing up

"you're lucky you just got a flick," you add helpfully, yawning in remembrance, "he punched my arm when i fell down the stairs at the dorm."

and wHY is this conversation all pointing to him now??

"because the both of you did stupid things that landed you in the ER!"

"i was just trying to see if i can go down the stairs three steps at a time!!"

"i just wanted to embrace y/n!!!"

very stoopid decisions if you ask him

yoongi shifts his weight from one foot to another, still a little lost because he's already here, and the two of you are all-ready to go, and he's not really a fan of the smell of the hospital —

oh wait

"has the bill already been settled?" he asks in curiosity, fishing out his wallet from his pocket

"mhmm. already did," tae answers instantly, nudging yoongi to put his wallet back where it came from

uhm wait maybe it's the eggs that are talking but uh

..... if the bill's already paid-

"then why are we all just sitting here?"

taehyung opens his mouth but he cLOSES it shut the moment it all clicks in his head, belatedly looking at you whose face screams conflict

yoongi's eyes turn to you on instinct, narrowing his eyes because you're choosing not to meet his eyes

"we're uh, we're waiting for jungkook to come back from the restroom."

...

.....

.......

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

yoongi's quiet, almost like he's calculating the variables in his mind

his mind's working harder rn that it did on his finals last week

"so jungkook is here?"

he gets war flashbacks every time he hears his name

he just shudders at the thought of him and he doesn't mean it positively lmao

"y-yeah! did i not tell you that at the call? he helped me get taehyung here," you scratch your nape in explanation, not accounting for the fact that yoongi still vERY much loathes jungkook when you called him

tae's not actually sure if he's helping you when he opens his mouth but he's trying his best <3

"yup! his shoulders were my crutch for like, three blocks. he also bought us food from the cafeteria while we were waiting to have my leg cast!!"

he glances at the fancy paper bags from the cafeteria downstairs, even some take-outs in there that makes it look all-stuffed

how in the living hELL is yoongi suppposed to feel about all of this :|

"i'm back! should i call an uber now? sorry, i bought these tiny hand sanitizers because they were having a sale at the pharmacy. y/n what scent do you-..."

jungkook happily chirps as he rummages through the bag he was given, preparing to scoop all the different scents to present them to you when he jUST had to look down at a familiar pair of shoes

as in the same black converse that he had the relief of looking at when someone was particularly asking him if he ever had a knuckle sandwich

"h-hi yoongi."

yoongi narrows his eyes at the kid who just squeaked, mouth puffed-up in disbelief that he looks like he's hiding a hamster in there

"bye jungkook."

yoongi uses tae as an excuse to shoo jungkook off as fast as possible but that kinda bites him in the ass

taehyung's going through a learning curve with his crutches and yoongi's making him wALK faster!!!! he still needs a little-

oh wait a minute :-)

"jungkook! help me walk to yoongi's car."

there is nO way that even taehyung's conspiring against him now

first jin and now taehyung????

tae solidifies his point by winking at yoongi, leaving you alone with him as you carry the paper bags of cafeteria take-outs

he's not exactly sure if he's helping you out at this situation, but once again, he's just trying his best and having fun alright!!! he likes to be included in these types of things hee-hee

yoongi has no choice now but to aLSO drive jungkook home, and the thought just makes him grumble from thinking about it

he'll have to disinfect his seats ://

"i haven't fully forgiven him if that's what you're thinking about," you chime in with his thoughts, looping your arm around his to help quell the visible stress in his mind

"it's your life," he puffs out because he doesn't want to meddle with you, consciously trying not to be overbearing when it comes to your choices

"i know. i just want you to know that your closest friend has the pride and the brains to not forgive an asshole, a goddamn junior, who said really mean things to her," you add thoughtfully and transparently, making yoongi break into a smile

ok that's got the heaviness in his chest a little lighter

"we should probably talk to each other one of these days."

you haven't had a heart-to-heart talk with yoongi for quite some time now because there weren't really any pressing issues of the sort to make the two of you talk face-to-face, but now it's probably needed

"we should."

jungkook has never feared for his life in a car ride tHIS much before

and he's even wearing his seatbelt!!!!

you're sitting at the front seat and he's with taehyung at the back, the latter dozing off because yoongi indulged his request for sleep music with soft rain on the background (it doesn't make yoongi sleepy) in an attempt to make him feel better about his leg

the one-hour loop's working wonders because you're passed out on the front seat too

normally, this would also make jungkook sleepy

but how the fuck can he sLEEP when yoongi looks at him through the rear-view mirror like an apex predator??????

kook could take the easier route of pretending to sleep so he could get to avoid yoongi's gaze

but then if he pretends to sleep, yoongi would clearly see how his eyeballs are still very much trembling even when his eyes are shut and he's the furthest thing from being relaxed

don't get him started on stoplights too!!! that was just pure torture because jungkook was conflicted to whether or not he should look at him rIGHT back

taehyung and jungkook live in the same building anyway so that's more convenient because he actually wouldn't know how to act if he had to drop j-name (he honestly can't digest saying his name) separately

now that that's all over, jungkook feels oddly fulfilled in a way...?

fulfilled in a sense that even if partially, he managed to earn your forgiveness

he feels like he could sleep a little more peacefully knowing that he atleast did something right this time!!!

which is for the exact reason, he's gonna gUSH about this to mr. kim from student affairs!!!

it's uh the weekend and he walked to campus because he thinks that admin works even on weekends (mad respect)

it's noticeably a lot more empty compared to weekdays and it's just filled with freshmen with their hectic class schedules and some students who are just fulfilling units to graduate early

jungkook walks straight to student affairs and it instantly looks empty, the only familiar face in there being namjoon

as in mr. kim namjoon who's wearing a windbreaker rn and whose hair is dEFINITELY blonde than the last time (two days ago) that jungkook saw him

he's not here to work isn't he

wait is he here to rob the place ???!?#?!?

"and what are you doing here?"

namjoon is as confused as jungkook, his mouth opening and closing in dumbfoundedness

"o-oh! is mr. kim here? w-wait, you are here. i mean mr. kim seokjin, sorry. did he-"

"nope," namjoon shakes his head, putting his bucket hat back on to leave jungkook all by himself

namjoon from work and namjoon every other time besides work are TWO different entities

"we just came here to collect our paychecks. you missed jin by ten minutes."

oh well

his momentum's not entirely ruined!! jungkook just has to cram thinking of a recipe to put in your lunchbox by tomorrow and jin is his tried and tested saving grace

technically, jungkook already saw you this morning because of the whole taehyung in a cast thing, but he feels as if that the take-outs from the cafeteria aren't gonna cut it

he still needs to step up his game of course :D

so that's why jungkook forcibly enlisted jimin's help to make fish and chips for dinner and put them in two lunchboxes

one for you and one for yoongi!! he didn't skimp on the fish nor the chips and made sure they're still toasty and in peak-flavor when he delivers it to your dorm

is he intruding? is this a bad time? he didn't exactly know how to process when yoongi told him that he wouldn't stop him from making it up to you

he just iSN'T sure if delivering homemade lunchboxes at 7 in the evening to your dorm is optimal

oh good!! the door's opening :D

"good evening!! i uhm-"

... what

.......... WHAT

what the fuck is going on

seokjin is suprised to see that the guy at the door isn't from the delivery place he ordered from two minutes ago

... he may be disappointed

but what he is amused about is the way jungkook looks beyond confused and intimidated

jin's in a sleep shirt and some boxers and jungkook doesn't kNOW what to feel about all the variables present that he's trying to connect

"you look like you're hiding a goldfish in your mouth."

seokjin remarks and yawns when a fraction of a minute passes and jungkook's still frozen in his spot, his eyes darting to what the kid's holding

"oh c'mon! one for y/n and one for yoongi? you trying to make it up to him too? and none for me?" jin jives him further, leaning against the doorframe with a sleepy smirk on his lips, "i practically live here, and i gave you the tonkatsu recipe, and i'm the one who doesn't get a lunchbox?"

he eventually saw this coming lmao

jin knew that someway somehow, jungkook would come to know that hE's your close friend throughout the whole time

that he's been the sort of middleman all this time but nah he's on your team of course <3

that all this whining he's done to him has all been in the name of you and seokjin had to sit through ALLLL of that with his fists clenched underneath the table to calm himself down

"oh my god," jungkook's literally WEAK in the knees as it all connects in his mind, the gravity of this scenario kicking down on him

he really iS such a fucking asshole

how did he not hypothesize this????? how wasn't he able to connect you and yoongi and jin as each other's closest friends???

his legs are literally about to give out so that's why seokjin snatches the lunchboxes from his hands

"i am so, so, so sorry mr. kim. i-i really didn't-..."

jin pays him no mind, opening the lunchboxes slightly as he whistles at the sight of fish and chips

meanwhile jungkook is so sO close to crying both in realization and very very slight relief because he knows atleast one of your friends doesn't hate him that much

the door opens wider, the creaking getting both of his and jin's attention

"what's taking you so long? is the-..."

yoongi switches his gaze between the two lunchboxes on jin's hand and jungkook sitting on the floor looking like he's had the shock of his lifetime

wow this is really amusing

this is in fact so amusing that yoongi can't help but to snap a picture for him and jin to laugh at later

"bye, jeon."

yoongi grabs one of the lunchboxes from jin's hand and goes back into the dorm, leaving jungkook alone with mr. student affairs

seokjin chuckles as he outstretches his hand to make jungkook stand up and shoo him off sooner than later so he wouldn't look like a pebble in front of your dorm

he pats him on the back, only having to pull him slightly to get him closer to his ear

"we're still mad at you kid, don't get it twisted. you're lucky i didn't expel you."

jungkook pales at the realization overall, only weakly nodding his head as he attempts to take in everything while trying to look at the bright side

seokjin cheerily closes the door, waving at him who looks so close to passing out from hock

"bye jungkook!!!"

#AHHHHHH WHAT R UR THOUGHTS WHAT DO YOU WANNA SEE NEXT #stem koo #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook oneshot #jungkook oneshots #jungkook au #jungkook college au #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook headcanon #jungkook series

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snackhobi · 4 years ago

Text

pairing: jungkook x reader / word count: 7.4k / genre: pacific rim au with brief smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: there are no secrets in the drift. if jungkook were to see the mess inside your head and heart, laid utterly bare, he’d turn away from you.

warnings: sexually explicit content (briefly), unprotected sex (please be safe when you have sex) / reference to injuries but nothing graphic, giant robots powered by love punching big alien monsters

a/n: this is a birthday gift for the amazing @yeojaa. happy birthday, erin. this is completely self serving and is stuffed full with inside references that I hope you’ll enjoy. I wrote this in two days and it kicked my ass because I did so much reading and researching that turned out to not even come up in the story 👁👄👁 you know when I said I was studying? I lied. I was writing HAHAHAH ily I hope you like it hhhh (this is unbeta’ed so please forgive any mistakes it’s 1:30am as I’m scheduling this) (also summaries are so hard, I’m sorry)

Jeon Jungkook really is the perfect posterboy for a Jaeger pilot.

Broad across the shoulders and trim at the waist, all sharp punches and hard muscle, resilient and tough, with a face that’s the perfect balance of angles and softness; the cut of his jaw easing up and into his pretty mouth, the line of his brows subdued by his warm eyes—he’s a Goddamn vision, raw masculinity overlaid on rich veins of boyishness, glittering stratum that sparkle and shine even under the harsh lights of the Shatterdome.

He pouts when he thinks and his hair hangs a little in his big, big eyes and he has dimples that appear when he grins, teeth poking out onto his pretty pink lips, like someone took a rabbit and turned it into a man and packed on pounds of muscle alongside. Undeniably powerful and strong, but youthful and sweet, too.

Alongside Kim Taehyung—arresting and beautiful and somehow affable and approachable, all at the same time—they’re exactly what South Korea needs right now, propelling the country’s new look for their renewed assault against the kaiju. They’re the lucky new Rangers who’ve claimed ownership of the only Mark-5 that their homeland has produced, Bulletproof Striker, a fucking gorgeous Jaeger bristling with the latest and greatest technology that the world has produced.

But that doesn’t mean they’re the best that South Korea has to offer.

Cypher Zero is smaller, lighter, older, but she’s fierce. Just like her pilots. You and Yoongi might not be the burning beacons of hope that Jungkook and Taehyung are, polished and buffed to a squeaky shine, but you don’t need to be. You’re vicious and victorious and show no signs of stopping. The kaiju kills painted on your Mark-4’s shoulder are evidence enough of that, notches for each monster taken down, spray painted in one tiny corner of the huge swathe of burnished metal plating, the red edges of her midnight skin.

Bulletproof Striker is almost untouched, deployed just once since her recent launch, flawless exterior so at odds with Cypher Zero’s battered facade. Cypher’s beautiful, of course, but bears the history of your skirmishes, inside and out: scuffed paintwork, dented metal, rust dripping down from the ladder rungs dotted across her, melting into the obsidian of her hull.

Jungkook and Taehyung move in a way that’s practiced, disciplined motions of combat that their Jaeger echoes in turn. Her mechanical movements reflect those of the men inside her head, skilled and superb. Stunning. But you and Yoongi? You fight dirty, violent and rough; messy bar room brawls; shattered glass and clawing hands in beer soaked backrooms, tinged sulphur yellow under dirty lightbulbs; two kids who fought against a world that was against them.

(Two damaged people coming together in the Drift to make something even stronger than the sum of your parts.)

(Two damaged people who survived the rough hands of the Jaeger Academy, trying to take them, push them, shape them, break them.)

(Life isn’t kind. You’d learned that young, surrounded in the splintered remnants of your childhood home, the facade of family and happiness already gone, long long long ago, leaving you aching and lonely and cold. The prospect of fighting thousands of tons of alien hatred, lifting out of the depths of the uncaring, dark sea? At least you can see the kaiju coming. Broken households and loneliness? A little harder to lay your hands on.)

(But out of everything you lost, you’d gained one thing—Min Yoongi, another quiet, damaged thing, but with the biggest depths of warmth and love underneath that hard surface; your best friend, your brother-in-arms, growing alongside you, with you. Damaged kids turned bitter teenagers turned razor-edged adults, outcasts in solitude, but together. Not alone.)

(The deeper the bond, the better you fight. Falling into the Drift with Yoongi had been easy, years of tangled connection bleeding into the images that flashed across your brain. The same memories from different angles, overlaid with different emotions, undercurrents eddying under the surface that caught both of you and swept you up in its flow; the same mind, bridged by hundreds of tons of metal and technology and firepower underneath you, linked together in the silence of the Drift.)

There’s reverence, in the way these two new pilots look at you both, reverence and awe and respect alike: older Rangers, more experienced, history written across the worn edges of your Drivesuits, the paint flaking away from your battle armour, scuffs and scrapes on the once unblemished veneer; knowledge etched into the feline slant of Yoongi’s eyes, the turn of your shoulders and hips.

You know Jungkook’s track record. You know of the endless months of assessment and sparring and psych evals and Drift tests and simulation drops that every successful Ranger has to go through, and Jungkook had trumped them all, stood atop them like a conqueror surveying his hard-won lands—gifted, talented, some even said God-touched. And yet for all this indomitable talent and skill, there’s still humility at his core, a willingness to defer with respect.

That deference is obvious whenever he sees you. Jungkook’s dark eyes will touch your own, for a moment, dark and deep and bright—and then his gaze will skitter away, cockiness and bravado dissolving into something submissive, yielding. (Shy.) You’ve watched him orbit you, the younger ranger caught in your gravity, always nearby—the Shatterdome is only so big, for its magnitude and sprawling corridors—but never broaching that final gap, that little step, into Cypher Zero’s space, Yoongi’s space, your space. Keeping himself at arm’s length.

South Korea’s golden boy, less afraid of the Kaiju than he is of his sunbaenim.

Jungkook and Taehyung are both beautiful. But you and Yoongi are less so, unapproachable in ways that the younger pilots aren’t, private and prickly, like grasping a patch of stinging nettles with bare hands, stinging and burning.

As if Jungkook isn’t terrifying and gorgeous in his own ways. As if he doesn’t shine brighter than the sun himself. Taehyung moves through the world with a thoughtless, charismatic ease that Jungkook doesn’t share—but he’s still magnetic, bold and brilliant, monstrously skilled at everything he puts his mind to, training again and again and again to get it right, get it right, get it right.

To get it perfect.

But there’s no level of perfectionism that can surmount the twisted, unpredictable nature of the kaiju belched forth from the breach. No matter how good you are, how strong or fast, how smart or seasoned, sometimes you still get caught in that hurricane, even in a Jaeger.

It doesn’t matter how many engines are packed into each muscle strand. It doesn’t matter how fast the pistons and levers and gears shift and move. It doesn’t matter that the pilots in her cockpit are impeccable and incredible. Under the cloak of deepest night and pouring rain, blanketed in darkness and water from the heavens above and the sea below, movement is impossible to track—and when Steelbrute rises from the waves, no one sees the kaiju coming.

Bulletproof Striker takes the hit. Jungkook and Taehyung fight back but they’re blindsided and overwhelmed, and their Jaeger falls to her knees in the churn of the Pacific Ocean, salt water crashing over her in choppy waves as Steelbrute’s merciless maw gapes wide open.

Cypher Zero is 250ft tall and weighs 1410 tons. You and Yoongi are tiny specks of organic matter in a fearsome behemoth of titanium and tungsten and graphene and circuitry, commanders of a weapon that’s the same size as a skyscraper—and yet you wouldn’t think that for how fast you move. Zero hesitation. No verbal communication. Cypher’s legs cut through endless waves and gain momentum with each crashing step that slams into the seafloor before you leap forward in a flurry of motion and Drift powered fury.

Your motions in the Conn-Pod are ragged and incensed, your arms and legs moving in sync with Yoongi, with Cypher Zero, a snarl ripping out of your co-pilot’s usually quiet mouth as the kaiju lurches underneath you. The world narrows down to this: throwing yourself into the fray, jagged knuckles edged with plasma pummelled into Steelbrute’s skin in a scuffle that’s vicious, aggressive, until Bulletproof Striker regains her footing.

The sun is rising, grey and cold on the horizon when Steelbrute finally sinks into the sea, toxic blood flooding the water with neon blue. When you step out of the cockpit, Yoongi’s fringe is matted with sweat, and you can feel all the places the circuitry suit sticks to your skin—piloting a Jaeger is mentally and physically exhausting, every muscle and organ and bone working overtime for endless hours as you fight tooth and nail. Without the helmets in the way, there’s nothing stopping you bumping your foreheads together, heedless of the sweat slicked there; Yoongi’s hand rests at the back of your head, a familiar cradle.

“All good,” you say. Yoongi lets out a quiet bark of a laugh, rough and exhausted.

“I want a nap,” he says, like he always does, even if you’re a long way away from that, still fully suited and due to speak to the Marshalls. There are so, so many things separating you from the bliss of sleep.

One thing that’s not part of the normal routine, though, is the other pilots catching you, demanding your recognition, respectful (Taehyung) but insistent (Jungkook). You know that Yoongi doesn’t like attention or hero-worship, but there’s nothing except gratitude, here, bent heads and words of thanks. You’d saved their lives, after all. Saved their Jaeger from being torn apart, pain screaming through their own bodies of flesh and bone, connected to their metal monster. Of course they’re grateful.

You dismiss it with a hard cut of your hand.

“It’s nothing,” you say.

You’re speaking the words you know are in Yoongi’s head—years of friendship and shared Drifts leaving his thought processes wide open to you—although you know you’re sharper than he is, harsher than he is, even, for all that he looks like the cold one from the outside. Long lashes and silken hair don’t translate to something soft and feminine and pretty, and you’re all ragged edges and rough parts, bleeding into the delivery of your words. Yoongi rounds the words in his mouth and places them into the world with a rumble of quiet strength that belies his past, but you? Your tongue is cutting and terse and drips with distrust, even when you don’t mean it to, staring at these two boys, Jungkook’s eyes so brown and large when he stares back at you.

The truth is that you care about humanity, of course. You care about humanity and you care about the millions of people in the cities that line the coasts and further inland, and you care about your fellow pilots, skilled but soft-hearted as they are. You’re stronger. You have to be. That’s what Yoongi is, that’s what you are: fighters. You fight dirty because you fight to win, not to protect yourselves. You’ll fight and you’ll die for this, for them, even if there’s no friendship there. Not yet. You’re still too distant, for all that you’d thrown yourself in the line of fire to rip the kaiju from the younger Rangers.

And when Jungkook levels a look at you, there’s a flicker of something. A spark. All the glittering of his warm eyes comes together like the cascading sparks of molten fire that fall when metal is cut through— his eyes score through you, down down down, right to your core, underneath all the armour you’ve laid about yourself throughout your life. Your heart stutters. You’ve been watching Jeon Jungkook, and he’s all cocky Ranger bravado, or innocent brown eyes and shy, curving smiles, and yet.

And yet. You know he sees this soft part of you, somehow. Past the thorns and sharp leaves, past the hard husk, into the rich, bursting sweetness inside, oozing red gems of pomegranate that yield so easily to the fingers and mouth.

(He’s temerarious and modest and wickedly perceptive too, it seems.)

“That was our kill,” he says suddenly. Taehyung—the voice piece of the two, the one who’s been smiling and speaking, easy and slow—goes still at his side.

“What?” Yoongi’s eyes pierce through him, but Jungkook keeps his focus on you.

“Steelbrute. Our kill. It was a hit from our rockets that took him out,” Jungkook says, eyes still glinting with that sparkling shine. Slicing through you with an explosion of light. “Not your blades.”

Silence steals over you, for a breath. It’s never truly silent in the Shatterdome, an iron fortress that never sleeps, but for a second, there’s quiet. It wraps around you. Tight. Almost deafening.

But then you break that silence.

You laugh.

You laugh at the cheeky grin that pulls at Jungkook’s lips, the boyish lift to his face. You laugh at his shamelessness, the sudden 180 from his earlier fear. You laugh at the way he’s diluted this astonishing, formidable thing—humanity coming together to destroy alien predators that threaten the planet—into a competition.

“You’re a menace, Jeon Jungkook,” you say.

Stinging nettles you might be, but if you’re grabbed hard and fast by confident hands, you don’t wound. Jeon Jungkook defers to respect, avoids confrontation, bows his head and quiets his mouth, but he knows, now, that he can do this. That he can push you like this, and you’ll let him, sway against it, let yourself be pushed.

Yoongi slides you a glance out the corner of his eyes, a light touch, a tacit agreement to an unspoken question.

“You can have it. Steelbrute’s yours.” There’s the smallest curl to your lips as you speak for you both. There’s something weirdly easy and familiar to this, to this interaction, even if you’ve barely exchanged words before now, giving this triumph to the other pilots hand over fist.

(Giving it to Jungkook on a platter.)

You can see the flare of triumph in Jungkook’s eyes. You know it’s not for the notch of their first kill, one they can add to their Jaeger. It’s for something far harder to achieve, something far more ephemeral: digging down and past your cool veneer and lifting out a smile, spreading it across your lips like warm butter, liquid gold.

And he keeps making you smile.

Jeon Jungkook, you find, is a force of nature, relentless, an ocean. Sometimes he’s soft, loving waves of glittering blue that crash on pearly white beaches, playful and bright. Sometimes, he’s intense, the crashing waves of a storm tossed sea, powerful and unstoppable. Always, he’s striking, even when he’s not trying—even more so because of it, moving without thought or uncertainty, a silence settling over your thoughts whenever you see him like this. See him in this raw state, so unafraid where before he’d curbed his tongue and bent his head in front of you. Now, he’s just himself, without filter.

Taehyung is there too, of course. Both pilots join your small, fiercely private circle, not just a path from you to Yoongi any more. They become intertwining lines, a pattern that’s drawn between the four of you, pilots, friends. And you learn, that for all that you’d thought that Taehyung was the dominant one outside of their Jaeger, social and extroverted and unabashed, Jungkook isn’t quiet. Not when he’s comfortable.

(Not, now, when he’s with you.)

He’s a myriad of things, endlessly deep, so different from you, from Yoongi, but—the truth of it settles inside you, your joints, the marrow of your bones, the blood that pulses forth from your heart each time it beats in your chest, liquid life running through you.

Drift compatibility.

Not that it matters. You already have a partner. You’re never going to open yourself up to anyone that isn’t Yoongi, who’s seen every part of you already. There’d been no fear about letting Yoongi see inside your brain, your heart, the raw, bleeding parts of you—because he’d already known them. Just like you’d known his. Yoongi stands to your right, inside the Conn-Pod and out, a driving force, even in his silence.

But Jungkook is softer, sweeter, for all his raw power and skill, respect engraved into his every motion, even when he’s teasing and making you laugh. Even when he ignores the social guidelines that he should follow, does follow for others, everyone except you.

And you don’t mind. You don’t bite out insults at him when he slides into the quiet hollow you’ve scraped out, a small space with just enough room for the people you keep in your heart. You’re still barbed and spiked, warding away unwanted attention, but for Jungkook, the claws retract.

You’re still you, of course. Jungkook calls you mean, says that you bully him, even as he’s flopped across your bunk, eating your rations, shovelling coveted popcorn into his mouth. He might pout and sigh and cry oppression, but you’re soft on him and he knows it. That quiet hollow in your heart is a little larger, now, a little louder. Jungkook is brazen in his claim of this space, spreading each of his limbs wide as he fits himself into every part of it. He doesn’t know every piece of your past, and you don’t plan to let him see all the messy parts bundled in your chest, but. But he’s still there.

And you let him stay. You make a home for him inside you and let him take the key. He might tilt his head and goad you, might pretend there’s a genuine challenge in the set of his jaw, but you know it’s all tempered with admiration, veneration. Friendship.

(And where he clearly respects you, you admire him in turn. You’re reminded of your differences every second he moves and breathes and just exists in front of you, but you don’t have to be similar to someone to realise just how incredible they are.)

(But though you’re different, there are similarities. You’re not a mirrored image, a reflection, like you are with Yoongi. Instead, you’re a line drawn between two separate places, an isohel, sun lighting up your world for the same sweep of the clock even for how far apart you are. Sharing that same, tenuous thing, for all your contrasting parts.)

(This thing that’s growing, held in your hands. This soft, gentle thing, shimmering, frail, unfurling slowly but undeniably. Tinged with happiness, disbelief. Disbelief that you’ve found this, that you can see Jungkook across the echoing cavern of the Shatterdome’s main hall, so far in the distance, barely visible at the foot of his Jaeger—and something will settle in your chest. Featherlight, iridescent. Something comforting.)

When you fight the kaiju, now, it’s with a deeper reserve of desperation. Taehyung and Jungkook aren’t just fellow pilots, dongsaeng that you’re obliged to look after: they’re your friends, something more than that too, part of the rare handful of people in the world who understand, this overwhelming pressure to fight and win and protect the things you love. The people you love. They understand what it’s like to step into someone else’s head, to be connected to that person on a level that’s unfathomable, anchored in a depth of love that’s endless. You’re their aegis, now, their shield.

(Jungkook’s shield.)

Maybe that’s what’s to blame. Maybe that’s why you’re so sloppy, this time. Maybe that’s why you throw yourselves in the way of the blow that was meant for Bulletproof Striker. Maybe that’s why Ojousan shreds Cypher Zero’s chest apart, her head, why Yoongi is almost ripped from you, his fear and pain screaming through your neural connection. You feel everything he feels and more beside, your heart hammering in your throat as you scream, Jaeger’s arm swinging up and around in tandem with your own motions as you try to rip the kaiju away, anything to protect Yoongi, so scared of losing him, always always always, scared of being left alone.

But you’re not alone.

Bulletproof Striker lifts up like an avenging angel. Her horns roar a challenge, an echoing battle cry as the younger pilots move in. Heavier and stronger, keeping her balance even in the turbulence of a fight, she takes the hits, gives back her own, sends the kaiju down into the crashing waves, waits for it to rise. But the monster is crafty and quick and even as you’re lifting your left arm—Yoongi’s hurt, so hurt, you know this, feel this, but he moves with you to ready the plasma cannon buried in the mechanics of your Jaeger’s hand, even if he’s keening with pain—you watch as the other pilots, too, fall victim to the clawed tail of the kaiju, screeching through layers of alloys and across their Conn-Pod.

Terror strikes through every part of you and morphs into hate. You hate the kaiju, hate your own weakness, hate the pain that’s been saved from being written into your own body while Yoongi screams and sobs even though he still fights. Your motions are anguished and desperate as you battle to overcome this beast that’s almost taken away everything that matters to you—and Cypher Zero, Yoongi, as damaged and hurt as they are, come through. (Like they always do, for you, always.)

And somehow, despite everything, for all the self-hatred and pain and fear, you pull through. You pull through. Damaged and hurt but alive.

Barely.

Barely alive.

(One hand gives, the other takes away.)

It takes hours for them to pick Yoongi’s Drivesuit from his body, crumpled around him from Ojousan’s claws, cutting into the soft flesh of his body, body ruined further by the fighting he’d been forced into despite his injuries; so many of Taehyung’s bones are shattered, and when you finally see him awake and with his eyes open, there are burst blood vessels that cast red across the usually warm expression, his friendly eyes.

You should be grateful that they’re alive. You should be on your hands and knees, weeping, benedictions dripping from your graceless mouth as you thank whatever merciless God above decided to turn their gaze on you and grant you this leniency. So many pilots have died and will continue to die, you know this, but somehow your partners are still alive.

And you are grateful. You are. But there’s bitterness on your tongue, twisted across your palate, sour and acrid and filling you with its taste. You’d been foolish and reckless and you’d almost lost the things you cared about most, even if you’d destroyed the kaiju, torn it apart and left its fluorescent indigo blood to corrode the ocean.

That’s what’s important, isn’t it. Saving humanity. One person, two people, four people—you’re the tiniest cogs in a whirring engine of billions. Unimportant. Just a spinning part that keeps the machine going.

When you’re not with Yoongi or Taehyung, an unmoving presence from their hospital beds, a hovering gargoyle carved from stone, you’re with Jungkook. Always, always, always. Somehow you’d both escaped without the injuries inflicted on your partners—you’d manage to break your little finger, and Jungkook had a black eye and a twisted ankle, and the both of you had mottles of bruises cast across your skin, pulled muscles, an ache carved into your bones, but that was it. That was it. It was almost laughable, how unscathed you are.

You hate it.

(It should have been you.)

Your legs—unbroken, unharmed—hang over steel scaffolding, motionless as you watch the tiny specks of people scuttling across the catwalks that criss-cross Cypher Zero’s body. You can see under her skin, damage peeling back all the layers of metal that should be holding her together. Endless showers of sparks fall and scatter as she’s stitched back together. Your beautiful girl is so damaged, so disfigured.

(You’d caught Yoongi as he’d fallen from the harness, listened to the horrible noises that had torn out of his lips as he’d dripped blood and pain over your shaking hands.)

The bland food you’d scraped off your dinner tray settles fitfully in your stomach, still one second, nausea bubbling up your throat the next.

It’s one of the rare times you’ve been alone, since… since everything. You’ve been taking comfort in Jungkook’s presence, unwavering and understated, needing someone there when staring at Yoongi’s battered face proved too much. Even with his own upheaval Jungkook’s been there, at your side, always close. Eyes locked on you and taking everything in, the tired set to your face, the expression that tugs down your lips, and still, he stays.

But he’d disappeared after you’d eaten, a peculiar look on his face—you know him well enough now to recognise that look, that it means he’s got something in his head, some plan he means to unfold. It’s the first time you’ve seen it since Taehyung had been pulled out of the Conn-Pod. It’s some semblance of normality, an expression of something other than pale-faced dread and bone-shivering guilt.

(You feel it too, that survivor’s guilt. Taehyung and Yoongi will recover but it’ll take time and so much suffering and you wish you could take that from them, heft that burden onto your own shoulders.)

(You know Jungkook feels the same.)

(You see it written in the tense lines of his body. Hear it unspoken in the words he shares with you. The bruises on his skin melt from red to purple to blue to yellow, but even if his body heals, his brain and heart bear the scars of helplessness.)

Jungkook reappears, finds you at the heavy steel door that leads into your room, rusted and worn but silent as it swings open in front of you. His eyes are wide and he’s breathless, like he’s been running, chest heaving as he sucks in air through his parted lips, a flash of teeth and tongue as he smiles.

Despite everything, you smile back. Helpless for that smile, always, happier now for the sight of it, for how little you’ve seen it. You want to see that smile every day. You don’t want him to worry for anything. You want him to feel the same way you do, when you see him: that quiet, maybe selfish thought that things are okay.

Maybe he does. (His eyes are so warm.) He presses something into your hands, something soft and round like a well-practised secret, and then he’s gone. You can tell by the gait of his stride that he’s going back to Taehyung, giving you a moment of lonely reprieve to wash the grime and dirt off your useless body before you follow in his footsteps, stationed at Yoongi’s side.

The door swings shut behind you.

You lift your hand.

It’s an orange.

It’s a small, overripe thing, hard nub of the stem falling away from the skin with only the lightest brush of your fingers. You stare at the fruit, its brightness cutting through the muted sepia tones of your surroundings, a point of colour in an otherwise dull room.

You haven’t seen an orange in months. Rationing is tough on everyone, even Jaeger pilots. You’d mentioned in passing, so long ago, an old habit of yours. Before something else floated above it, more important and interesting, you’d made a fleeting statement that had flitted across the surface of the conversation: you liked eating oranges in the shower. Liked that nice, cool citrus sweetness in your mouth while the rest of your body was caught in the fall of warm water.

It’s such a small, tiny thing. Just the briefest lament—there are more important things than the fact you can’t have shower oranges any more, after all—and you’d forgotten you’d even mentioned it.

But Jungkook hadn’t.

It’s almost syrupy sweet, this orange. You savour each slice, pressing them between your teeth, feeling the rush of juice burst forth through the pith and skin, and it’s so good you could cry.

You do cry.

Your mouth is full of orange and your eyes are full of tears and your head is full of—of—something, something so all encompassing that it overwhelms you, water cascading down the aching planes of your body as you crumple inwards. Jungkook had protected you with the overwhelming power of Bulletproof Striker, and he’s protecting you now, soft and considerate and kind, vulnerable and human. Stripped of tons of metal and technology, Jungkook wears his beating heart on his sleeve and is none the weaker for it.

This seemingly small thing means so much, so so so much. You understand him, and he understands you too, knows that this gesture is indicative of support and care and nurturing, a tiny fragment of peace he can offer you in the tumult of everything out of your control.

A tiny fragment of peace that’s part of a greater whole, all the things that Jungkook gives to you.

When the Marshalls gather you and tell you the plan going forwards, you’re unsurprised.

It makes sense, of course. Four pilots down to two still leaves a pair, and Bulletproof Striker is nearly functional even if Cypher Zero will stay out of commission while she’s rebuilt. Simple maths. One Jaeger, two pilots. You and Jungkook.

You’re scared.

You know you’re Drift compatible. Every fight in the Kwoon Combat Room is evidence enough of that. A dialogue, each challenge is meant to be a dialogue to show physical compatibility, and it is: there’s perfect sync in how you each move to strike, even if your motions are so different, muscles burning and breaths coming faster each time you attack, parry, strike, block. It’s not about winning or losing. It’s a conversation, one that you and Jungkook fall into without thought.

And he would be the perfect partner. That much isn’t in doubt. Loyal and open and strong, honourable and brave and kind—and you know him, have grown to learn so much about this golden boy, this bright, brilliant boy. He’s fucking indomitable and anyone would be lucky to find themselves in the same Jaeger as Jeon Jungkook.

But there are no secrets in the Drift.

To let someone in, you have to trust them. And you do, you do trust Jungkook, probably far more than makes sense, some unspoken thing between you burning like a wildfire. But while you trust him, confident in his strength and his heart, you trust yourself less.

You’ll be flayed open, naked and defenceless. He’ll see right to the core of you, every dirty corner of your crumpled soul, every shameful part of your foundations, uneven brickwork layered into your shaky temperament; strong one second, weak the next. He’ll see that you’re hard inside, too, biting and acidic right down to your shrivelled heart. This nascent thing that you’ve been building with Jungkook, been keeping safe in the cradle of your careful hands, will sputter out and die.

“Baby.”

Yoongi’s voice is comforting, a familiar rumble that rolls through your ears as you rest your head in his lap.

“And I mean that you’re literally being a baby,” he continues, and you curl your lip back from your teeth in a small snarl, menacing.

Yoongi just continues to thread his hands through your hair.

You’ve Drifted with Yoongi often and long enough to know how every thread of thought unspools in that skull of his. You know he has every confidence in the unshakeable pillar of your soul. He’s a brother to you, a connection that thrums deep in your veins even without the intimacy of the Drift, and the love you hold for him is undying and true.

But whatever you have with Jungkook is so timorous in the face of that.

“It’s different.” Yoongi looks down at the twist of your face. You know his thoughts and he knows yours too, your face and heart an open book to him. “But different isn’t bad.”

You keep your mouth shut, keep the words swallowed down in your throat, shoved down to the pit of your stomach. Keep it secret. Keep it safe.

“Baby,” he says again, softer, lower. This time, you know it’s an endearment.

At the end of the day, no matter what fear grips cold and endless at your insides, you’ll do it. You’ll Drift with Jungkook. You’ll throw everything you have into the pyre, watch it burn and turn to ash, if it means you can keep everyone safe. To save Yoongi, Taehyung, Jungkook—you’ll open yourself up to the mortifying ordeal of opening up, laying yourself bare. You have to.

It’s chaotic, anyway. The day that your practice Drift is scheduled is the day the next kaiju rises out of the breach, that dreaded rift between our world and theirs, because why would you be allowed to breathe, even for a second?

It’s a scramble into the cockpit. There’s no time for trial runs or test Drifts. You fly or you fall. Everyone’s in a state of orderly upheaval as you’re suited up and left to stride forwards into a Conn-Pod that isn’t yours, in a Jaeger that isn’t yours.

(Left to stride forwards to stand next to someone who isn’t yours.)

Your Drivesuit is grey. Jungkook’s is white. There’s a subtle hologramatic sheen laid across the planes of his armour, leaving him a multicoloured vision that shines out under the flicker of the cockpit’s endless tiny buttons and lights. Your own suit is a matte, gunmetal with accents of burning scarlet, far more battered and worn. Dark and wild in the face of Jungkook’s radiance. He’s the perfect answer to the kaiju invasion. You, though, feel like an interloper in a space that wasn’t designed for you, this circle room that’s been home to Jungkook and his true, real partner.

But he’s looking at you like there’s no one else he’d rather have by his side.

He doesn’t care that everything about this moment just cements how he’s too good for you in every conceivable way, elevated above you. Doesn’t care that you’re just a temporary stop gap. There’s trepidation, of course, skittering nerves that dance across his face for this first Drift, surrounded by all the commotion that’s swallowing the world up outside the cockpit. But there’s also that fire in his eyes, one you’ve learned to expect: Jungkook is a wildfire and will surmount any obstacle in a blaze of white-hot light.

And he wants you along for the ride.

(Burns bright for it.)

“You ready?” He asks, and the tiny tremor in his words takes you off guard even as it soothes a balm over the rash of apprehension that prickles across your skin.

(Because he’s nervous, too.)

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you answer, truly.

His eyes crinkle into a smile, crescents of happiness as his lip peels back from his teeth. It should be jarring, seeing his sweet bunny smile in the pit of a Jaeger, so at odds with the military polycarbonate that girds his body with protection, the masculine edges of his face—but it’s not. The world is just a backdrop to Jeon Jungkook, dropping away as you fall into his eyes, twinkling stars of brightness and warmth that hold you safe, even now.

Peace and contentment steals over you. You’re almost shocked by it, the way your own face softens into a smile, the rising beat of your heart. Every ragged messy edge in you is smoothed over by Jungkook’s presence and you glow for him.

When the Conn-Pod drops, there’s the familiar weightlessness, the sway of your body in the harness as you fall. Anticipation roils through you as Bulletproof Striker’s head locks into place, whirring mechanisms securing you to nearly 2000 tons of metal, so much heavier than your own Jaeger. You’ve taken Jungkook’s usual place and he’s taken Taehyung’s, the right hemisphere, the dominant pilot, familiar with this machine in a way you’re not.

Not yet, at least.

“We’ve got this.”

Jungkook’s voice cuts through the noise, the AI talking at you, a narration of events you’ve long grown used to. You turn your head to look at him. He’s already looking at you, intent and sincere. Like always.

“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, we have.”

There’s no point being afraid. In a few seconds, Jungkook will be in your head, washing over every part of you—and you’ll be in his, pressing your ethereal touch into every facet that comes together to make Jeon Jungkook who he is.

Seconds pass. There’s a little hitch in his breath, a stiffness to his limbs, and he shuts his eyes. You breathe in deep, deep, deep, sucking in a harsh breath into your greedy lungs—

—the timer hits zero—

—and then the Drift slams into you all at once, all encompassing and consuming, threading your minds together.

(Drifting with Yoongi is easy, the familiarity of coming home after so much time away.)

(But this?)

(This is throwing yourself into a cold lake on a hot summer’s day, bracing and refreshing and breath-stealing all at once, shocking life into every one of your limbs, so sharp and fast you’re scared you might drown before you breach the surface, water holding onto you and not letting you go. This is driving reckless and fast down empty roads, watching the world pass you in a blur, laughing in delight at the pleasure of it all. This is scaling a cliffside with nothing but your own hands and determination, digging your fingers into the unyielding rock, pulling yourself up-up-up, never letting yourself fall.)

(This is having Jungkook beside you. This is having Jungkook diving into the lake with all the grace of an Olympian before he rises to the surface, tosses his hair carelessly out of his face, and spits a mouthful of water at you with laughter in his eyes. This is having Jungkook behind the driver’s wheel, shifting gears without thought, looking away from the road to watch the way your hair dances in the wind. This is having Jungkook climbing beside you, waiting for you at the top, holding a hand out to pull you up and over so you can sprawl out beside him, exhausted and exuberant at the top of this mountain, basking in the sun with Jungkook just a hair’s breadth away from you.)

(He takes one look at you. He takes one look at all the dark of your memories, the cascading mess of your insides, the hidden things that are open to him in the Drift, cut open and peeled back for his gaze—and he doesn’t look away.)

(He sees everything, past skin and muscle and bone and nerves, even deeper, right into your heart—)

(—all the torrents that eddy the deep waters of your soul—)

(—and he doesn’t look away.)

(He doesn’t look away.)

(Can’t look away.)

(Doesn’t want to.)

(Never wants to.)

(Jeon Jungkook takes one look at you, your whole being, and he knows you.)

(And he doesn’t want you any less.)

It’s just a second, a flicker, a breath, this first connection in this Drift, falling into each other. But it’s also a lifetime, two lifetimes, four lifetimes; your memories, Jungkook’s memories, Yoongi’s memories in yours, Taehyung’s memories in Jungkook’s. Layers and layers and years and years piled over one another, a tumbling sprawl—but it’s easy. It’s easy, so easy, Jungkook seeing you, you seeing him, everything he is, everything you are, everything you are to each other, with each other, for each other. The important things. The things you need to know to navigate this together, in sync even before now, reading each other to a level neither had even realised.

And when you’ve killed the kaiju. When you’ve walked Bulletproof Striker back to shore, brought her back to the Shatterdome, back home, it doesn’t end. You lift out of the Drift, step out of your Drivesuits, as different as they are (as different as you are), and it doesn’t end.

Jungkook’s eyes linger, as heavy as a physical touch, and even as congratulations for a successful drop are bandied about you, he doesn’t leave your side. He keeps his hand against yours—not intertwined, but brushing, the curl of his fingers against your own. Touching. You’re not the protector here. He’s protecting you, in a way that doesn’t leave you feeling inferior or weak. You feel soft and warm and small and safe, pulled inexorably towards him, supported, buoyed up, and you don’t feel selfish for it.

Because he wants this.

He wants to be your comfort and your support.

He doesn’t want it to end.

(You don’t want it to end.)

And when you finally break away from those crowds, released from the shackles of responsibility and expectation—when you’re finally left alone, the two of you with each other, there’s no hesitation when you come together.

He lays you out beneath him and has you sobbing, back arching into the pleasure he draws out of your body, playing you like a maestro. Because he knows you, after all. He knows exactly how to trail his lips across your skin, your neck and stomach and thighs, painting marks across your body like it’s his personal canvas. He knows exactly how to have you twisting underneath him, how to pull those pretty sounds from your lips, fucking you with his fingers and his tongue until you’re a shaking mess. He kisses you sweet, merciless, letting you claw at his skin as you beg for more, more more more, wanting it, needing it, wanting him, needing him.

And you know he’ll give it to you. He’ll give himself to you, give you everything you ask for. You know how he wants to see you fall apart and you know how to move your body to have him gritting his teeth and staring in awe. You know how desperate he is to worship you, to show you his adoration and reverence, and you open up for him, unfurl like a flower, dripping nectar. When he finally presses into you, hot and long and thick, it’s so good you could cry. You draw him in-in-in, into your body and arms and heart, pressing your lips to the sweat at his brow, the taste of skin and salt and Jungkook bursting across your tongue.

There’s no Drift here, no curl of memories and unspoken thoughts between you. It’s physical and human, the crash of your bodies against each other, skin on skin, the thrust of his cock pressing into the dripping folds of your cunt. It’s the other half of that connection, the final piece, this thing you have with Jungkook, this perfect balance you have with him. It sears itself across your body and into your soul: it’s pleasure and passion and devotion carved into each touch of your lips and fingers, each roll of your hips, each time Jungkook makes you cum, gasping for him.

When he’s finally come apart inside you, spilling into your willing heat as you shake beneath him, arms and legs wrapped around his body as you pull him as close as you can, unwilling to let go—it still doesn’t end. You’re so wrapped up in Jungkook, in his arms, his heart, and you know he won’t let you go, either. He presses his lips against yours, chases those kisses, quiet and chaste to open-mouthed and dirty as the mood takes you, and then Jungkook rolls over you again, a spark in his eyes as he decides he’s still hungry for you.

You know, now, that all that time ago, when you carved that space for him into your chest, he’d done the same for you. He’d laid his heart at your feet and waited there, kneeling, for you to accept it, patient and willing. Staring at you with all the deep love you never thought you deserved, never thought you’d receive. But here he is. Here he is, love burning in his dark brown eyes. Eyes that have seen all the damaged, aching parts of you and love you anyway.

“I’m yours.”

Jungkook shines so bright at your words, a supernova of joy. His smile is so wide and his gaze is so soft, for you, for you, for you.

“Everything I am is for you,” he murmurs, letting the words curl into the air, settle across your skin, sink deep inside your chest. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel this touch of him inside you, wrapped around your heart.

And when you lift your hands, he comes so easily. He presses his cheek into the curve of your fingers, lets you hold him, lets you cup those lovely cheeks in your palms.

“I love you,” he says.

Right now, in this instant, there’s nothing but him. No kaiju, no Jaegers, no crumbling world, nothing. There’s only him, and you, together.

“I love you too,” you reply—and when you smile, gentle and tender, Jungkook falls in love all over again.

Burns bright for you.

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daburuwosagase · 2 years ago

Text

Guess I'll do a year review for the heck of it.

2022 sucked badly for me and for many loved ones (you know who you are). It's been very trying from start to finish. A lot of my coping mechanisms just did not work. There is no silver lining in losing family and friends. There were so many awful circumstances popping up without rest that left me feeling powerless. Dates are arbitrary, but I have been looking forward to the end of the year since March.

In the coming year, I want to get off the internet and go outside, get a job in the field I'm actually trained for, focus on one-on-one relationships, whatever else will make me feel like I'm progressing with my life. I've been very thankful to have physical stability all this year and last. But it's time to get back up.

Recounting all the awful stuff would just be a downer, so I'll list off the positives:

Graduated after six years! Got oodles of qualifications! Sure would be nice if an employer took notice! I worked my butt off to actually get good grades in the last semester and boost my GPA over that 3.5 threshold. I think I'd have been really frustrated if I had ended up at 3.49. So I'm proud of myself for pouring effort into my own future for once.

(Technically) finished up the biggest translation project I've ever done. I'm not taking on that much unpaid solo work ever again. But wow, I think I deserve street cred forever for that one.

Got foot surgery after four years! Now that I'm *literally* back on my feet, it's...

...actually, I'm gonna derail this post and talk candidly about that. I just did my exercises for the night and my legs are feeling great. I bounced up the stairs with a spring in my step earlier today, and moderately quickly at that. I've been able to go on walks around the neighborhood and still have strength after getting back home. I can just STAND. Back in the summer, I couldn't even stand around normally without some pain.

I'm frustrated with myself for not getting help earlier, for always thinking "yeah it was pretty bad last week but it's feeling better, so no need to call the doctor, right?", for taking so long to progress to surgery even when I finally DID see a doctor. It shouldn't have taken four goddamn years when, according to what I'm reading, surgery can be considered after six months for what I had.

If you're reading this right now and you experience chronic pain: please schedule an appointment. Don't wait for the next flareup.

Anyway, it got so bad that I just couldn't walk. The pain wasn't like constantly walking on spikes — it only felt like that for brief moments here and there, as if that's much better. But it WAS constant, and eventually would hurt even when sitting down. And I was wondering if I was going to be stuck in pain for the rest of my life, not able to go anywhere, not able to do anything about it. And I *did* give up on going outside and standing in the kitchen long enough to make a meal.

When the doctor explained surgery as an option to me, it sounded too good to be true. Nothing else had worked, yet this method was supposed to be a total cure? She made it sound pretty damn perfect though. So I scheduled a date, put my life on hold for two months, and actually started to feel hopeful. Only a month left of grinning and bearing it, only a few weeks, a few days...

...and like I thought, something just HAD to go wrong. Just like every other thing this year. One stupid false positive test and eeeverything got rescheduled, and the month-long timer got reset, and I was heartbroken. It hurt so much and I was so scared that it'd happen again.

But as you know, I *did* get the surgery. I was insanely anxious in those last three days beforehand, but by god, afterward, there was NO pain in the places where it'd been constant before. Sure, I could only crawl for two weeks, and I'm still relearning how to walk properly, but holy crap! I can move around! I can stand around aimlessly and it doesn't hurt! I could probably run, though I haven't tried! I managed to walk around for two hours on uneven ground last month and see the sights of a nearby national park, and it was beautiful and unbelievably peaceful and it's a memory I'll treasure for life. We're planning to revisit the same place next month, and while I know it won't be the same as that perfect first time, I'm still so excited for it. I can plan in advance again! I have things to look forward to again! All of this seemed impossible a few months ago!

I'm still holding my breath a little because this year has just burned me over and over again. But the groundwork has been laid for things to get better.

#personal #cw: medical #oops! turned into a different post halfway

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moonvalecrossing · 2 years ago

Note

Alright, I've asked about your thoughts on the Paldea Gym Leaders. But instead of the Elite Four (there are only 2 Elite Four members [3 if you count the Champion] that don't have another significant role, anyway), I'm gonna ask what your top 3 favorite and least favorite of the Academy teachers in Scarlet and Violet are.

Sorry for the late reply. I was taking a wee break from pokemon related things! I'll get to teachers happily in a moment, but there's something I want to say first. And, as always, POSSIBLE SPOILERS FOR SCARLET AND VIOLET THINGS AHEAD WOO WOO! Also probably unpopular opinions! Lets get this shit!

Gotta disagree about what you say about the Elite Four. Loathe as I am to view it on equal footing with any of the other established elite 4s (even freaking Alola's) because of the GODDAMN LITERAL TODDLER IN THE RANKS, it's still an elite four with 4 members. I'd argue Mrs. Topmost champion isn't exactly the best at her job running the league considering said toddler's status as well as the fact she's placed people who clearly prefer their other jobs to being a gym leader. Plus, listening to what Larry has to say she seems to be a bit of a shitty boss, too. Can't get another person for the elite four so you pick the one regular joe who sees this as his 9 to 5 and then you make him use a completely different type of pokemon than what he specializes in? Damn, Geeta I think I hate you. Top Champion, my ass. Nemona's final fight was harder than yours. There didn't turn out to be an actual villain team in this game, but god damn if I didn't spend the whole game hoping it would be Geeta so I could kick her ass and jail her. She runs a joke of a league, and is a joke of a champion.

Now then! Onto the main establishment in the Paldea region! The school and its teachers!

Favorites first!

#3. Mrs. Tyme. I adore this woman. Her makeup and fun hair style are as on point as her sister Ryme. She is a delightful woman and I loved her classes. Plus, according to Bulbapedia, she's the homeroom teacher for the STEM track at the academy. Something something women in science careers booya! I also liked her little side story as you got to know her at the school. At first I thought it was odd that she had such a strong sense that someone was watching her. I mean, I suffer from anxiety and paranoia about people around me and even I don't really notice when someone's staring at me unless I see them doing it. But, remembering her sister's basically a rapping medium (which by the way is still fucking awesome goddamn), it wouldn't be too strange for Tyme to have a bit of a sixth sense about her.

#2. Mr. Saguaro. I looked forward to his classes almost as much as the top slot's classes whenever new classes unlocked. He's an absolute delight. I love when they make tough intimidating turn out to be actual sweethearts. When I sat in on my first class I had to tell my girlfriend that I'd found her fairy trainer OC's real father. Buff scary looking man who isn't afraid of wearing pink and does presumptuously feminine things? Dead ringer, son. Now if this guy trained solely fairy types I'd be getting a paternity test ready! xD

#1. Mr. Hassel. What can I say, I'm an artist at heart. It was my favorite class in school growing up, and it will always be. Hell. My senior year schedule was 50% art classes. It was the greatest school year of my life. Anyways. Hassel. I love this man. I am in love with this man. I would marry this man, damn. He is so damn sweet and emotional and I just want to hug him. I wanted to learn so much more about his history after his side event at school. When I first saw him I thought 'oh god this guy's gonna be unfun and boring teacher man'. I could not have been more wrong. This man? This man is my favorite adult character in the game. I'd pair my player character with Arven, but me? Mr. Hassel. GIVE ME A RING, SIR. (Sorry that got kinda weird but dang this character is wonderful.)

Now here we go! To the fun part! Get your pitchforks ready kids because I'm sure someone's gonna be unhappy here!

#3. Ms. Dendra. Hoo boy. I am a fat kid and I hate gym class. So taking her class and standing in the middle of a running track gave me some bad Mile Run flashbacks. Her class was actually nice, though. Simple, I'd argue. But I have at least two decades of pokemon battling under my belt so I wouldn't expect to be challenged by the battle instructor's lessons. So why did I put Dendra down here? Well. It's not her design. I like it (even if she screams Dark Types and not Fighting Types) as simple as it is. No. She's friends with Tulip. She makes me do that fudgemuppeting ESP training gym challenge. I still don't know if I was only supposed to emote once or spam the button since my character didn't hold her pose like the rest of the people there. Dendra is getting hella hate by association, and I feel kind of bad. However, that's not hte only reason I am unimpressed at her character. Her side story is the least impressive of all the teachers. Well besides another on this list, but yeah. Ha ha tough girl character can't cook (or in this case, make a sandwich how is that a thing these crazy bastards would happily eat a pickle and cheese sandwich slathered in mayo and enjoy it). Her story is learning to make a decent sandwich. And as far as I can tell, she still didn't 100% figure out how to do that. Good lord, woman. Meat. Cheese. Lettuce. Condiment of your preference. This would at least make a little sense if she were in Galar struggling to make curry. You could burn that shit. In Paldea your cooking only screws up if you fail to stack the stupid sandwich right. (And I did often because the table liked to shake for some damn reason. And then there were hte times everything fell off when I put the top slice of bread on. My sanity is in shambles, there's bacon all over the table and I am inconsolable.)

#2. Mr. Jacq. He was almost #1. But while thinking about it I decided I dislike the other teacher more. I don't hate Jacq's class. If anything I wanted to learn more about pokemon biology. Dude's a bishie and I like staring at his face. So long as I ignore whatever that eyebrow situation he has going on. It looks like he drew it with a dry erase marker and the maker faded at the ends. Why is he so pretty. Anyway. I hate everything else about his design. Dude literally looks like he rolled out of bed and put on a lab coat and sandals. Dude is wearing pajamas and you will not convince me otherwise. Doesn't even look like he fixed his bedhead. Good lord man a little professionalism's too much to ask, apparently. I hate those sandals. His classroom looks like a science lab classroom. Put on some gosh damn shoes, sir. The only worse job he could have had with that outfit is teaching cooking. And I get it my dude. You're the pokedex guy this generation. Which is funny because you're not even the same kind of professor as the others. The actual professor's Sada/Turo and those two are [a pair of peas in a pod]. Yeah lets no spoil that one. Thanks, Spamton. He mentions that goddamn pokedex more than I care about. He even puts a damn question about it on his midterm and gets in trouble for it. My guy. My dude. This is the age of the internet just ask online. You did a good job on the pokedex design it's actually really neat to get new entries and see the pictures and the book design is really cool. I think that saved you from being #1 on this list. But the fact you can't separate your two jobs makes me more than mildly salty. They may go hand in hand but I will throw you into the bowels of the deepest volcano for wanting me to get the entire pokedex again to finish your stupid side thing at the school. You don't get a story, you just give me my least favorite challenge in the game. My guy that pokedex has entries for pokemon from the ancient past and I chose Violet. I will strangle the life out of you. How in the in-universe fuck can you expect a child to accomplish that in a timeline where we had Professor Turo as the professor? When its clear the strange pokemon are from the future? Frick off with that nonsense, Jacq give me my shiny charm.

#1. Ms. Raifort. Oh goddamn. This woman. Best teacher sidequest because of what it unlocks and its unsurprisingly interesting lore-wise. But I'll get to more on that later. I have some words about this woman. Bench cannot even come into class with her shirt tucked in. I don't care about that sort of thing but god damn woman either leave it untucked or fully tucked in you look as sloppy as Jacq. And this woman is obsessed with History to the point I don't want her teaching children. She's one of those asshole teachers that picks someone to answer a question if you make eye contact. God damn did I hate teachers like that. Do you want your students to disengage from your lesson? Do you want to really mess up the kids with social anxiety? That's what's gonna happen. The air she has about her reminded me of my French Teacher in Highschool and that woman was such a massive bitch that I dropped the class completely. She doesn't care about her students. Not unless they meet whatever standards she sets up for them. And boy howdy does she go about making you feel stupid if you answer wrong. And did I say this woman is obsessed with history already? Because damn I meant it. Whinges about a new addition added to the school building because its marring the ancientness of the structure. I remember her also complaining about events that occur more recently to present day because they're so recent. Even wants a time machine so she can go see things back when they were pristine and untouched history. Bitch be crazy. Now, back to that side quest. While I enjoy the side quest for the pokemon in it... this woman is completely off her damn rocker for setting it in motion. "Hey kid, remember that story I talked about where Paldea's empire was torn asunder because of pokemon that were cursed treasures or some shit? And they were sealed away afterwards? You know what would be absolutely poggers? If you went out and removed all the spikes keeping those seals shut! I bet the pokemon will be thrilled as can be to be free and I'm sure this won't have any negative effects what so ever! HISTORY! HNNNNNNN!" I didn't get to finish this side quest yet because I didn't find all the spikes before needing a break from pokemon for a bit (oops accidentally wanted to play Fire EMblem Three Houses again and then got further distracted with Deltarune Fanfiction) but if my character wasn't so gosh darn special because she's got me controlling her, I can imagine all of Paldea would once more be turned asunder by some angry chinese monsters. Because looking at the dex entries.. hoo damn are those some vengeful spirits taking the form of pokemon. And to top it all off. When you finish this sidequest and show her all the angry spirits you captured and prevented from being unleashed had someone more stupid and less powerful did it? She gives you the TM for Nasty Plot. What is it with the characters being obsessed with other time periods in this game and seeming sus as all fuck?? Someone give me Looker's phone number I need to make an anonymous report on dangerous individuals.

#pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon scarlet #pokemon violet #hot takes #Moonvale is ranting again oh god #get the popcorn ready #possible spoilers

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txemrn · 3 years ago

Text

Book: Open Heart (after book 3)

Word Count: 1456 (+/-)

Warnings: Language, angst, maternal death

A/N: You guessed it; we did another Drunken Drabbles last night (which if you ever want to play, please join us! My buddies @chemist-ana, @jstawriterbee, & @kat-tia801 joined me last night--check out their DD! They actually have smut!), and this one is brought to you be Deep Eddie's Vodka. As far as the challenge? I broke every. single. rule. First of all, I passed out before I could schedule to post this, so here I am, 2.5 hours late. Second, I didn't use the prompt. There is literally no prompt to this. Third, I'm well over 1000 word. And finally, there is no smut. Nada. Zilch. What the hell happened last night? *rubs head* Some characters and plot belong to Pixelberry. Also, no editing or pre-reading with this bad boy, so please forgive me! Enjoy! 😎

***

Depositing a dollop of hand sanitizer in her palm, newly appointed Chief of Obstetrics Dr. Tatum Erikson escorts a nurse out of a labor patient's room. “Let’s go ahead and start that amnio,” she orders as she rubs her hands together. "300 bolus followed by 80 an hour. Call me if--" the chime of her pager interrupts her. "Shit."

"Ma'am?"

Tatum rubs her temples. "Sorry--um--" she looks back at her pager. "--call me if those decels don't resolve in thirty minutes--" she begins to jog down the birthing center's corridor, heading towards the stairs to exit the unit.

She bolts down the six flights, reaching the ground level at a rapid speed. She rounds the corner, pushing past the double doors next to a large red-and-white illuminated sign: Emergency. She sees the commotion ahead and a patient being transferred from a stretcher, not responsive.

"I'm Dr. Erikson," she frantically calls out over the chaos of the room. "I was paged 911. What've we got?" As a seasoned EMT rattles off vital signs and history, Tatum instantly recognizes Karla Hogan, a patient she saw this morning at her 38-week check-up appointment.

Oh, God, no... Please no...

"...she was found unresponsive at the scene of the MVA. Asystole. CPR in process for 17 minutes--"

"Epi? We've given epi?"

"Yes--"

"Atropine?"

"Maxed."

No, no, no. This can't be happening…

"Doctor, how would you like to proceed--?"

"Put a goddamn fetal monitor on my patient," she barks, turning to a nurse nearby. "You," she points, "page OB STAT Emergency overhead. I need an OR now--"

"It won't make a difference," bellows a cold, baritone voice from the doorway of the room.

Tatum freezes, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. She knows that hauntingly deep voice: a voice that once made her giggle incessantly during the day while he purred her name late into the night; a voice that encouraged her, comforted her, believed in her all through medical school; a voice that once laid claim to her hand and her heart--that is until that voice found her in bed with his best friend. She knows that frigid tone anywhere.

"Ramsey," she mutters.

"A postmortem c-section?" He condescendingly questions, strolling confidently into the room. "She's been down for how long--?"

"But, if these chest compressions have been adequate, there's a chance--"

"She was gone before they even started--" he nonchalantly interjects as he begins testing the patient's reflexes.

"Doctor Ramsey," she chides before being abruptly interrupted by a trauma nurse.

"Dr. Erikson, I think I hear a heartbeat, but it's low and slow." Tatum nervously nods, taking a few deep breaths.

"That's good enough for me," she kindly thanks the nurse. "Alright, team," she boldly orders, "Let's get her ready for a cesarean." She turns to a nearby technician. "Where the hell is my OB team?"

"They've been paged--"

"Page them again," orders Tatum.

"But, doctor--"

"Page them again," Tatum's tone becomes more stern as she starts grabbing surgical materials. Slipping on a scrub hat, she turns to look into a pair of familiar, crystal blue eyes. "When's the last time you did surgery, Ramsey?"

The tall provider sardonically chuckles. "It's been a while," he crosses his arms, "but, it's not happening right now--"

Tatum scoffs. "Let's get her prepped people. Move!"

"Dr. Erikson," Ethan hollers, a warning in his tone. "You will not be performing this--"

"Watch me." Tatum fervently assists the nurses and technicians in positioning the gravid body. "If you've got a problem, take it up with the chief. This is my call--"

"Already have," Ethan snidely rebuttals, "and it's my call." Tatum stops applying her surgical mask, slowly turning her attention to his towering frame. Her wide eyes slowly trace down from his face to the embroidery of his white coat: Dr. Ethan J. Ramsey, Chief of Medicine.

Tatum blinks her lashes in confusion. "Where's Dr. Banerji?"

"Not here," Ethan smirks, raising an eyebrow. "Now will you be reasonable?"

"Reasonable?" She feels the anger burning inside her as she fights back the stinging pain of tears. Her eyes glisten with earnest pleading. "Ethan," she beckons under her breath, "We could save a life."

Ethan runs his hand over his face, allowing his fingers to rest against his chin. "Tatum, I--"

"Please. Do this," she swallows deeply, her voice reducing to a whisper, "for me?" Ethan's gaze fixes on his former love, a flash of memories flood before his eyes leaving the pair in a palpable stillness.

"Nurse," he calls out from over his shoulder, "I need a size eight glove."

***

"You want me to--"

"I can do it."

Ethan and Tatum walk in silence to the waiting room to retrieve Karla Hogan's husband. Recognizing him instantly, Tatum invites him to follow him to a more private room to talk.

"Just--just say it, Dr. Erikson." Tatum stuns in her steps, slowly turning to face the tearful husband and father-to-be. "Please don't make me take one more step, one more second not knowing that the love of my life--that she, my Karla--" his voice falls into sobs.

"We--we did everything--" Tatum's voice runs hoarse as tears drip from her cheeks. She clears her throat. "Mr. Hogan, I--I--" A sudden tunnel of darkness clouds around her head, the room falling silent. She feels her heart begin to panic, thundering in her chest as her breathing becomes more shallow. She's had this difficult discussion before with family members; but death in the maternity ward is never something one should get used to.

Suddenly, Ethan gently puts a hand on Tatum's shoulder, a comforting touch that always brought her back to reality. She takes a few deep breaths, looking up at him. He gives a curt nod as he squeezes her shoulder, stepping forward to talk.

"Mr. Hogan, we did everything we could…"

Tatum slips off her scrub cap, letting platinum blonde wisps cascade down her face. All she can picture in her head is Karla, how she was full of hope this morning‐‐they both were. And in the blink of an eye

"... but thanks to this skillful doctor right here," Tatum is pulled from her thoughts by Ethan's words as he points to her. "--your newborn baby girl is waiting for you, recovering in our Neonatal Intensive Care Unit."

***

After leading the emotional father up to meet his daughter, Tatum turns on her heel, making her way back to her laboring patients in the birthing center. But, before she exits the NICU, she discovers Ethan finishing a conversation with one of the neonatologists. Their eyes meet.

“Proud of you today, Tate,” Ethan offers a crooked smile.

Tatum dramatically steps closer to Ethan, crossing her arms as she raises an eyebrow. “Pardon me,” she lifts a hand up to cup her ears, “but did you just say, ‘You were right, Tatum; I was wrong’?”

Ethan pinches between his eyes while his other hand rests on his hip. “I’m never wrong--”

“Today you were--” she jovial pokes at him.

“You got lucky--”

“And you’re still bitter--”

“‘Bitter’?” Ethan scoffs, “of you--?”

“That someone’s medical intuition rivals your own--”

“Dare to dream, Dr. Erikson, but we both know exactly what your intuition is capable of--” The moment the words left his lips, a painful apologetic look plagues Ethan’s eyes as he watches the stunned hurt flash across hers. A thick silence floods between them, both of them unsure how to recover from such a low-blow of a remark. Tatum stares at the floor, unsure if she should just walk away.

“Tatum, I--” she shakes her head, waving her arm to dismiss the inevitable apology. She just wasn’t sure when she would stop paying for the sins of her past.

“So,” she tries to change subjects as a mischievous grin grows across her face. "I missed the memo. You're my boss."

"I'm your boss," he chuckles, crossing his arms.

"Hrmmm," Tatum raises her eyebrows, turning towards the door as a silence falls between them, again. She motions for the automatic door to open.

"Hrmmm what?" Ethan questions, turning towards her as the doors slowly open.

"Oh, I was just thinking," she lowers her voice, placing her hand on his arm. Ethan bites his lower lip as his cheeks begin to flush. His eyes flutter down to her lips before drifting back to her gaze. He swallows thickly.

"A-About what?" His tone matches hers.

She giggles letting go of his arm. She makes her way through the automatic doors and back en route to her department. But, not before she calls out over shoulder in a dark, sensually husky voice: "It wouldn't be the first time--" she twirls on her heel to look at him one more time, giving him a wink and a knowing smile, "--sir."

***

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