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cy-cyborg · 1 year ago

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Tips for writing and drawing Wheelchair using characters: Your character's wheelchair can tell us a lot about them

When you first start learning character design, you'll often be told something to the effect of "use your character's outfit to tell us more about them" - and this same principles can be applied to a disabled character's mobility aids.

Mobility aids like wheelchairs, to many disabled people, are a part of us. They can be an extension to a person's body and chances are, if you're going to be using this piece of equipment every day for the foreseeable future (or at least for a good amount of time for the foreseeable future), it's going to start reflecting some aspects of your personality, your interests, your passions, especially when you remember, a lot of people get their wheelchairs custom built for them.

You can use your character's wheelchair to tell us a lot about them without ever needing to show/describe them directly.

Let me show you two examples:

Take a look at these two wheelchairs. they're similar in shape and build, but still pretty different to each other. Can you make some guesses about their users based only on what's shown here?

intended answers below:

Please note, the following points are all generalisations and the real world is rarely this simple. This is to demonstrate how to use disability aids to contribute to your character's design, not how to make assumptions about real people in real life.

So here are some similarities between the chairs:

Both wheelchairs have ridged frames, this means the wheelchair can't be folded in any way. These kinds of chairs can imply a few different things depending on the person. They are typically lighter, sturdier and more durable, and indicate the person probably will be using the wheelchair for a long time and/or has the money to get something built to last (or lives in a place where cost not an issue due to universal/subsidised access to healthcare). They are also typically better to travel with when flying, as they are less likely to be broken by airport security/staff.

Both wheelchairs also lack anti-tip wheels, which are a third set of wheels that extend from the back of the chair. Them not being present could indicate the person is likely pretty confident in their ability to use the chair without worrying about tipping out. It could also indicate they are in an environment where the anti-tips could be more of a hazard than a help, such as on rough terrain.

So lets look at some specifics for the green wheelchair:

Take a look at the wheels. The front wheels are pretty small and appear to be solid, while the back wheels appear to be quite narrow (compared to the orange chair anyway). This indicates the user likely lives somewhere with decent accessibility like a (well funded) city where they are unlikely to encounter unpaved/dirt roads/grass. Small front wheels and thin back wheels are good for manoeuvrability and a smooth ride over even terrain, but they will get stuck as soon as bumps appear, so this probably isn't an issue for this person.

While its a bit hard to tell unless you have seen other similar wheelchairs, this wheelchair is very long in the front, meaning the footplate and front wheels are further away from the seat than most. There could be a few reasons for this. One either indicates the person has very long legs, or a lack of motion in their knees, making it harder to bend their legs. This is moves the chair's centre of gravity forward by a decent amount, making it harder to tip back, which could indicate the person's legs are very light. You tend to see this most often in the wheelchairs of bilateral leg amputees, who are at a greater risk of tipping backwards due to a lack of weight at the front of the chair (even if they wear their prosthetics).

The colour of the chair is bright. This could simply be the character's favourite colour, or maybe this colour has some significance to them?

There are stickers on the side of the chair relating to the Paralympics. This could indicate the person is a fan, or perhaps had some involvement in the games?

The wheelchair has handles on the back, but they are able to be folded down. This is a popular feature for people who are independent enough to go out on their own, but still want to have the option for some help. folding down the handles also deters random strangers from grabbing at you (an unfortunately common experience for wheelchair users).

There is some mild paint scratching to the front of the wheelchair, but nothing too noticable. This is typical of older chairs and people who are a little rough on their chairs. Maybe they've had a few stacks and falls throughout the years, probably going a decent speed.

Ok, now let's look at the orange chair

This wheelchair has very large, inflatable front wheels, and very thick back wheels. This will make the chair slower and less manoeuvrable on flat/even surfaces, but much, much easier to push on rough terrain. This is supported by the amount of mud on the wheelchair.

The seat on this wheelchair tilts upwards slightly. This is called a bucket (or according to an old basketball teammate of mine, a dump-truck lol). This is a feature you typically see in wheelchairs made for people with spinal injuries who are unable to move their legs and engage their lower bodies or core to help keep them stable.

The back of this chair is very low, indicating that if this wheelchair user has a spinal injury, it's probably pretty low on their spine, likely fairly close to the hips, making the person a low-level paraplegic. Higher-level paraplegics and quadriplegics usually need a higher back to help support them and keep them from flopping over, since all the muscles below their place where their spine broke either doesn't work, or is significantly weaker. Higher backs though can get in the way of pushing and reduce mobility, so people who need less support will likely opt for a lower back rest.

This wheelchair has no handles, which indicates the user is probably very independent and doesn't need a lot of help getting around.

The paint on this wheelchair is very scratched up, showing the person is very tough on their wheelchair and doesn't care to get the paint touched up.

This wheelchair has no breaks. This is very common on chairs with larger tiers as they don't tend to be as effective, but also on many outdoor wheelchairs, for two reasons. One is because they are made for rough terrain, so chances are, you aren't going to go far without a big push to get you moving. The second reason is that to get over large bumps and obsticals in a wheelchair, it can be helpful to do very large pushes using the top and front of the wheel. When pushing a normal chair, most people will only use the top section of the wheel to push since it's closest, but these big pushes that use the front of the wheel make it easier to push, since you can benefit from downwards momentum. However, this is also where the breaks are located on most wheelchairs, which can create a hazard. I've lost entire fingernails by them getting snagged on the breaks when pushing this way. So if you live somewhere where the breaks are not going to be helpful to you often, it makes sense to not get them.

And here are the characters who own these wheelchairs

The owner of the green wheelchair is an amalgamation of a few people I knew from when I played wheelchair basketball. They're a bilateral leg amputee, and judging by their outfit (The Official National Wheelchair Basketball uniform for Australia), they're an elite athlete. This wheelchair is not the one they play sport in, but it still needs to be durable enough to withstand the rough treatment of airport staff when traveling, as well as heavy day-to-day use that comes with being an active person. While it needs to be rough, the person also seemed to want to prioritise speed and manoeuvrability, and likely doesn't need to worry about rough terrain too much, so they probably live in a major city.

The owner of the orange chair was inspired by a family friend of mine. They live on a farm, and need a chair that can handle life in those conditions, rough terrain and all. This comes at the cost of speed and manoeuvrability on smoother terrain, but honestly, anyone who's lived in the country knows you won't find many of those around there anyway, so that's not too big of a sacrifice. They are paraplegic, are very confident in their ability to use their wheelchair, and probably doesn't need help too often, but still benefit from some extra stability support from the raised seat on their chair.

Conclusion

Once again, these are generalisations, and in real life there are always exceptions, but I hope this helped demonstrate what I meant when I said you can use your character's wheelchair to tell us more info about them if you're smart about it.

I originally planned to do a whole series of these, showing a wider variety of wheelchairs and the people who they belong to, but I guess I kind of forgot because they've been sitting, abandoned on my hard drive for the last 2 years 😅. If that's something you folks would be interested in seeing though, let me know, I'd happily revive the series lol.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 19 days ago

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Keeping a suspense file gives you superpowers

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

Two decades ago, I was part of a group of nerds who got really interested in how each other managed to do what we did. The effort was kicked off by Danny O'Brien, who called it "Lifehacking" and I played a small role in getting that term popularized:

https://craphound.com/lifehacksetcon04.txt

While we were all devoted to sharing tips and tricks from our own lives, many of us converged on an outside expert, David Allen, and his bestselling book "Getting Things Done" (GTD, to those in the know):

https://gettingthingsdone.com/

GTD is a collection of relatively simple tactics for coping with, prioritizing, and organizing the things you want to do. Many of the methods relate to organizing your own projects, using a handful of context-based to-do lists (e.g. a list of things to do at the office, at home, while waiting in line, etc). These lists consist of simple tasks. Those tasks are, in turn, derived from another list, of "projects" – things that require more than one task, which can be anything from planning dinner to writing a novel to helping your kid apply to university.

The point of all this list-making isn't to do everything on the lists. While these lists do help you remember what to do next, what they're really good for is deciding what not to do – at all. The promise of GTD is that it will help you consciously choose not to do some of the things you set out to accomplish. This is in contrast to how most of us operate: we have a bunch of things we want to do, and we end up doing the things that are easiest, or at top of mind, even if they're not the most important things.

GTD recognizes that you can be very "productive" (in the sense of getting many things done) and still not do the things that you really wanted to do. You know what this is like: you finish a Sunday with an organized sock-drawer, all your pennies neatly rolled, the trash-can in your car emptied…and no work at all on that novel you're hoping to write.

You can't do everything, but you can control what you don't do, rather than just defaulting into completing a string of trivial, meaningless tasks and leaving the big stuff on the sidelines. Organizing your own tasks and projects is a hugely powerful habit, and one that's made a world of difference to my personal and professional life.

But while good to-do lists can take you very far in life, they have a hard limit: other people. Almost every ambitious thing you want to do involves someone else's contribution. Even the most solitary of projects can be derailed if your tax accountant misses a key email and you end up getting audited or paying a huge penalty.

That's where the other kind of GTD list comes in: the list of things you're waiting for from other people. I used to be assiduous in maintaining this list, but then the pandemic struck and no one was meeting any of their commitments, and I just gave up on it, and never went back…until about a month ago. Returning to these lists (they're sometimes called "suspense files") made me realize how many of the problems – some hugely consequential – in my life could have been avoided if I'd just gone back to this habit earlier.

My suspense file is literally just some lines partway down a text file that lives on my desktop called todo.txt that has all my to-dos as well. Here's some sample entries from my suspense file:

WAITING EMAIL Sean about ENSHITTIIFCATION manuscript deadline 10/24/24 WAITING EMAIL Russ about missing royalty statement 10/12/24 WAITING EMAIL Alice about Christmas vacation hotel 10/8/24 10/20/24 WAITING EMAIL Ted about Sacramento event 8/12/24 9/5/24 10/5/24 10/20/24

WAITING CALL LA County about mosquito abatement 10/25/24 WAITING CALL School attendance officer about London trip 10/18/24

WAITING MONEY EFF reimbusement for taxi to staff retreat $34.98 10/7/24

WAITING SHIPMENT New Neal Stephenson novel from Bookshop.org 10/23/24

This is as simple as things could possibly be! I literally just type "WAITING," then a space, then the category of thing I'm waiting for, then a few specifics, then the date. When I follow up on an item, I add the date of the followup to the end of the line. If I get some details that I might need to reference later (say, a tracking code for a shipment, or a date for an event I'm trying to organize), I'll add that, too, as it comes up. Creating a new entry on this list takes 10-25 seconds. When someone gets back to me, I just delete that line.

That is literally it.

Every day, or sometimes a couple of times a day, I will just run my eyes up and down this list and see if there's anything that's unreasonably overdue, and then I'll send a reminder or make a followup call. In the example above, you can see that I've been chasing Ted about Sacramento for months now (this is a fake entry – no plans to go to Sacto at the moment, sorry):

WAITING EMAIL Ted about Sacramento event 8/12/24 9/5/24 10/5/24 10/20/24

So now I've emailed Ted four times. Maybe my email's going to his spam, and so I could try emailing a friend of Ted and ask them to check whether he's getting my messages. But maybe Ted's trying to send me a message here – he's just not interested in doing the event after all. Or maybe Ted is available, but he's so snowed under that he's in danger of fumbling it, and I need to bring in some help if I want it to happen.

All of these are possibilities, and the fact that I'm tracking this means that I now get to make an active decision: cancel the gig or double down on making sure it happens. Without this list, the gig would just die by default, forgotten by both of us. Maybe that's OK, but I can't tell you how many times I've run into someone who said, "Dammit, I just remembered I was supposed to email you about getting that thing done and I dropped the ball. Shit! I really was looking forward to that. Is it too late now?" Often it is too late. Even if it's not, the work of picking up the pieces and starting over is much more than just following through on the original plan.

Restarting my suspense file made me realize how many of the (often expensive or painful) fumbles I've had since the pandemic were the result of me not noticing that someone else hadn't gotten back to me. In essence, a suspense file is a way for me to manage other people's to-do lists.

Let me unpack that. By "managing other people's to-do lists," I don't mean that I'm deciding for other people what they will and won't do (that would be both weird and gross). I mean that I'm making sure that if someone else fails to do something we were planning together, it's because they decided not to do it, not because they forgot. As GTD teaches us, the real point of a to-do list isn't just helping us remember what to do – it's helping us choose what we're not going to do.

This is not an imposition, it's a kindness. The point of a suspense file isn't to nag others into living up to their commitments, it's to form a network of support among collaborators where we all help one another make those conscious choices about what we're not going to do, rather than having the stuff we really value slip away because we forgot about it.

I have frequent collaborators whom I know to be incapable of juggling too many things at once, and my suspense file has helped me hone my sense of when it would be appropriate to ask them if they want to do something together and when to leave them be. The suspense file helps me dial in how much I rely on each person in my life (relying on someone isn't the same as valuing them – and indeed, one way to value someone is to only rely on them for things they're able to do, rather than putting them in a position of feeling bad for failing you).

Lifehacking gets a bad rap, and justifiably so. Many of the tips that traffick as "lifehacks" are trivial or stupid or both. What's more, too much lifehacking can paint you into a corner where you've hacked any flexibility out of your life:

https://locusmag.com/2017/11/cory-doctorow-how-to-do-everything-lifehacking-considered-harmful/

But ever since Danny coined the term "lifehack," back in 2004, I've been cultivating daily habits that have let me live the life I wanted to live, accomplishing the things I wanted to accomplish. I figured out how to turn daily writing into a habit and now I've written more than 30 books:

https://www.locusmag.com/Features/2009/01/cory-doctorow-writing-in-age-of.html

A daily habit of opening a huge, ever-tweaked collection of tabs has made me smarter about the news, helped me keep tabs on my friends, helped me find fraudsters who were trying to steal my identity, and ensured that all those Kickstarter rewards and other long-delayed, erratic shipments didn't slip through the cracks:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/25/today-in-tabs/#unfucked-rota

Daily habits are superpowers. Once something is a habit, you get it for free. GTD turns on decomposing big, daunting projects into bite-sized, trackable tasks. I have a bunch of spaces around the house – my office, my closet, the junk sheds down the side of the house, our tiki bar – that I used to clean out once or twice a year. Each one was all-day, sweaty, dirty job, and for most of the year, all of those spaces were a dusty, disorganized mess.

A month ago, I added a new daily task: spend five minutes cleaning one space. I did the bar first, and after two weeks, I'd taken down every tchotchke and bottle and polished it, reorganizing the undercounter spaces where things pile up:

https://www.flickr.com/search/?user_id=37996580417%40N01&sort=date-taken-desc&text=tiki+bar&view_all=1

Now I'm working through my office. Ever day, I'm dusting a bookshelf and combing through it for discards to stick in our Little Free Library. Takes less than five minutes most day, and I'll be done in about three weeks, when I'll move on to my closet, then the side of the house, and then back to the bar. A daily short break where I get away from my computer and make my living and working environments nicer is a wonderful habit to cultivate.

I'm 53 years old now. I was 33 when I started following Getting Things Done. In that time, I've gotten a lot done, but what's even more relevant is that I didn't get a ton of things done – things that I consciously chose not to abandon. Figuring out what you want to do, and then keeping it on track – in manageable, healthy, daily rhythms that bring along the other people you rely on – may not be the whole secret to a fulfilled life, but it's certainly a part of it.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/26/one-weird-trick/#todo.txt

#pluralistic #gtd #lifehacks #getting things done #being busy #correspondence #deliberately choosing what you abandon

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the-hydroxian-artblog · 3 months ago

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Any tips or guides on how you draw such wonderful mechanical/toy-like characters? It feels robust but not overwhelming, love it.

Thank you! So a lot of it is just knowing how to slap the joints on a normal humanoid body. If you research stuff like figma action figures and real life robots, you'll quickly build up a mental library of mechanical joints that correspond to different body parts. Many things that apply to robots apply to toys and things, though it always depends.

Once you have this library built up, you can kinda just do Whatever. Answered a similar ask a long while back that goes into more detail as well.

Some robots are much more detailed than this though, and the main inspirations I have for Normal Robots in particular are from Portal 2, particularly in Atlas and P-Body; the trick they use is having all the mechanical bits (usually pistons) being colored black and dark-grays, with the shells and casings being white or some other contrasting color.

This is an excellent way of having your cake and getting to eat it as well, because the colored casing draws your eye, and you get rewarded with taking in all the finer mechanical bits without getting distracted by them first.

This main principle is what I use for Kaita, who has mechanical parts, but often shows more subtly in her neck and torso/abdomen.

If you just quickly glanced at this closeup of Kaita from this older bit of art I did here, you'd probably not completely realize she's a robot, but seeing the strange geometric shapes etched into those areas might clue you in. To reiterate: while robots like Kaita are more complicated than toys, they share a good deal of mechanisms for stuff like rotating the arms, turning wrists, etc.

It's also just kinda a character design thing in general, is using strong shape language and going for something... toyetic. Which sounds redundant, but you'd quickly understand what I mean when you look at something like, say, Fortnite characters, or the designs to Ben10 aliens. They're not toys, but they all kinda have that Look to em, and they look like that not just because they do in fact have merchandise, but because that kinda blocky look is really readable, and excellent for action scenes and poses. Just that blocky shape language and strong color-schemes can do a lot of heavy lifting on even the simplest designs.

My main inspirations are Sonic and TF2, which I feel is weirdly obvious when you look at someone like Victor if you look at the blockiness of his body and the way I stick to a limited color palette. As-is he wouldn't fit in either universe visually, but you can kinda see how the design principles bleed into how he looks now.

#Old Art #FAQ #fractalsilver

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virgosimagination · 2 years ago

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Things I Have Manifested Using the Law of Assumption

Desired face. I wanted to look like a mixture of Dua Lipa and Bella Hadid. This was my first "major" manifestation, and it took me about two months. At first, I affirmed and persisted, but I was doing so from a state of lack. Once I switched to embodying the state where I had my desired face, it manifested in a little over a week. Before I fell asleep at night, I would imagine myself waking up and looking in the mirror to see my desired face. I would do this a few times in order to feel the wish fulfilled, and then I would allow myself to daydream about other things until I fell asleep.

Desired body. After I manifested my desired face, I wanted my desired body to go along with it. I wanted to be 5'11 with long legs, about 10 lbs. lighter, and smaller breasts. I basically wanted a supermodel's body. I embodied the state of having my desired body for a few days, and then woke up one day about five inches taller. I kept banging my head on things! Lol

My desired apartment. I really wanted to move out of my parent's house. This one was a bit harder for me, because I was faced with reminders regularly that I didn't live on my own. It was hard for me to ignore my 3D fully at first. I was able to ignore some parts of my 3D, but other parts were harder. After meditating on it one night, I realized what I was "doing wrong" was that I wasn't fully living in my 4D, as I was allowing myself to be distracted by negative aspects of living with my family. Finally, I remembered Neville's story of when he manifested getting honorably discharged from the military. He said that night, he fell asleep imagining that he was in his bed back home. I did this for three nights: I imagined, when I was falling asleep at night, that I was in my new bed in my new apartment. I felt the cold air (my parents kept the heat high), I heard the city noises outside of my window. On the fourth morning, I woke up in my desired apartment.

My SP. My SP was a guy who was in one of my classes at university. We had never talked before, but we sat a few seats from one another in class. I embodied the state of being in a relationship with him. I stopped embodying the state of being single, the state of having a crush, and the state of being lonely. Every night, I imagined him falling asleep in bed next to me. It took me three days of embodying my new state for him to ask for my number. We went on a date and it went swimmingly. We have now been officially together for four months. We just spent a lovely Valentine's Day together!

These are my "biggest" manifestations. I got them all by applying states. My biggest tip is for to ignore your 3D, because as long as you are focused on having your desire already in your 4D, it has no choice but to manifest. Everything comes from imagination!

#success stories #law of assumption #loa advice #loa manifestation #loassumption #loa #manifesation #manifest #master manifestor #success story #neville goddard

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wandasaura · 9 months ago

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TOO IN LOVE TO THINK STRAIGHT

summary — when you mention to your dominants that you want to further explore the dynamics of your relationship, they’re all for it

warning(s) — established relationship, married wandanat, dom/sub dynamics, exploration of non-sexual bdsm, purposefully triggered subspace, implied mommy kink (never said), implied daddy kink (also never said), brief mention of sensory overstimulation, literal fluff to the fullest extent possible, men/minors dni

authors note — i committed to the lyric titles too hard, but wonderland perfectly describes this fic! daddy nat lovers, i see you

you are in love universe

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff ✧

“Are you excited?” The soft vibrations have become a fond sensation as you peer out of the car window and admire all of the buildings that you pass. You’re not in the best area, one of the worst actually, but you find something so calming about the construction crowded roads and graffiti covered storefronts. You’ve been stuck in bumper to bumper traffic for the last half hour, a plethora of detours and u-turns standing in your way of where you really wanted to be, but every time Natasha eases her foot back onto the gas and shoots between lines of cars that don’t have the balls to make the move themself, you hum in contentment. You’re okay with being stuck if you’re stuck with them.

They’d been promising you this day for months, and although it had been canceled two weeks ago when you came down with an unexpected cold that left you miserable and bed-ridden for three days, it was finally here. There was no time left for another extenuating circumstance to push the date back farther. You hadn’t stopped bouncing in the backseat since Wanda had affectionately buckled your seatbelt, your fingerprints are smeared against the backseat window from how you point out the exit signs that mean your destination is growing closer. Natasha had long since stopped asking you to refrain from touching the glass she kept spotless, looking back at you through the rear-view mirror with fondness whenever a lull in speed occurred. Now was one of those moments. The line of cars all waiting to merge back onto the Garden State Parkway kept the car still, the break was applied heavily and wasn’t going to be let off soon. Unlike the other times she had looked back at you, she craned her entire body now, and you grinned at the easy way about her expression.

Your fingers left behind the glass of the backseat driver side window to press firmly against the tip of her nose, wanting to see it scrunch up in annoyance like it always did when you poked it. Natasha was less compliant with your need for physical touch then Wanda was, but she allowed you small victories every once in a while. Today was one of those days where everything seemed to fly. You had eagerly pulled her around the house all morning, sat in her lap at breakfast, and all but forced her to help you dress when you decided picking the perfect outfit was too hard to do on your own. The women had immaculate taste in fashion, you supposed it was something that needed to come with their high-profile occupations, but you’d never complain about them making your old clothes look fresh and new without adding anything tasteless or unnecessary. You hadn’t wanted to be apart from her since your eyes had peeled open at seven, the excitement in your belly too strong to ignore despite Wanda telling you that you wouldn’t be leaving the house until eleven. You were so beyond grateful that Natasha had been serious about taking you out when her and Wanda’s schedules allowed, that it didn’t matter to you if your earlier than usual wake up time meant having a full four hours to merely sit around and wait.

You nodded your head at her simply asked question, bearing a smile that compiled a list of words you’d be happy enough to use in a sentence if she so desired. She didn’t though, you knew she was well aware of how excited you were and was merely pulling your leg because she herself was bored. There was no way she could be oblivious to your hyperactive movements when your feet kicked the back of her seat every handful of minutes, but she’d not asked you to stop only rolled her eyes in fond exasperation and murmured to Wanda about the copious amounts of fingerprints and scuff marks she’d have to tend to later. Natasha and traffic were not things that should exist in the same sentence. For as patient as the woman was, she quickly lost her composure when ‘assholes in black hondas don’t know what the fucking speed limit is’. The first time she’d bellowed in annoyance you’d shook your head and giggled into your hand, your eyes connecting with Wanda’s who had glanced back at you in a silent threat to not egg Natasha on further. You’d tried to keep your amused reactions to yourself after that, but it was hard not to laugh at Natasha’s annoyance for anyone going under eighty miles an hour; especially considering the speed limit was only sixty-five.

The drive wasn’t meant to be any longer than an hour and a half, Wanda had meticulously gone over each and every available route before she’d loaded you and Natasha up in the car, but construction hadn’t been something to consider while she was planning your departure. It seemed every major highway and backroad was under construction lately, even the roads that led down to the shore in Westview. You didn’t mind it, occasionally pointing out the names of the yellow vehicles as you passed them, but you worried how little time you’d have to explore as the second hour of driving came and passed. When your legs grew restless, you settled for sitting cross-legged in the backseat, your elbows pressing firmly against your knees as you craned your neck to see between the head-rests on the couples seats. The sky was open and blue, no trace of clouds but apparent wind. The trees on either side of the road rustled with the flow of the breeze, and if you stayed just quiet enough, you could hear it howling outside of the windows. The sight of wind was a ploy to get unsuspecting people out of their houses. The weather was hot and humid, temperatures climbing into the low hundreds, but your destination was indoors, so thoughts about how you’d melt beneath the sun didn’t have valid reasons to come.

Wanda’s eyes locked on yours when Natasha eased onto the gas again, pulling off the exit ramp like a bat out of hell and dodging oncoming traffic that honk and scolded her boldness. You giggled when a particular car just to your left raised their hand at her, a single finger pointed toward the sky. She was unaffected, returning the gesture with passion. Your smile fell off your lips when your gaze shuffled over to meet Wanda’s, and the Sokovian looked at you with displeasure. “Feet on the floor.” Wanda reprimanded when she knew she had your attention, and you sighed but complied with the request. “We'll be there soon. Why don’t you tell me about what you're most excited to see?”

That had inspired a full tangent of thoughts that were only half complete to spill from your lips like rushing water off a cliff, but neither Wanda or Natasha had tried to interrupt you and get the full version of your story. They were happy enough to listen to you ramble nonsensically, your fingers twisting together in your lap out of pure elation that you had no other way to express. Wanda was simply content with knowing that should Natasha crash, you were sitting properly in the backseat. It wasn’t another half hour before Natasha was grabbing a ticket from the machine at the entryway of the parking garage and pulling into a reserved spot on the very first level by the exit. You’d known they would go all out for today, they always did, but it never failed to make you feel incredibly special to be getting such attentive treatment from two of the most willing and powerful women in the world. You flew out of the car before Natasha even had the engine off, feet not even hitting the pavement beneath you entirely before you raced around the back of the Stingray so you could pull Wanda’s door open for her. You bounced excitedly on your toes throughout the entire exchange, grinning up at her with an expression of complete innocence. The Sokovian smiled down at your adoringly, capturing your face in her gentle hands and pulling you just close enough for your forehead to fall against her lips.

“Such an excited little duckling.” Wanda mused with gentle laughter, her breath warm and thin as it fanned across your temple and shot sparks of pleasurable admiration through your belly and across your spine. You would’ve stayed permanently fixed on her tender expression had you not heard Natasha’s door swing closed. Your eyes trailed over the top of the car until they met the sight of her, dressed casually in a white t-shirt and jean shorts, her red locks had been pulled up and away from her face in a fleetingly worn ponytail that swung behind her head with every subtle move her body made. You could drool over the sight of her, but there were other priorities at the forefront of your mind.

“Can we go now? Please?” You bounced eagerly beneath their transfixed stare, your hands grabbing eagerly at Wanda’s who still had a soft grip on your cheeks. You knew the rules of walking in busy parking lots well, and although they’d made you feel like an incapable child at one point, you adored and craved them now. The lawyers reminded you so often that just because you are a capable adult, doesn’t mean you have to act like one when they’re there to take care of you. You let them take control easily now, no willingness to fight left to linger in your instincts, even in something as simple as finding your way through busy parking lots.

A smirk splayed across Natasha’s lips as she approached you and Wanda, her hand shoving her phone and wallet into one of the back pockets of her denim shorts. You should be ashamed for finding the simple action so attractive, but you didn't. You'd stopped letting yourself feel embarrassment for merely noticing their beauty long ago, and greedily your eyes trailed over the muscles in her shoulder and bicep that flexed as she reached toward her back. Natasha chuckled knowingly, sending a wink in your direction before she purposefully flexed her biceps. You wanted to roll your eyes and tell her to knock it off, but Wanda had beaten you to the punch and sent her wife an exasperated hit to the gut. “I don’t know, malyshka. Can we?” Natasha answered your earlier question, letting her feet carry her impossibly close to Wanda’s side. You wanted to groan aloud when the Russian’s hand slid comfortably into the back pocket of the Sokovian’s denim shorts, but you were too excited to dwell on the fact that Wanda’s ass had definitely just been squeezed roughly and possessively.

“Yes.” You made the executive decision with a curt nod of impatience, already setting your pace toward the exit, dragging Wanda behind you with rushed steps. It was the exact opposite of what she intended to happen when she’d first implemented the rule of wanting you to hold either her or Natasha’s hands in busy spaces. You were now the one leading her around by the hand, and quite blindly if she wanted to put it nicely. You’d hardly noticed when you led her body straight into a traffic cone, her feet just barely able to avoid tripping over the bright orange safety measure. Natasha had to stifle her laughter as she followed, her hand still in Wanda’s pocket and effectively pulling the Sokovian in two different directions as she remained a couple of steps behind.

Wanda placed a firm hand overtop of your wrist, catching your attention as you looked back at her with a whine of impatience toward the back of your throat, ready to be unleashed if she didn’t make whatever she needed quick enough for your standards. You were almost there, almost to the long line of parents and children that wrapped themselves around the building in an unruly line. You could see the electric blue sign on the top of the structure perfectly, the artwork on the sides of the building visible but intercepted by bobbing heads and tall bodies. Her abrupt stopping when you were so close to where you desperately wanted to be was the cruelest thing that had ever happened to you. “Why don’t you leave the dragging around to me, lyubov’. Unless you want me to end up in the infirmary before you even get to see the sharks.”

You groaned at her teasing, a fierce blush crawling up your neck that couldn’t be blamed by the unforgiving heat. You didn’t let her words sink beneath your skin however, deciding that pulling at her hand was effective enough. “Will you hurry up then?” You groaned, smirking victoriously when Natasha laughed at your antics and placed a kiss on the top of your head.

“Yes, milaya. We can go.” Wanda rolled her eyes but agreed with your demand, already beginning to set your pace at a significantly slower speed before the rest of her sentence even lingered in the air for your ears to pick up on. You practically skipped beside her, a broad smile on your face as you once again droned on and on about everything you couldn’t wait to see and have. Natasha had promised you a stuffed animal from the gift shop, knowing that you’d never had many in childhood. You’d decided that today would be one of the first times you explored your dynamic outside of the house, and the Slavic women were sparing no experience in giving you the purest taste at reclaiming your lost childhood. It felt too good to be true, to just surrender your conscious mind and let them take control, but you found yourself submitting to them easily. They wanted to do this for you, they enjoyed playing up their roles in this aspect. It was still hard to grasp that something that could be so kinky in bed could also be so pure outside of it, but they were allowing you to learn at your own speed, and selfishly they loved how inexperienced you were. There was no former training to unwind from your beliefs, there was no burned skin around your heart that had been failed by somebody else. You were fully theirs to shape, and they intended to show you the purest sides of this dynamic.

You frowned when Wanda began to lead you toward the front of the building, getting farther and farther away from the long line of people waiting their turn to enter. Toddlers pointed at you and tugged on their parents arms, not so quietly wondering why they couldn’t follow you and go around the line. A blush settled onto your cheeks when a little girl, no older than six, tugged at who you assumed was her fathers hands and boldly declared that you were ‘cutting’. Natasha and Wanda were in their own little world it seemed, laughing and talking with one another in quick Russian that you couldn’t comprehend, not batting a blind eye to the whispered accusations that were being pointed at you.

“The lines back there.” You whispered albeit a little self-consciously, not wanting to draw attention to yourselves anymore than the redheads adoring your waist already had. The sight of you together dripped with wealth. The diamond studded Chopard watch on Wanda’s wrist dazzled in the sunlight, the yellow gold Tiffany hoops in Natasha’s first piercing swayed when the breeze caught them. You looked properly out of place amongst the parents and young children all waiting in line.

Wanda stopped walking at your timid statement, looking down at you with a look that could only be described as dominating. It wasn’t hard, wasn’t demanding, but rather apologetic and soft. You felt entirely small beneath her sage green stare. “What did you want to try today?” Wanda reminded you softly, her body language not portraying the suggestiveness behind her quiet words. To any of the parents standing feet away, it looked like she had simply paused to ask you a well-intended question, which you supposed was true, but it wasn’t as innocent as it appeared.

You deflated slightly, leaning into the touch Natasha had placed on the small of your back minutes ago. You were becoming fuzzy, a feeling you’d associated with rough sex, but there hadn’t been any of that today. The closest thing to having their bodies had come when Natasha pulled you into a bruising kiss before you left the house. “Letting you have control.”

Wanda hummed, content with your answer, knowing that once again she had full control. Her fingers that always seemed to be perfectly polished ghosted over your cheek, and you could assume she’d attempted to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear like she always did, but today your hair had been tied back into two french braids that Natasha had suggested. “So let Mommy worry about where the line is. That’s not something for little girls like you to be concerned about.”

You nodded softly, unable to help the rush of something sweet that further propelled the dizziness in your mind forward at the Sokovian’s dismissal. Although you didn’t resume your skipping like you had been doing when Wanda guided you across the street, your footsteps came lightly and with a bounce as you became lost in the simple action of counting the many cracks that adorned the sidewalk as you stepped over them. At some point, your hand had grabbed Natasha’s, and you swung your arms back and forth absentmindedly. The day was hot, unforgivingly so, and the natural flush across your cheeks was becoming annoying. You were ready to start vocalizing your discomfort when Wanda guided you inside of the aquarium, saving her the headache of listening to you whine about something she couldn’t control.

You gawked at the sight of light blue painted walls and elaborate glass tanks that held any color coral you could imagine. The front desk was a giant fish tank, and little orange and white clownfish swam around the enclosure blissfully. You were practically vibrating beside Natasha as you looked around at the little details that had been incorporated into the entrance of the building. The ceilings were high, and painted across them were sharks and whales and every kind of fish you could even imagine. There was no embarrassment when you pulled at Natasha’s hand and let your own little finger shoot up to the ceiling, excitedly pointing out a boesemani rainbow fish that swam beside a hammerhead. Wanda had gone to check you in for your reservation, or at least you assumed that was what she was doing as she stood closely to the front desk and nodded at the teenager behind the counter. His eyes briefly flashed over to you when he noticed your head craned toward the ceiling and overheard your loud exclamation, but Wanda must’ve said something that made his attention snap back to her just as quickly as it had left.

“Inside voices, dorogaya.” Natasha smiled sweetly at your excitement, having no real issue with the volume that you had spoken at before, but she knew it would bother you if you caught onto the lingering stares of judgemental adults who couldn’t possibly understand that not everything was meant solely for children. You had just as much of a right to enjoy these little things as the toddlers who ran free, but she couldn’t change everyone's opinion even with her deadly glare.

Your cheeks flushed pink, and not because of the blistering sun, but you nodded to her request and tried not to let it sting. You’d been told all your life that you were too loud, reprimanded by your mother until you’d just fallen silent. You knew she hadn’t meant it in any particular way, but some things still struck a chord in your heart. The crushing feeling hadn’t lasted long, too comfortable in Natasha’s presence to dwell in self-consciousness. Your eyes went back to trailing all of the open space that you could see, and when they landed on a particular tank beside the single hallway that led into the larger room that veered off in several separate directions, you attempted to jut off. A whine rippled through your chest when your hand was squeezed and Natasha didn’t follow you forward, cemented in the place where you’d been instructed to wait for Wanda.

“Seahorses!” You tugged at her hand, earning you a disproving expression complete with a single raised eyebrow. You sulked back toward her, giving the tank one last sad glance before you focused down on your shoes, a frown on your lips.

“What are we meant to be doing, hm?” Natasha didn’t allow you to keep your gaze transfixed on your shoes, one of her slender and ring adorned fingers guiding your chin upward until your eyes flickered to hers. Her heart clenched at the sad frown that clung to your features that had been so happy not even seconds ago, but she didn’t let your pout sway her decision. After all, Wanda had given you a clear direction, and she expected that you follow it. “Can you tell me what we’re meant to be doing?”

You sighed, glancing back over at Wanda who looked to be wrapping up whatever conversation she’d been having with the teenager behind the counter. “Waiting for Wands.” The words slipped past your lips softly, your eyes trailing back over to Natasha’s. “But there’s seahorses.”

“And the seahorses will still be there when Wands is done. We’re gonna have our listening ears on today, aren’t we?” Natasha was really laying it on thick, even she knew that, but it was hard to help herself when you looked so soft and pliant standing in front of her dressed in an outfit that she picked out. You nodded your head, shuffling into her embrace, sadness still tainting your features.

Natasha kisses the top of your head, wrapping her arms around your torso as she lets you have your feelings against her chest. She knows they’ve been guiding you into a stage of subspace all day, it had been perfectly intentional, but how you handle it is still a wildcard. Much to your misconception, subspace wasn’t always brought on by getting railed, as you liked to refer to it as. Any form of submission could send you down that rabbit hole, including following instructions; which you’d been doing all day. Subspace wasn’t about the weight of the scene or how badly your body ached afterward, it was just about trust and the right amount of guidance. They’d been doing something right, and Natasha could recognize the glassy sheen over your eyes as you peaked up at her and then over toward Wanda who was finally, finally, walking back toward you.

The Sokovian had three brightly colored bands in her hands, her lips curled into a bright grin that crinkled her eyes. She stopped just in front of Natasha, effectively blocking you from view as she felt the eyes of the teenager behind the counter try to burn into your form. “What’s with the frown?”

“Seahorses.” You pouted up at her, much to Natasha’s amusement. The Russian’s hand ran over your back soothingly, though she couldn’t fight her bright smile when you again tried to wiggle out of her arms and rush over to the cylinder tank now that Wanda was back in sight.

“She wasn’t very pleased that you asked us to wait for you.” Natasha filled in the gaps, your explanation rather vague and rushed; if you could even call the one word response you gave much of an explanation at all. “Why don’t you tell Wands what kind of fish you found on the ceiling?” Natasha nudged you, prompting your attention onto something other than seahorses. You beamed at the excuse to ramble again, your finger pointing up to the ceiling like it did the first time, and even if Wanda couldn’t follow your finger to the specific fish she was meant to be looking at, she smiled encouragingly.

“It’s a boesemani rainbow fish! They get brighter when they get older!” You laughed, your pouty face no longer a visual that filled the entrance of the aquarium. Wanda had not the slightest care in the world for the fish you were pointing to, but she praised your knowledge either way. She’d pretend to care about anything if it meant seeing that bright smile linger on your lips even after the words stopped coming. “Can we see the seahorses now?”

Already anticipating how the rest of the afternoon was going to play out, Wanda laughed at your eagerness but nodded her head. You were just out of Natasha’s grip when she captured you in hers. This time, you did whine, sad eyes stuck on the tank in the corner of the room. Neither redhead could blame you for your distress when you’d been intercepted on your way to the seahorses twice now, and so neither scolded you for the sharp sound that reached their ears. “What are the rules if you’re not holding mine or Natty’s hand?” Wanda quizzed softly, her voice taking on a tone that had made you weak in the knees too many times. It was a voice Natasha called her ‘Mommy Voice’, which usually led to the Russian getting slapped upside the head when Wanda overheard.

“Stay where you can see me.” You bounced on your toes, still pulling at Wanda’s hand and glancing between her and the seahorses with a desperate plea in your wide and glassy eyes. “Please!”

She nodded at you with encouragement, smiling fondly when you raced over to the tank, carefully not to place your hands on the glass though it was already smudged with little fingerprints and what could only be assumed to be saliva. You marveled at the seahorses that bobbed in the water, illuminated by an electric blue strip of lights that made the gradient of colors on their bodies pop. You would’ve stayed staring at the seahorses all afternoon had Natasha not been the one to softly guide you away after five minutes of soft oohing and awwing. There were so many more tanks and creatures to see, she didn’t want you wasting any more of your time on just one tiny tank. You’d been upset about her gentle hands guiding you away until you’d turned a corner and spotted a tank of hippos in the distance. Your eager hand had pulled her through the crowd with Wanda following hot on your heels.

You showed the same level of excitement at every tank and exhibit, which neither lawyer thought was possible. There was no lull in your squeals and shrieks, and both of their wrists hurt by the time they sat you down for a late lunch. You’d abided by their every rule, including the ones that seemed stupid to you, what was so wrong about falling into the penguin exhibit, it was an easy enough climb back over the thin glass barrier? They’d expected lunch to go smoothly, you’d been so well behaved that they’d even considered buying you ice cream first, but unfortunately for them, the small cafe in the heart of the aquarium was directly beside the shark exhibit.

“Milaya, we will see the sharks after we eat.” Wanda cooed sweetly for the umpteenth time, trying not to let her face crack as she contemplated just giving into your pleas. Their firm voices and whispered praise had guided you into what Natasha referred to as the ‘sweet spot’. You weren’t so blissfully fuzzy that you couldn’t comprehend their words, but you were beyond the point of making a rational decision, and listening seemed to fall into that category as you struggled against Wanda, eyes fixed on the large sign that comically had a massive bite mark in the side. It was the little things that lingered throughout the building that made it more immersive, like the stickers on the floor in the shape of penguin footprints that lead to their enclosure, and the bite mark in the sign that led to the sharks. Your eyes searched to find every little detail that anyone else would overlook.

“I want to see them now.” Your crestfallen face was enough to weaken the reserve both redheads had been putting forth since your little meltdown had started. They hated to think that had you not been so high on endorphins and adrenaline, you never would’ve expressed how much you enjoyed all the little things that the aquarium had to offer, but they were still working to earn this level of trust from you when peptides weren’t at an all time high. With your head firmly planted in subspace, there wasn’t a single insecure feeling prickling beneath your skin. You were utterly free, control sitting in their hands and they had to force themselves to remember that.

“Not now, detka.” Natasha stepped in, guiding you toward the only empty table in the cafe. Your lips were turned downward in a persistent frown, but by some miracle, you’d actually sat down on the chair and let Wanda name out the options on the menu. It was no surprise to either of them that you pointed toward the chicken tender basket, but it was good enough for them to fulfill your request immediately.

Wanda left to order the food while Natasha kept you occupied at the table, ensuring that you didn’t start to fall out of the state they’d been working you into all day. She offered praise when you answered her little questions about the fun facts you’d been reading on all of the displays, and she tutted disapprovingly when your fingers ripped apart a napkin that some other family had left on the table. When Wanda came back with a tray of three chicken tender baskets because it felt wrong to eat any of the seafood that was offered, you were firmly engaged in a conversation about the stingrays that had been yet to be spotted. You’d explored more than half of the aquarium, finding out that the pink band around your wrist was a pass to all of the activities that lingered around. You’d fed the penguins, given the seals high-fives, and watched a 4D movie that made absolutely no sense, but had dispensed bubbles and sprays of water that were fun enough. All that was left to do was walk the roped path overtop of the shark exhibit, but that didn’t sound like something you wanted to put your faith in, even if hundreds of people did it every day. You, nor Wanda, would be walking across a shark infested tank, though Natasha had plans to do it herself. She’d always been the more daring of the couple.

When your lunch was finished, or when your lunch was picked over enough for Wanda and Natasha to set you free again, you wasted no time in grabbing both of their hands and zipping through the families that stood in your way. You’d been too distracted with the bamboo sharks to hear Wanda mutter to Natasha about how your crowd direction was just as bad as her driving, but you’d turned around in time to watch Natasha roll her eyes and whack Wanda’s bicep.

In your fuzzy headspace, their rules engraved in your mind, one of them being to show respect to others, you frowned and settled both hands onto your hips. “You broke rule number six!” You stated rather angrily, stalking up to Wanda with long strides that didn’t match the innocence in your eyes. You kissed her arm softly, the place where Natasha had hit her engraved in your mind.

“Yeah Natty, you broke rule six.” Wanda’s amusement wasn’t so easily hidden in her tone as her lips curled into a smile and she pulled you into her chest, settling a kiss onto the top of your head as you both sent glares toward Natasha. Yours was littered with a protectiveness that almost outshone the glassy gleam that had settled, Wanda’s however, was riddled with enjoyment and humor. “What should she do, detka?” Wanda giggled, leaning down to whisper in your ear though it was loud enough for Natasha to hear, and the redhead was just barely keeping the smile off her face as she watched you and Wanda conspire against her.

“She’s gotta say sorry!” They’d noticed that in your fuzzy state, you’d shied away from the bigger words that slipped into your vocabulary normally. You weren’t yet at a point where communicating your needs was impossible, but you weren’t actively fighting to clear your head and search for words like apologize and blasphemy either. Natasha would never forgive Yelena for throwing that word around so often you’d started to pick up on it.

“Well?” Wanda jutted out her hip, placed a perfectly manicured hand just above where her bone rested. You mimicked her stance, though you were significantly less threatening than Wanda with your french braids messy from the humidity that drafted in from windows, and your baby blue colored corset shirt that was adorned with intricate lace patterns and ribbons that tied the back together.

“Ona razob'yetsya v mashine.” Natasha hummed, and although you knew enough Russian to know that wasn’t an apology she had uttered to Wanda, no, it was a very true statement that you’d crash in the car on the way home, the Sokovian had accepted it and laughed.

Despite your excitement to see the sharks, you didn’t hang around the exhibit for long. There were too many people and you seemed to become overstimulated more easily when you were flush full of endorphins, so Wanda had been the one to lead you away toward tanks of lobsters and jellyfish. She started walking down the hallway, leaving you with Natasha, wanting to find a sign that could lead the three of you toward the stingrays because she knew you wouldn’t enjoy the aquarium for much longer. It had been hours, and in your sensitive headspace, the bright lights and sounds were quickly becoming too much to handle. You’d been so brave, trying this out with them and trusting them fully, but Wanda wasn’t about to compromise your happiness for a few more hours of mindless walking from room to room when you’d already seen everything that interested you. All she cared about was making sure you had a good time, even if she thought aquariums were savagely overpriced now.

Wanda frowned when Natasha found her way over to her without you. Her eyes flickered around the long hallway, searching for your blue top that stood out brightly against the sea of other colors that adults and children wore. It was such a specific shade that even if seventeen other people all crowded around to watch jellyfish bob had blue on, you stuck out like a sore thumb. “Where’s Y/N?” Wanda questioned and Natasha frowned.

“I thought she was with you.” The Russian quickly realized that no matter how many times she spun around in circles, you weren’t anywhere in sight. She distinctly remembered you telling her that you wanted to go with Wanda, so she hadn’t questioned when you walked off and toward the direction that the Sokovian had gone in. Natasha was properly panicked when thirty seconds went by and she still couldn’t spot you, but Wanda at least had the thought to check the next hallway before she let herself spiral too.

The stingray exhibit turned out to be in the next room over, crowded by kids and parents who talked about the sea creatures with excitement in their quiet tones. The occasional toddler bellowed in disgust when they realized how slick the back of a stingray was, but for the most part, the room only vibrated because of the sheer number of voices that occupied it, not because of volume. You were hunched over the edge, elbows deep into the shallow water when Wanda and Natasha spotted you. Each let out a sigh of relief, but nothing was going to stop them from marching over to you and pulling you away from the water.

“What were the rules, milaya?” Wanda asked you, her voice not as soft as it had been all day, but not hard either. They’d never been out of the house while you were lingering in subspace, and though they never wanted to lose you, it hadn’t been something that never crossed their mind. You wandered away even when your head was clear, your lack of impulse control only heightened that need to trail off.

“Stingrays!” You beamed at Wanda, not taking into account the thin line that settled over her eyebrows as she peered down at you. Your excitement was cute, a telling indication that you really hadn’t meant to wander away and give them the scare of their life, but it wouldn’t get you out of the scolding Wanda had ready on the tip of her tongue.

“Not stingrays, utenok. What were the rules?” Natasha laid heavy emphasis on the last word of her question, and though your eyes were more glassy then she’d seen them all day, she could see the wheels turning as you tried to process her words.

“Oh.” You mumbled when you finally came to the conclusion, your shoulders deflating as your head dipped down and set your gaze on your shoes. “Sorry.”

Wanda, who had been prepared to dig into you, sighed softly and dropped the topic. She may be a stickler for the rules but she knew it would only cause further damage if she laid into you about listening. Your disappearing hadn’t been intentional, and even she could see the tears threatening to spill over as you brewed in your own feelings of disappointment.

“I want you holding my hand, dorogaya.” She instructed firmly, “No more walking by yourself. We don’t wanna lose such a sweet little duckling, huh?” Wanda lifted your chin, smiling reassuringly down at you. Her rings caught the light, glimmering like a million little stars that cried to be released from the gold adorning her fingers. It was over after that, you’d fallen too deep into the sea of bliss to want anything other than her. You shuffled close, all thoughts of stingrays forgotten as you breathed in her scent. Sensing your loss of interest, Wanda shared a silent conversation with Natasha who nodded.

“Why don’t we go check out the gift shop?” Natasha claimed one of your hands, engangling you from Wanda before you could sink any deeper. They needed you coherent enough to get back into the car, and then you were free to settle deeply beneath the blanket of comfort they’d slowly been laying over top of you all day. Natasha held back on delivering any further praise, knowing it wouldn’t help you coming closer to the light.

She guided you through hallways and crowded rooms, occasionally squeezing your hand when you winced at crying babies and strong fishy odors. She herself was over the aquarium, but she’d been holding out for you. She was glad she didn’t have to fake her enthusiasm anymore, though Wanda was certainly getting a kick out of all the exasperated eyerolls the Russian hid from you.

The gift shop was practically empty when you shuffled inside, clinging to Natasha who didn’t mind the contact. She led you through rows of toys and puzzles, some not having any connection to the aquarium while others quite boldly sported the name in a thick black font. You found interest in none of it, which she couldn’t blame you for. Everything looked tacky and far too cheap to be as expensive as the prices on the shelves said, but still she guided you around encouraging you to pick something out. She’d promised you a stuffed animal, but when you finally reached the back wall where all the cuddly toys were lined up in rows, neither of you liked any. They were all filled with stuffing that was too stiff to cuddle, and you retracted your hand quickly when you reached out to touch one. Whatever had been used as fuzz was scratchy and coarse, and you hated it with a passion. Eventually, when Wanda came up to you holding a soft gray crewneck with an embroidered whale shark and the name of the aquarium on the front, you agreed to let it be purchased for you, and although it was still in the highest temperatures that New Jersey had seen all summer, you wore it out of the aquarium with a smile.

When you reached the car, there was no keeping you afloat any longer. Natasha had uttered the first bit of praise in minutes, and you surrendered fully to the warmth in your mind. Wanda smiled, usually the one who you attached to when you fell over the edge, but Natasha had been your chosen pick today.

“Just get in the back with her, Talia.” Wanda rolled her eyes after three minutes of Natasha trying to detach you from her arm, each attempt ending with whines and stomped feet as you tightened your grip.

Natasha sighed, able to count the number of times she’d let Wanda drive her car on one hand, but she wasn’t getting away from you right now, and she didn’t really want to anyway. “If you so much as leave one fingerprint on my radio you won’t be getting laid for a week, Maximoff.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, snatching the keys from Natasha’s outstretched hand and opening the driver's side door more aggressively than needed. If anyone was going to be leaving fingerprints it was Natasha, who could never decide which type of music she wanted to listen to. Seeing that you had gotten your way, you smiled up at Natasha with a grin that was only right to describe as cheeky. The Russian rolled her eyes and settled you into the backseat, shushing your protests when she strapped the seatbelt over your chest and made sure your feet were planted firmly on the floor.

She pulled you into her side when her own seatbelt was clicked into place, gently releasing your hair from the tight braids that had been twisted together all day. At the first pass of her fingers across your sensitive scalp, you all but melted into her chest and let your eyes flutter closed. It wouldn’t take six minutes before you were asleep against her chest, clutching desperately to the white t-shirt covering her torso. With the absence of your questions and excited statements, the car settled with silence, filled with only the sound of the engine revving when Wanda stepped on the gas.

“Did you have a good day, moya lyubov’?” Natasha asked, extending an arm to run over fingers over Wanda’s shoulder. She couldn’t see the Sokovian’s face, but she knew there was a satisfied smile settling over her lips.

“I did.” She breathed out softly, flicking the right blinker on when she merged onto the parkway, thankful that all the construction seemed to have been paused for the day and the road, though filled with typical traffic, was clear of any major dead stops. “Did you ever think we’d be here?” Although Wanda hadn’t been specific, Natasha knew she was referring to you. You were practically the sun in their own two planet universe, everything they did revolved around you now, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. Things got boring when it was merely her and Wanda in a universe void of endless light and warmth.

“I hoped.” Natasha kissed your temple softly, glad that she hadn’t stirred you awake.

When Wanda pulled into the driveway, you were still sound asleep and the sky was dark with nightfall. It was early to call it a night, but the couple did so without complaint. You settled into Natasha’s chest with only the aquarium crewneck on your body, and Wanda had shuffled into the space in bed where your body typically rested, laying her head down on Natasha’s shoulder and placed a heavy hand on the small of your back.

“Goodnight my little utenok.” She whispered into the thick stretch of silence before sleep overcame her too, and although the night carried on outside of your small bubble of peace, none of you had any idea.

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teliphone · 3 months ago

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Secret

Summary: I sometimes question why the universe made Jang Wonyoung my best friend. Sure, we relate to many things. We enjoy the same makeup brands. We laugh at the same jokes. But there is one clear difference: Wonyoung always gets what she wants. I secretly loathe that and I sometimes wonder if Wonyoung notices. Just this once I beg this statement to be false when it comes to my long-term crush Kim Jiwon (Liz). I’ve had a crush on her for so long that Wonyoung has gotten sick of listening to me gush over her. If Wonyoung knew I had a crush on Liz, she wouldn’t make a move on her right?

MeanPopular!Wonyoung x PrettyLoner!Liz x FemReader

Warning(s): Everyone is toxic but in a tasty way, Smut, Secrets, Exposing, Fingering, Oral, Praise Kink

Word count: 5k

The school lunch in front of me doesn’t seem that appetizing today. Maybe it was because I felt a lack of hunger. I push the silver tray aside with the tip of my finger and examine my friend, Wonyoung, who is on the opposite side of the table. She is currently busy applying lip gloss. I watch how she tilts her face from side to side to check herself in her small mirror. She rubs her lips together as she clasps the mirror shut. Without asking she hands me the lip gloss and hand mirror. An unspoken action is usually done between us. We love to share everything. I don’t know if it’s because we are friends or the secret craving I have to be just like her. She’s the perfect Jang Wonyoung. Smart, cunning, funny, beautiful, and alluring. For as long as I have known her, she always gets what she wants and I can’t help but feel the jealousy grow over time. Every attention passes by me and goes directly to her. I can’t hate her though. Yes, she can be mean but without her I am nothing. With her status, I was able to make my name known.

“Not hungry?” She asks me as I start to apply her gloss to my lips. I pucker my lips to look at the glossy shine and hum the answer, “No.” She sighs and looks around the lunch room. Judging by her face, I can tell she is bored. I hand her products back. She aimlessly drops them into her bag and then rests her chin on her fist.

“You’re bored?” I laugh.

“So bored,” She sings out. Her heavy-lidded eyes scan the room til she stops on a student. Her pink lips turn into a smirk, and then her tongue sticks out to touch the corner of her upper lip. Her eyes twinkle with a mischievous glint. She leans her upper body over the table. She brings her hand to cover her mouth to whisper gently in my ears. Her long smooth black hair tickles my cheeks.

“Liz is over there,” She breathes. My heart rate starts to pick up. She chuckles and leans back to her straight upward sitting position. She brushes her hair to the right side which reveals her neck. She smiles so brightly that it reaches her eyes. I nervously rub my upper arm and avert my eyes to the table. I don’t want to look at Liz. It will be too obvious.

“She looks dolled up today,” She chirps. I fail to be nonchalant and snap my neck to look over. Liz’s hair is in a long braid and her bangs are perfectly curled. Her head slightly tilts back to laugh with a hand up to cover her mouth. Her hand lowers and I catch a view of her cute dimple. I subconsciously smile. I feel a kick under the table which brings me back to the table. Wonyoung is staring at me with her arms crossed. I look at her with a confused look.

“Call her over,” She suggests. I immediately widen my eyes and shake my head no. I didn’t understand why she was suddenly acting like this. I can’t help but feel like she is doing this out of boredom. Was this entertaining to her? She examines me a little bit before I notice her eyes shift. A change so fast I wasn’t able to stop her. She stands up and turns her body.

“Liz come here!” Wonyoung beams with a cheeky smile. I’ve never seen her smile this bright. She brings her hands up and gestures for Liz to come over. I feel my heart hammering against my chest. My clothes suddenly feel tight and stuffy.

“Are you crazy?! Please stop!” I whisper. She ignores my plea and urges Liz to come over. I quickly glance to see Liz looking surprised, probably because Wonyoung had called her over. Liz shyly points a finger towards herself.

“Yes, you. You don’t want me to keep on waiting, do you?” Wonyoung pouts and playfully crosses her arms. I hear students around us whispering with each other. It doesn’t seem to bother Wonyoung. She is too immersed in whatever plan she has in mind. Just as expected, she gets whatever she wants; Liz starts walking towards our table. Her eyes shift to look at me for a split second before she returns her attention to Wonyoung. I feel my insecurities creeping up my neck. Being next to Wonyoung with my crush was the last thing I wanted to happen. I quiet down and curl my hands into a fist on my lap. Wonyoung cutely chuckles and twirls the end of her hair with the tips of her fingers.

“Where did you get your hair done?” She asks while batting her eyes. Liz subconsciously starts touching her braid with a shy smile.

“Oh, this? I actually do it myself,” She responds timidly. Wonyoung gasps and reaches her hand over to touch Liz’s hair. I feel anger spark the moment I see my friend touch her. I glare at Wonyoung hoping she can see or at least feel it, but she is too busy chatting with Liz.

“Wow, that's impressive! It looks so good on you,” Wonyoung sugars. Liz lowers her gaze as her cheeks turn bright red. Wonyoung halts her movement for a moment. I can see the gears in her head clicking into place. It doesn’t take a psychologist to find out that Liz has an attraction to Wonyoung. Something deep in my heart starts to ache. It didn’t shock me that Liz would like her. It’s Jang Wonyoung. But still, I feel so unseen and unattractive. I have never seen them talking together before and all it took was one compliment from Wonyoung to get Liz blushing. Wonyoung tilts her head to make eye contact with Liz again.

“You should totally do this hairstyle on me next time,” Wonyoung requests. Liz widens her eyes and it took every muscle in you to not get up and leave.

“Y-you want me to do this to you?” Liz blushes. Wonyoung lightly laughs, her eyes sparkling. Usually, her laughs sound cute but with the anger fueling in me it sounds like nails against the chalkboard.

“Of course! Who else can do a pretty braid like yours?’ Wonyoung pouts, ‘Hm… you should hang out with us more often. I always see you by yourself. Doesn’t it get lonely?”

Liz shifts a little uncomfortable. She fidgets with the hem of her school uniform. Wonyoung isn’t wrong. Liz doesn’t really have friends. She goes to school and immediately heads home after. It’s rare to see her hanging out with friends outside of school. In my eyes, Liz is too pretty and nice to not have friends. I wonder if she prefers that way or if she can’t socialize. Wonyoung is the complete opposite. She is chatting with different people each hour. She goes to parties and hangs out nearly every weekend. She has no choice, people are always coming up to her. Besides, she told me she loves the attention. I felt like that question was pushing it too far. Wonyoung doesn’t know what goes through Liz’s life. I finally have to courage to speak up.

“Don’t push her,” I insist. This grabs Wonyoungs attention. She tilts her eyebrows up in curiosity. I clench my jaw and glare deep into her eyes. This seems to amuse her. She stares back at me, her eyes not moving away. We study each other quietly.

“I would love to join you guys,” Liz breaks the silence. Wonyoung snaps her neck to Liz and smiles.

“Great! Let's hang out tomorrow!” Wonyoung chirps. I nearly roll my eyes, but I stop myself. Liz shyly brushes her fingers against her skirt to straighten it.

“Bye Wonyoung…,’ she turns to look at me, ‘Bye Y/n.”

It irritates me how much my heart quicken at her saying my name. Why is it so easy for her to make me react? I break a smile at her and gently nod my head to acknowledge her goodbyes. Her eyes brighten and she grins wider. She spins her heel and heads away from the table. Once she’s far enough I snap.

“What was that?” I nearly cuss. My hand is starting to cramp at how hard I’ve been clenching it. Wonyoung tilts her head back and lets out another laugh.

“Don’t be so jealous,” She giggles. I suck in a deep breath to prevent myself from lashing out. I embarrassingly let out a shaky breath.

“You were so touchy over her. You know I like her,” I whisper cautiously. Wonyoungs smiles drops into a blank stare.

“I do know that. That’s why I invited her over,” She states like it’s obvious.

“What?”

“Ugh. I made her become friends with us so she can get closer… which means you would have a better opportunity to make a move on her,” She explains. The fist I was clenching relaxes. Oh, so she was doing this for me. I am a little confused because she could’ve been less flirty. Her plan seems to favor her more. Nevertheless, I guess I should thank her.

“Thanks? But it’s so evident that she likes you,” I mumble.

“That was something I didn’t really expect. I can’t control what people like,” She shrugs her shoulders. She gets up from the seat and swings her bag over her shoulders.

“Come on let’s skip,” She beams.

It’s been several days since Liz started to hang out with us. I am still a nervous wreck around her. I can’t keep eye contact with her long before I need to break it. Our interactions have increased thanks to Wonyoung. Her calculations where I can get closer were a little right. Liz and I share inside jokes and water bottles. I got to learn a new side of her. I can tell her walls are breaking down around us. She is not as shy or quiet as I thought. I find her so funny and cute while Wonyoung finds her interesting. It might be because Liz obviously turns red whenever Wonyoung leans close to her to grab something. Or the fact that Liz starts to slip on her words when Wonyoung playfully flirts. Wonyoung playfully flirts with everyone, she calls it being cute. I can’t be upset she’s treating Liz the same way she does to everyone else, right?

We are sitting in the library to try and study for the upcoming exam. I spin my pen against two of my fingers. The study paper is starting to merge and make no sense. Liz sits next to me while Wonyoung is sitting on the opposite side. A few textbooks lay open but unused in front of us. None of us are really studying.

“Oh my! You’re so funny Liz!” Wonyoung laughs and slides her hands on top of Liz’s. A quick move that doesn’t go unnoticed by my eyes. Wonyoung is always giving her long deep stares and small touches. I am starting to realize that Wonyoung might be enjoying Liz’s blush a little too much. Liz calms down from her laughter and reaches into her bag to pull out a familiar lip gloss brand. I can immediately recognize it by how many times I’ve used Wonyoung’s gloss.

“Is that…” I pause as I watch Liz apply the product over her plumpy lips. I shamelessly stare at her lips. She rubs her lips together to spread the shine evenly. They look so plump, pretty, and glossy. A blush creeps up my cheeks because I realize I know exactly how her lips would taste if we shared a kiss.

“Yup, I told her to buy this product. Doesn’t this shade look so pretty on her?” Wonyoung gushes. Liz shyly smiles, hiding her blush by pretending to look busy with putting the lip gloss away. Wonyoung leans her face closer.

“You’re already blushing,” She teases. Liz nervously laughs and waves her hands no. She scoots herself closer to me to avoid Wonyoung. I can feel her body heat against mine. I press my lips together and straighten my posture. Liz places her head against my shoulder and nuzzles closer. My heart leaps out of my chest.

“She keeps teasing me,” Liz complains against my neck. I nervously gulp like a touch-starved person. I mumble out a word. My brain is not functioning right with how close she is pressed against me.

“What did you say?” Liz asks lifting her head to look at me. I turn my head to face her and my eyes widen. With how close her face is to me I lose all sense of cool. There is almost a golden glow around her. I can smell the lip gloss from her lips. She flutters her eyes slowly and I forget how to breathe.

“I…” The cat caught my tongue. Liz’s lips curl into a sly smile and she narrows her eyes. Her eyes glitter a little with amusement. I think she is starting to figure out my attraction towards her. Wonyoung crashes in by sitting next to Liz. She wraps her arms around Liz’s biceps. She complains about something, but my head is humming too much to hear. I am sort of thankful because it took some attention off me. Every time Wonyoung rubs against Liz, it causes her body to grind against me. I lift my head and shut my eyes as I silently pray. I don’t know what I am praying for. Should I pray for this to stop or continue? Am I secretly enjoying having her body press against mine?

Over time, all that teasing from Wonyoung eventually made Liz bolder. She’s learning from Wonyoung and the shy girl is no longer there. She is starting to wear more revealing clothes that emphasize her hidden curves. She has caught me staring a couple of times. We are currently in the bathroom of our school checking ourselves. Wonyoung slides her fingers between her hair to volumize it.

“You’re getting prettier,” Wonyoung states as she eyes Liz fixing her necklace. I roll my eyes in annoyance. I had always known Liz was pretty and she is now finding out. Instead of the usual blushing Liz, she smirks and laughs instead.

“You think I’m pretty?” Liz hums and bats her eyes. My jaw nearly drops at how confident she has gotten. Wonyoung blinks quickly and a disbelief laugh comes out. For the first time, she is a bit stunned to say anything back. Liz returns her attention to the mirror and fixes her top. She moves her hands over her chest and gives it a push. Her eyes glaze over to look at me. I flinch and avert my eyes to the sink. I feel her presence gets closer to me. Her finger touches my chin and she tilts my head up. She leans close to my face.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” She asks slowly. I feel butterflies flutter their wings all over my stomach. I wanted to press my lips against hers but I didn’t dare.

“I always have,” I confess. Her smile drops a little and a soft pink shade appears on her cheeks. Her pupils glance down to my lips for a second before she turns away. She lets out a low fake cough. Wonyoung watches the whole scene with heavy-lidded eyes. She nibbles and bites her bottom lip. Her fingernails dig into the sleeves of her uniform.

The rest of the day was a little weird yet nice. Liz kept touching me and whispering in my ears. Of course, I turn red every time she gives me attention. I am not used to her teasing me. Not only does she tease me but she also checks up on me. Making sure I have eaten or drank water. When I responded that I hadn't drunk water, she got up from her seat to go buy me a water bottle. She then would unclasp the bottle cap and hand it over.

It has been a couple of months in the friendship before I hear Wonyoung groan:

“Don't you think Liz has gotten too… I don’t know… dominant?”

It is just Wonyoung and I relaxing in her room. The sunset is glowing brightly through the window. The curtains sway slightly by the wind. I lay on her pink carpet with my legs swinging up. The book between my hands is no longer interesting.

“What?” I laugh as I lower the random book I picked from her selves. Wonyoung rolls over on her bed til she's on her stomach. Her eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

“No, I am serious. It was so fun teasing her and making her blush, but now she doesn’t react anymore. She is starting to flirt and tease me… me!?” She complains as she points to herself.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“What's wrong with that?! What’s wrong, is that it feels too neck to neck. I like it when the other person is flustered and squirming under my stare,” She puffs out her cheeks. I look at her in disbelief. I can’t believe this is something she is complaining about.

Like Deja Vu, here I am sitting on the school bathroom sink countertop with Liz next to me, applying lip gloss. I tilt my head as I closely examine her. There’s no one else in the bathroom but us. I like it this way.

“I think Wonyoung doesn’t like it when I flirt back,” She chuckles. She turns her head to look at me. Her glossy lips distract me.

“Mm?” I hum out, looking from her lips to her eyes. I innocently smile hoping she didn’t catch it.

“I said… I don’t think Wonyoung likes it when I flirt with her,” Liz repeats, slowing her words. I couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh.

“It’s true. She told me yesterday,” I confirm. She pouts a little and places a hand on the sink counter to lean her body towards me.

“Really… that’s a bummer. I thought we had a fun little secret going on,” She sighs. I couldn’t help but frown. My jealousy has reached up my throat.

“What secret?” I fume.

“Like a secret relationship,” She continues. Her eyes darted to the way my hands curl into a fist. Relationship? I feel poison sting my tongue.

“I don’t like that,” I mumble honestly. She scoots closer til her hip touches my thighs.

“Mm how come?” She hums. She waits patiently for me to find the right words. I don’t want to expose myself too much.

“I… I don’t like seeing you guys flirt with each other. I get jealous,” I mumble the last part, but she hears because of how close we are.

“Why would you be jealous?” Her eyes begin to dim. I nervously gulp and avert my eyes to her uniform skirt.

“Wonyoung was my friend first. I miss how she would only do it to me-“

“Don’t lie to me y/n,” Liz whispers. She moves her body til she is between my legs. I feel the material of her skirt grind against the flesh of my thighs. Her hands press on the counter beside my hip. I feel my heart rate increasing. My breathing hicks. I peek up to look into her dark orbs. Her cheeks are red and I feel my pride soar. She’s blushing… for me.

“I-I’m not,” I painfully lie. Liz rolls her eyes in annoyance and I can’t help but find it attractive.

“Wonyoung told me about your silly big crush on me. I didn’t believe it at first… until I saw it in your eyes. The panic you revealed when I touched you. It’s adorable,” Liz giggles as she touches the side of my cheek. Her thumb rubs my skin gently. Her other hand reaches up against my thighs. Something in my lower stomach feels weird.

“Tell me. Is it true?” She whispers. She stares so deeply into my eyes as if she’s trying to read my soul. Making sure the next thing I say is completely true.

“Yes… I like you,” I confess. My eyes start to water a little. I feel a little embarrassed to be confessing to her this way. Is this one of her fun flirting moments? I would like the earth to swallow me right now if that is the case. A glare reflects off her eyes. She leans her head close to my ears.

“Good. I like you too,” She purrs. She can’t tell how wide my eyes widened. Her head dips toward my neck. I grip the counter and squeeze my legs together. She gives my neck a soft kiss before facing me again. I can still feel the glossy lip product lingering on my skin.

“Do you want me?” She asks. I’m starting to feel shy with the amount of questions. I turn my head to the side.

“Yes,” I answer. She places her fingers under my chin and turns it to face her.

“Don’t look away,” She mumbles as she leans in for a kiss. I immediately shut my eyes close. Her plump lip brushes against mine slowly. She presses her body closely against me. Her mouth moves smoothly. My tongue brushes against her lips and I taste the lip gloss. Her other hand runs against my spine before she pulls my waist closer. I let out an embarrassing grunt.

Liz pulls away, panting heavily. Her eyelids are heavy and her cheeks are bright red. I lick my lips to taste her mouth again. My chest moves up and down fast.

“Kiss me again?” I beg. She returns her soft lips to mine. This time with more urgency and pressure. She hums and opens her mouth slightly. Her wet tongue brushes against mine. She tilts her head and kisses me deeply. Our bodies start to move against each other. Once her skirt grinds along my core I let out a soft moan. She pulls away again and a saliva trail connects between us. She grabs my hands and pulls me off the counter. She drags me into one of the stalls. I stare at her in shock. Adrenaline rushes in my veins. She locks the doors and then pushes me against the stall walls. I wrap my arms around her neck as we kiss. Her hands sneak around the edge of my skirt. I can feel her finger drag up towards my panties. I gasp which breaks our kiss. She looks at me with her sweet dark eyes.

“Would you be able to handle this?” She asks quietly. Her fingers are hooked around my panties. I nod my head quickly.

“Yes,” I breathe out. She tugs my panties down to my knees. Her mouth starts kissing my neck as her finger starts to explore my core. I spread my legs a little more for her. I feel her middle finger rub against my wet cunt. She moves it up and down my slit, collecting the silky substance. She chuckles which vibrates against my neck.

“Hurry,” I grunt. She bites my neck which causes me to hiss. She drags her tongue along my skin before sucking again.

“Don’t rush me,” She warns. I bite my lip and lean my head back against the stall. I feel her adding another finger to the action. Suddenly her two digits rub against my clit causing me to gasp. I shut my eyes tightly. My clit gets rubbed over and over. My wetness increases, making it easier for her to rub and squeeze my clit.

“Liz,” I softly moan. She pulls her head away from sucking on my neck. She looks at my flustered face. Her fingers never stop moving.

“You like that?” She blushes.

“Mm yes,” I moan. She enjoys watching how breathless I am starting to get. She loves how my legs are struggling to keep still. She pats my thighs to signal me to spread them more. Suddenly the doors to the bathroom swing open and a couple of girls walk in. Liz halts her movement. They chat and laugh amongst themselves. They stand in front of the mirrors to check up.

“Can you keep quiet?” Liz presses her lips against my ears. Before I could answer I felt her slowly push her two fingers into my cunt. I let out a gasp but was immediately silenced by Liz’s palm. Her hand presses against my lips as she slowly pushes her fingers in and out.

“B-be still,” Liz warns. She is flustered by how wet my cunt feels against her two digits. She nearly lets out a moan at how warm my core welcomes her in. She starts increasing her pace and my thighs begin to shake. Tears start to collect in the corner of my eyes. I fear getting caught, but I also feel too good. I wish for her to go faster, but with her hand pressed against my mouth, I can’t speak.

“Be good and I’ll go faster,” She promises. I quickly nod my head. I close my eyes to distract myself from her fingers. Anything to prevent me from moaning and shaking. The girls seem to be gathering their makeup and starting to leave. Each minute feels long. Each second they take is the same amount of time Liz thrusts her finger deep into me. Once the doors shut Liz removes her hand from my lips. She places it on the wall beside my head.

“Let me hear you,” She demands as she quickens her fingers. She curls her fingers and it presses against my soft walls. I let out a moan followed by a whimper. She continues to thrust deep into my core. I feel something build in my lower stomach. My hand shoots down to grip her wrist.

“I-I’m close,” I warn. She slaps my hand away and deeply chuckles. Her pace seems to increase. This menace is going to make me cum in a few minutes. I embarrassingly let out a moan at her fingers abusing my cunt.

“Fuck, Liz, I feel so good,” I express. She doesn’t slow down.

“Cum for me Y/n,” She whispers as she feels my walls tightening around her fingers. I whimper and moan as I feel myself getting close to my high. I feel so sensitive and hot. My hand grips her back and my core chases after her digits. My hair starts to stick against my forehead and neck.

“You look so hot,” Liz blushes. I let out a loud squeal as I reached my orgasm. My wetness runs down my leg. I cuss and whimper as Liz continues to move her fingers. She seems too deep in awe to stop. I clench my hands on her wrist.

“Slow down,” I beg her. She gives me a deep kiss as she pulls her fingers out of me. I am breathing heavily, using the walls to keep myself up. My heart is hammering against my chest. She gently pats my cheeks to get my attention. I feel a little dizzy as I look at her.

“Kneel,” She demands. I blink and feel my cunt squeeze at nothing. She looks so needy and horny. I tiredly smile and lower myself to my knees. I place my hands on her thighs and stare up. She quickly removes her panties and lifts her skirt up. She spreads her lips apart with her already silky fingers to expose her wet pink cunt. She looks so hot in this position.

“Come on. Use that pretty mouth,” She sighs. I scoot closer with my tongue out. My tired eyes never leave her needy ones. I lean my mouth onto her core. My tongue starts to move up and down her wet cunt. She lets out a hiss. She places her free hand on top of my head. I feel her fingers gently push my face in. I moan at her taste. Her scent drowns my senses.

“Your mouth feels so good,” She compliments. She thrusts her core into my mouth. Dragging her clit against my tongue. Her head tilts back and she lets out a cute squeal. I tap onto her thighs to warn her to keep quiet. I continue licking and sucking her clit. Her legs twitch and her stomach flexes.

“Keep doing that. I’m so close,” She pants. Her grip on my hair is starting to get tighter, but I don’t care. I want her to come into my mouth. I want her to feel good.

“This will be our little secret,” She grunts out. Secret? I feel jealousy rise again. No, I want the whole school to know she’s mine. I flick my tongue faster against her clit. People need to hear her moaning because of me. I suck harder, causing her to close her eyes and cuss. At the end of our session, she will soon figure no one can make her feel as good as I can. Her moans start to become high-pitched and my lips curve into a cunning smile. With one last suck, she lets out a loud squeal. She presses my head into her cunt as she rides her orgasm. I lick every drop of her juice. Humming at her sweet taste.

She tugs my head away from overstimulation. Her legs shake adorably. I wipe my lips with the back of my hand. I get up from my kneeling position to give her a sweet kiss. I pull away and lean into her ears.

“If this is our secret, I’m going to try my best to get you caught,” I whisper.

Wonyoung jumps up from her seat once she lands her eyes on us. She rushes over and clings to Liz’s arm.

“Where were you guys?! I was waiting for so long. I missed you,” She pouts. Liz softly chuckles while I keep my mouth shut. I can still taste Liz on my tongue.

“You were? Sorry. What’s for lunch?” Liz changes the topic. She glances over to look at me. A small smile appears on her lips. I smile at her back.

Our little secret. We’ll see how long we’ll keep this up.

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edwisefoundation · 2 months ago

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5 Strategies to Get Accepted at Top US Universities

Gaining acceptance to top US universities is highly competitive, requiring a strategic approach. To stand out, students must excel academically through strong grades and standardized test scores. Engaging in extracurricular activities, crafting a compelling personal statement, and showing genuine interest in the university are equally important. Strong letters of recommendation that highlight leadership and intellectual potential can further boost your chances. For more details on how to strengthen your application, visit How to Get Accepted at Top US Universities.

#how to get accepted at top US universities #US university application tips #applying to elite US universities #academic achievements for US universities #personal statement tips #extracurricular activities for college applications #letters of recommendation for US colleges #US university admissions

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emperor-kumquat · 1 year ago

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Beware of Transformers misinformation, fans!

There are a lot of blogs out there who try to act like lore masters. They make charts of Cybertronian history and/or try to make long deep posts that reference Transformers lore. They seem complex and researched so people gobble it up and happily reblog . . . More often than not, I know they got facts wrong. It's painful to see everyone eagerly spreading it like the gospel! Especially when it is Transformers Prime lore. I own the books, I have read them many times, I have carefully summarized them in videos. Some people just skim a few wiki pages then feel knowledgeable. Gah! Tips for everyone else:

~Don't assume common trends like in fanfiction are canon. Concepts like "femme" and "mech" and "spike" and "valve" and "sire" and "carrier" are fandom creations. Traits given to certain kinds of Cybertronians like Seekers (example: Seekers are more sensitive) are also fandom creations. Characters may also be adopted by the public and re-displayed with character traits not truly found in their original source material.

~Don't assume the rules of one Transformers series applies to another.

~Don't assume charts created by fans are fully accurate. For example, a chart of Cybertronian lengths of time. Units of time are unclear and have different meanings in different Transformers universes. There is no one truth. Also, charts of Cybertronian Ages, from what I have seen, have been wrong. For example, excluding the Age of Origins.

~Do not use the fandom wiki for any research. Use TFwiki, which is accurate and links to sources!

I will always try to be a very reliable source of Aligned Continuity lore. I will crack open the books and point to whatever you need. Please be more critical and double check info before reblogging and liking people's lore posts, including mine.

#transformers #transformers prime #transformersprime #transformers idw

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elliesbelle · 1 year ago

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nobody compares to you

chapter 1

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you’re in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, dealer!ellie, use of marijuana, use of alcohol, sexual speech and content, anxiety attack, homophobia, brief mentions of predatory men, potential smut in the future so minors do not interact, a little bit enemies to lovers

word count: 3.6k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

You lean against the living room wall, holding three of your friends’ purses along with your own. The intoxication from a cup of jungle juice from an hour ago was beginning to wear off. You didn’t mean to become the unofficial mom friend of the group tonight, but your reluctance to endure more close-quartered gyrating cemented the position. If you had to utter another “excuse you” to an incredibly handsy frat boy, you’d be getting kicked out for an aggravated assault attempt.

You didn’t really mind sobering up a bit, not tonight. Whether it was your hazy thoughts or the particular ambience in this frat house, you just weren’t in a huge mood to socialize.

Earlier this morning, your friends had flooded your group chat with enthusiastic messages about yet another party happening later that night. It was a regular fall Saturday at your university, which meant there was always a rager or two.

You were perfectly fine tagging along with your friend group to these events, though. You were well aware of your friends’ ulterior motives in pushing you to come out, but you chose to ignore it. Instead, you’d allowed them to hype you up while getting ready earlier that evening. Some pre-gaming had ensued in the form of vodka shots, and sharing of eyeshadow palettes & lipsticks had occurred when dolling up pre-party.

“Babes, if you don’t teach me how to do my eye makeup the way you do, I swear…” Your friend Sidney whined next to you as she watched your steady hand apply finishing touches to your eyes.

You chuckled but said nothing as you set your liquid eyeliner down and reached for your setting spray. There was no need for such meticulous styling to your makeup for some trivial frat party. You mostly did it for your own satisfaction, but a particular memory had tugged at your brain with every brush stroke. But this memory remained unacknowledged as you fanned your newly set face.

You’d allowed yourself a revealing outfit tonight: a lacy black bralette peaking from underneath a maroon leather jacket and a tight black miniskirt that flounced with the slightest movement. Peaking from underneath your shirt was a pair of fishnet stockings. Topping it off was your favourite pair of knee-high black boots. This particular attire garnered squeals and wolf whistles from your friends in their equally slutty outfits.

A couple of hours later, however, your appearance was a contradiction to your spiritless demeanor. You were tired and sweaty, the majority of your foundation having been perspired off in this sauna of a gathering. Feet blistering as a betrayal of high-heel boots, you struggled to keep yourself upright against the wall.

“Hey, hot stuff.” An approaching voice says.

Your eyes darted to the sound, ready to hurl a harsh “fuck off” at whatever creep decided to enter your sobering bubble. But upon spotting the culprit, you relaxed immediately.

“Hey, Jesse.” You exhaled.

“Damn, you looked like you were gonna rip me a new one just now.” He chuckled.

“Sorry, sorry. You know how it can be at these shit parties.”

Jesse was a rare guy friend of yours. You didn’t make a habit of befriending boys at college, but he was an exception.

You’d met him freshman year when your friend group merged with another on the way to some start-of-the-year party. After some mutual friends introduced you, you hit it off almost immediately.

Jesse was easy to talk to, never a creep or too invasive. You loved his dumb dad jokes and loyal nature. He never hit on you, even before finding out you were a lesbian. During tough times in recent years, he was there for you. He was a genuine guy who you’d instinctively trust your drink with. And right now, he was good company to have when you were alone and wistful at these stressful shindigs.

“I get it, dude. But mom friend again tonight?” He asks, gesturing to the mass of purses in your hands.

You shrug and reply, “It’s cool.”

“Man, you’ve danced probably a total of three times at one of these things since last year. Are you even having fun?”

“Eh. After three years, I’m a senior citizen.”

“So what does that make me, since I’m graduating this year?” He asks, mockingly put his hands on his hips.

“Ancient,” You reply, sticking your tongue out at him.

Jesse places a hand on his chest and gasps dramatically, replying, “Fucking rude.”

You chuckle.

“I’m really okay, though.” You reassure him. “The girls wanted to go out tonight, but I’m just a bit tired.”

“Tired or overstimulated?”

You smile at his understanding.

“Both.”

He chuckles.

“Some cool people are passing around a fat ass joint outside. Wanna join?”

You hold up the handful of purses you were tasked to guard as a response.

“Alright, gimme,” He says, reaching his hand out. “Mom friend substitute while you go get high.”

“You don’t wanna smoke?”

“It’s cool, that’s where I’ve been for the last half hour or so. I should cool off for a little bit anyways.”

You feel guilty for leaving Jesse to watch your belongings, even for a few short minutes. But his fingers wiggle expectantly and you know there was no point in arguing.

“Thanks, dude.” You exhale as you hand off your weight. “Probably been needing a few hits of a j all night, anyway.”

“Looks like it. Go ahead; D’s out there smoking with them if you wanna say hi.”

“Oh, nice. Haven’t seen her tonight yet. Be back in a sec, then.”

You tear yourself off from your spot on the wall and will your blistered feet to move towards the door. Not absolutely sober yet, you stumble across the living room before you could push past the screen door and into the brisk October air. Following the smell of pot laced with lavender in the air, you see a circle of people hanging out by a parked Jeep, illuminated slightly by the embers of a joint being passed around.

Lavender?

“Oh, fuck.” You say a little too loudly.

A few heads turn towards your voice, one of which was Dina’s.

“Hey, babe! I didn’t know you were here!” She says enthusiastically, approaching you with a bounce in her step. She pulls you into a brief but tight embrace.

“Been here for the past hour, D.” You laugh nervously. “Where have you been?”

“Been helping El’s lazy ass roll a fuckton of j’s for the past half hour that she was supposed to roll for customers before the party. But now, we’re just chilling. Want a hit?”

Dina’s chin tilts towards the Jeep. Your eyes follow her aim to the girl sitting on its hood. Your breathing stops when you see the very person you were hoping not to encounter tonight.

She was unmistakable in a simple grey, unbuttoned flannel shirt with rolled-up sleeves to show off an arm tattoo, slightly distressed jeans, and her old Converse sneakers. A few strands of auburn hair fell in front of her face out of the usual half-bun. You watch as her eyebrows—the right one with its notable slit slashed through—furrowed in concentration as she attempts to relight the joint in her pursed lips.

Your throat closes up and you feel your heart clench tightly in your chest.

Ellie.

You immediately redirect your eyes back to Dina before Ellie can look up from behind her left hand shielding the lighter from the slight breeze.

“Uh, no. I’m good. Just needed to step out for a hot sec. Needed a breather from the sea of raging hormones in there.”

Another breeze suddenly hits your exposed skin, colder than the last. You figure this was a good way to excuse yourself back into the house.

“I’m about to freeze my tits off out here, though. Gonna head back in.” You hug your arms around your bare stomach, goosebumps starting to form.

You begin to turn right back around, but Dina grabbed your arm.

“Oh! You came with Sidney and them, right? She said you were all planning on going to Sterling’s after this.”

“We were?” You ask, thrown off and a little irritated that your friends hadn’t consulted you in this change of plans.

“Yeah! We’re gonna come with ‘cause I’m craving a blueberry pancake bad and Jesse’s deranged self wants a strawberry milkshake.” Dina affectionately rolls her eyes. “Just let us know when you leave? We’ll head out with you.”

“Um, sure.” Your heart begins to pound twice its normal speed.

By “we,” did she mean—?

“Okay, yay! We should go soon ‘cause I feel the munchies creeping up on me. I blame El for smoking me out as thanks for my rolling services.”

The auburn-haired girl smirks at Dina’s comment, but you refuse to look at her this time. Instead, your eyes trail after the joint that Ellie was now passing to the girl to her left.

The girl looked unfamiliar, but something in her face and posture screamed “freshman.” A brown motorcycle jacket was laying on top of her shoulders. Joel’s old motorcycle jacket. Ellie’s jacket.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes and settle for pursing your lips.

Chivalrous fuckboy graciously offering her jacket to a beautiful lady. Typical Ellie Williams move.

You don’t allow yourself to dwell on whether Ellie had decided to lend her dad’s old jacket to a pretty stranger or a new girlfriend. You certainly don’t allow yourself to settle on which scenario would hurt your feelings more. And you definitely don’t dwell on the fact that she’s pulled this move on you more than once in the past.

The girl takes no notice of your gaze as she accepts the joint, taking a hit.

“I love that you always add lilac to these, Ellie. It smells so much better than a regular j.”

Biting back the impulse to correct the girl, you merely look back at Dina to say, “Right. I’ll see y’all in a bit then, D?”

“Sounds perfect. We’ll be here!” She replies happily.

You give her a quick smile before returning inside the house, ignoring the green eyes now watching your departing figure.

You don’t know how, but you know for a fact that Ellie’d been staring at you ever since she heard you mention your freezing tits and unintentionally pushed your breasts together when you’d grabbed your exposed stomach.

You walk through the front door and head straight for the bathroom that was just to the right. It wasn’t clear at the moment why you’d known that there was a half bath in this direction, but you were busy catching your breath to care.

The bright, ugly fluorescents illuminating from the bathroom ceiling was sobering you up quickly. You wished you had gotten drunker. Trying to recall some breathing techniques an old therapist had taught you, your eyes fall on your appearance in the mirror.

Not awful. I still look kind of hot.

You reassure yourself that Ellie had only gotten a dim glimpse of you and hadn’t gotten a chance to notice how flushed you looked.

Is it from the alcohol or was it from seeing her again so close after all these months?

You could bail from the party now. Tell your friend group chat that you were heading home and text Dina separately, saying you weren’t feeling well.

I can’t…

It takes you about five seconds to scrap that plan. You weren’t that type of friend to just bail, especially not when you’ve got drunk friends who were all girls surrounded by creeps or creep-adjacent frat boys. Plus, you’ve barely seen Dina and Jesse since the start of the school year. You could set aside your selfishness for one night and endure Ellie for just a little while.

It’s okay. It’ll be like old times, except I ignore her the whole night.

You hadn’t noticed that you were tearing up a little. Quickly but delicately, you wipe any tears threatening to fall, carefully avoiding smudging your eye makeup.

I shouldn’t be letting her get to me tonight.

You give yourself a half-hearted pep talk that works, to an extent. Using your fingers to brush out strands of hair off your sweaty forehead and straightening your skirt out, you convince yourself to emerge from the bathroom and hunt down the man who led you to face Ellie.

You find him easily, not far away from the spot you had previously occupied from the wall.

“Jess…” You begin as you approach the raven-haired boy.

He was conversing with a frat boy, yours and your friends’ purses now either draped on his shoulder or slung around his chest. You would have giggled at this adorable image if you weren’t slightly ticked off by him.

Jesse sees you approaching and calls your name, beckoning you towards him and his conversation partner.

“Yo, tell Adam about Ellie’s dope ass joints that she laces with that lavender shit.” He points at you with his thumb. “Her idea, originally.”

“Huh,” Adam says. “Kinda cool. Not something I’d do for myself, but I know she’s always got primo shit. Must be a nice touch with the strains she got.”

You let out a noncommittal “mhm” and look back at Jesse, who has a sympathetic and apologetic smile on his face.

“You irritate my life, Jess,” You say, leaving out the guy Adam from the conversation.

“Sorry. It’s all out of love, my friend.” He replies, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Did you end up taking a hit?”

You glare at him and he chuckles.

“Thought I’d try. I’m sorry.” He says, sighing in defeat. “Dina tell you we’re going with you guys to Sterling’s after this?”

“Is she coming along with us, Jess?”

“We’re a codependent trio, so yes. Hey, that rhymed.” He snickers at his own joke.

You groan.

“I think I’ll head home instead.”

“Come on, don’t be like that. Just hang out with me and Dina. We really miss you and we’ve barely seen you. You don’t have to talk to her.”

“What happened to being a codependent trio?” You challenge.

“Our marriage counselor said to work on boundaries,” Jesse says jokingly.

You sigh.

“You wanna go now, then?” You say, relenting.

“Sure, I’m craving a strawberry milkshake real bad.”

You roll your eyes.

“Let me go round up the girls. We’ll meet you outside?” You say, reaching for the purses.

He waves you off and says, “I got it, girl. See you in a sec.”

You give him a tentative smile and proceed to the basement of the frat house.

After you successfully herded your friends, all of whom were at different levels of drunkenness, you ushered them upstairs to the living room and towards the front door.

You had your arm around one of your more intoxicated friends, who all of a sudden exclaims in her drunken stupor, “Babe, we should come to this frat’s parties more often! We haven’t been since freshman year!”

This stops you in your tracks, almost pulling your friend into you.

Ahh, you thought.

That’s why you’d been apprehensive about this house since arriving. This was the very same frat house where you’d met Ellie Williams for the first time. You met her the same night you met Jesse. You’d spent an hour or two conversing with her on a shabby couch in that same living room. The same house where those ocean green eyes pierced yours for the first time. The same house where you’d begun a “friendship” with someone who ultimately broke your heart.

Uttering a quick apology to your friend, you nudge her forward to exit the house you had no desire to remain in.

The twenty-minute journey from the frat to Sterling’s Diner did not seem long enough to you. Though you were longing to sit and rest your sore feet (you gave up a seat on the bus to one of your drunker friends who could barely stand upright), you preferred moving in a rather large group of friends where you could easily situate yourself away from Ellie if need be. You remained at the front of the group with your friend Astrid, arms linked as you trekked towards the bright lights of Sterling’s.

You all sit at a long makeshift table formed by three smaller tables pushed together. Your anxiety ramps up when Ellie sits across and a seat to the right from you. Refraining from glancing her way would be much more difficult now that you were both in each other’s line of sight.

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

Your group was embarrassingly loud, disrupting the peace of the few restaurant-goers nearby. You silently make plans to pardon yourself to the bathroom and hide out for a good 15 minutes before you make an excuse to go home to your apartment.

Some of them are sober enough. As long as I check up to make sure they all get home safe…

Deciding not to order anything to avoid waiting til the end to pay, you tell the server that you don’t need anything. But before they can walk away, Dina, who was sitting directly across from you, interjects.

“Oh, she’ll just get a hot chocolate.”

You look perplexed.

“Dina, I don’t need anything.”

“I know for a fact that your tits are freezing cold and you need to warm up. Besides, I know you love hot chocolate.”

“D!” You whisper, embarrassed at the loud comment about your tits in front of the server. Dina snickers.

You smile at Dina’s thoughtfulness, though you’re slightly annoyed that your escape plan was thwarted. In the corner of your eye, you think you see Ellie make a certain facial expression. But refusing to look her way, you can’t make a guess as to what it was.

Not wanting to hold up the server’s time by arguing with Dina, you give a quick thank you and glare at your nosy friend.

“You and Jesse are really competing to see who is my number one tormentor tonight.”

Dina rolls her eyes playfully, “Why? What did our sweet Jesse do this time?”

You have to catch yourself from blurting out Jesse’s earlier endeavour. Despite the commotion your friends were making, you’re certain that your voice is still within Ellie’s earshot.

“Uh… ask him later.” You say, making eye contact with Jesse, who sat to Dina’s right.

He smirks and you grimace.

It feels like a lifetime waiting for everyone’s order to arrive. You sat awkwardly sandwiched between your friend Astrid to your right and Frat Guy Adam to your left. You stay quiet, not engaging in much talk. Dina and Astrid would attempt to pull you into their respective conversations, but you merely give slight nods and smiles and an occasional “mhmm” before going back to scrolling on your phone.

After exhausting all forms of social media that no longer entertained you, you sigh and place your phone down on the table.

Frat Guy Adam notices your movement and glances at your lockscreen.

“Boyfriend?” He suddenly asks, nodding towards your phone.

“What?” You say, startled.

“Dude on your wallpaper. Where is he tonight?”

Your lockscreen photo was of you hugging your favourite cousin, Rafael, and it was taken after your high school graduation.

“Oh.” You gulp. “No, uh. Older cousin. No boyfriend.”

“Really?” He says suddenly interested. He turns in his seat to face you better.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“Not really the boyfriend type of girl…” You mutter.

“Why not? You’re pretty hot. Can’t be that hard to get a date.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a lesbian. Don’t need a boyfriend.” You say quietly but assertively.

Adam tsks, saying, “Man, really? Didn’t clock you as a queer.” He adjusts in his seat to his original position, chatting instead with his friend on his left.

You freeze. You knew Adam didn’t exactly intend for his words to be malicious, but you’ve heard enough comments like this in your life to understand its meaning.

No one else around you could hear his comment over the buzz of conversation. Except…

Your eyes meet Ellie’s, you having momentarily forgotten that this was what you were trying to avoid. It was strange to look into a familiar face and see an unfamiliar expression.

What was she thinking? Is that concern on her face? No, that’s something else…

You break her gaze, deciding that she’d only looked at you because you accidentally looked her way. She probably didn’t hear what had happened; and even if she did, it was none of her business.

Before you can even decide whether or not to say anything to Adam, everyone’s orders come flooding out. Your hot chocolate was placed in front of you, and ignoring Ellie’s piercing green eyes, you just stare at the steam rising from your cup.

You were growing more uncomfortable every second that passed. Being neither drunk nor high, you sit soberly in your seat and wish you hadn’t come out tonight in the first place. You suddenly feel tears welling up in your eyes, unsure if it was from your anxiety or Adam’s comments.

Muttering a brief “be right back” to nobody in particular, you quickly make your way to the two-stall women’s restroom. You nearly collapse against the bathroom door once it closed behind you. Burying your face in your hands, you try not to break down into tears of frustration.

After several moments, you pry yourself off the door and dare to look at yourself in the mirror. You look like a more tired, sweatier version of yourself from earlier in the night. Sighing, you grab a paper towel and dab it underneath your eye to remove any dripping eyeliner.

You nearly jump and poke your eye when the bathroom door suddenly opens. You feel your throat close up and your heart clench once more.

Ellie.

author’s notes:

this is the first ellie fanfic i’ve written and posted on here so be kind pretty please but feedback is very much welcome! i actually have more than one chapter written out already shdjfjf but hopefully this does well and i’ll post the rest if people would like!

i plan on making this a kind of long series, so i hope people will like that sgdjfjf (sorry, i know i should just post and not apologize and look for validation, but i haven’t written in a while!)

@lonelyfooryouonly asked me on my main to be tagged when i finally start posting my own fics on here, so here bby ty for the push! can’t wait for the next chapter of selfish to come out hehe

#nobody compares to you series #ellie williams #dealer!ellie #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #the last of us #tlou #the last of us part 2 #tlou2 #ellie fanfiction #belle speaks #belle writes

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haikyu-mp4 · 5 months ago

Note

Congratz for the milestone!! Your event is soo cute btw! If you dont mind i am applying with tsukki, i am organized and flexible* Idk if i did it right but i hope you enjoy writing it!

thank you very much!! you're hired, lovely individual <3 *I only intended for suggestive to be used in coworker scenarios and it didn't fit the idea I had, so please excuse the lack of suggestiveness:)

Pressure point

Tsukishima is your friend and accidentally confesses, for the now hiring! event

word count; 618 – f!reader

Many young adults got a part-time job next to their university studies, and a lesser part of them enjoyed said jobs. You, however, had figured out a way to maximise your profit.

Not only that, but your best friend, Tsukishima Kei, usually spent the evenings you worked in the cafe, studying by the table closest to the cashier so you could throw subtle insults at each other whenever the line cleared up. In your eyes, it couldn’t get any better.

Tsukishima might seem calm, but he had just about had it, watching you flirt with these pathetic men who thought they genuinely caught your attention.

At first, he found it amusing how you coaxed them into throwing whatever change might be found at the bottom of their backpacks into your tip jar. Your brain was one of your many attractive qualities that made him stick around for so long and develop some feelings along the way.

Unfortunately, it bothered him as he listened to how you could flirt so effortlessly. He was jealous of how they got to bask in your, albeit fake, attention for even a few seconds. It had cost him a couple of study hours, where he would harshly press his pen into the same spot on his paper, trying to shut out the sound of your giggles.

As you were about to lock the door for the day, Tsukki was already standing behind you with his bag hiked up on his shoulder. “You don’t want to wait around today? I won’t take that long,” you queried, slight furrow between your brows.

“I’m not feeling well,” he said, trying not to sound too cold, but he couldn’t help it.

You tilted your head, letting out a small discontent sound. “Then why did you stay for so long?” you asked, and Tsukki looked away from your face.

He mumbled something under his breath and you huffed, locking the door before turning to him with your hands on your hips.

“What was that?”

“How will you flirt when you actually like someone? When you’re not just pretending for some cheap tips?” he asked, hiding his feelings behind a dry laugh.

“Who said I don’t like them?” you challenged, confusion diffusing after Tsukki’s resolve unravelled.

“Oh stop it, there’s no way you’re that tasteless,” he argued, looking like the thought left a nasty taste on his tongue.

You pursed your lips, nodding your head as you decided to switch from your first thought to a more tactical response. “I suppose if I did like someone, I would ask him to hang out with me while I’m at work. Annoy him when I can. Push up his glasses when he’s being a smart-ass,” you insisted, emphasising by lifting your pointer finger to push his glasses up his nose bridge, something you often did to annoy him.

Tsukishima readjusted his glasses and stared at you blankly for a second. He didn’t know what came over him, and he’d forever deny it to anyone you tried to tell the story to, but he put one hand on each of your cheeks and pulled you in for an awkward touch of lips one might call a kiss.

When his hands left your cheeks and he pulled away, you stared at him in amused shock. “Tsukki!”

“I’ll cover the tips with whatever food you want, just stop flirting with anyone else,” he demanded with a frown, while his eyes were flitting between your eyes and your lips.

“Are you asking me out?” He let out a flustered sound, about to turn around and pretend like nothing happened when you got on the tips of your toes to give him another, slightly better kiss.

masterlist

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garbinge · 5 months ago

Text

Shot To The Heart

Tim Bradford x F!Nurse!Reader (turned SWAT/TEMS) 30 Day Fic Challenge (13/30)

Word Count: 1.3k A/N: Just something small for this wife reader/Tim universe I occasionally write for. Looking forward to season 7, and hopefully a Chenford reunion lol.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Mentions of violence, gunshot wounds, ptsd, wat flashbacks, hospitalization, light angst. The Rookie Taglist: @simrah1012 @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 @afuckingshituniverse Other fics with this reader: Clean Cut - Tim Bradford x F!Nurse!Reader Earthquakes and Promotions - Tim Bradford x F!Nurse!Reader

“Hey I was just about to call you, I’m wrapping up my shift but the team is heading to get drinks, figured you could meet us there? We’re going to that spot that has those mojitos you like.” Tim had a smile on his face as he answered your phone call. He was walking through the station towards the men’s locker room, ready to change out of the stench of a long patrol day.

“Before you freak out, I want you to know I’m okay.” Your voice was completely opposite of his. It wasn’t shaky for what happened, but you were solemn and still in your delivery. It was honestly silly to start your conversation this way, Tim wasn’t one to freak out, but he was one to think the worst first.

“What happened?” His voice immediately matched yours. Very typical for people that held the positions you did, to be calm under crisis.

“I got shot on shift today. I’m at the hospital.”

“You what?” Tim had stopped in his tracks immediately waiting for more information.

“My thigh, it’s not a big deal. It missed my artery but protocol is for me to be here for the next couple days.” You didn’t exactly want to get into details but you knew you had to give him some information.

“Why am I just finding this out?” Tim was now rushing to the exit doors.

“I told them not to call you, I wanted you to hear it from me, not some random SWAT member.”

“You do realize they’re not random, they come to all our barbecues, we’ve been to their weddings…” Tim was starting to argue with you. “Not to mention, I should’ve heard it on the radio.”

“Really wanna argue with me right now, Bradford?” You sighed despite the smile on your face.

“I really wanna know what happened.”

You could hear his truck engine start in the background and from that you knew he was going to be at the hospital in minutes.

“We got called in on some cartel tip, it was off-channel, stealth.” You explained knowing he wasn’t going to let it go. “I was applying aid to a hostage and it just happened.”

“I really hope you didn’t write your report that way.” Annoyance was dripping off his tone.

“Tim.” You said with the same amount of annoyance.

“No, you don’t get to be mad at me for being mad.” He was on the highway now, you could hear the change in background noise. “I’ll be there in 5 minutes.”

With that he hung up, and was in front of you within minutes. It made you wonder where he left his truck and who he talked to before getting to your room.

“Jesus.” He was at the edge of the bed looking down at you. “How you holdin’ up?”

“I’m fine, I just wanna go home.” You brushed him off.

“What the hell happened out there?” His voice didn’t sound angry like it did on the phone, he was genuinely upset.

“I told you, it happened fast, I was applying aid and then the next we were under fire.” You shook your head, not able to look him in the eye.

At that motion he walked over to the side of the bed, quickly engulfing you in a hug. “I know when you’re lying to me.” He mumbled into the top of your head before placing a kiss there.

You leaned into him, despite all his gear from his belt making it rather unpleasant to be in his embrace, it was the most comfortable you’ve felt since everything happened. You leaned into him more, gripping him closer to you when you let out a little sob.

He gently scooted you over, making sure he didn’t aggravate or even touch the leg with the bullet wound. It was just enough so that he could sit next to you in the bed and shield you from prying eyes outside.

“It’s alright.” He hummed as he rubbed your back up and down. A nurse had entered at one point and Tim just politely smiled and asked if the two of you could have a couple minutes.

The tears you let escape you were some that you hadn’t shed in years. It was buried down deep, being in your field, being at war, it did that to you, it bottled everything up and left you to deal with it at another time, and each time being more inconvenient than the last left for it to overflow now.

As you calmed down, you took a deep breath and wiped your face before looking at Tim.

“You went back.” Tim said not needing you to say anything in explanation about what happened.

“It was like I was right back in Afghanistan.” You nodded.

“Protocols are different here.” Tim tilted his head to look at you, wondering if he pushed you into this too soon.

“Yea, they got me on probation. Seeing the shrink tomorrow where they’ll figure out when I’m cleared for active duty.”

“You know, if you wanted to go back to work at the hospital, no one would hold it against you.” Tim offered up a solution that was more for him than it was for you.

“I was doing fine up until now, I think all the dust from the desert we were in, my hands wrist deep into this guys abdomen, brought me back to when you were bleeding out in front of me. Getting shot brought me back to the moment, it was like the shake back to reality I needed.” You shook your head as you thought through it all.

“Yea the shrinks gonna have a ball with you.” Tim teased you before getting serious. “You’ve always been self-aware. On top of your shit, you’ll be back on active duty in no time.”

“You sound worried.” It was obvious to notice the hesitancy in his voice.

“Just can’t help but feel like I pushed you to this.” Tim sighed deeply.

“I chose this.” You began to argue with him.

“But I planted the seed.” He argued back.

“You give yourself too much credit.” You laughed and squeezed his hand. “Remember when the Chief’s daughter came in, and I took her on as my patient, he saw how I handled everything, when they checked out, he mentioned how I might be good in TEMS. I brushed it off, but when you brought it up again, it just was harder and harder to brush it off. It just made sense.”

Tim looked down at you shocked that you never mentioned what his boss said to you.

“I’m just saying, don’t give yourself the credit for this.” You shrugged and teased him.

“I just want to make sure you’re good.” Tim got serious again after letting out a laugh from your tease.

“I’m fine, and after I see Dr. Shrink tomorrow I’ll be even better.”

“You’re not opposed to it, which is already how I know you’re fine.” Tim joked as he brought you closer to him as both of you relaxed in the bed.

“That’s that machismo stigma, I love talking to people about my problems. Which, speaking of, you didn’t take the trash out this morning.”

Tim let out a belly laugh, “I’ll be sure to take it out tonight.”

“No you won’t. You’re staying with me, Sarge.” And with that you cuddled into him as best as you could and closed your eyes so you could get as many minutes in the the most comfortable sleep you’d get while being in the hospital.

#The Rookie #The Rookie Fanfic #The Rookie fanfiction #Tim Bradford #Tim Bradford Fanfic #Tim Bradford Fanfiction #Tim Bradford x Reader #Tim Bradford x You #SWAT #SWAT Reader #TEMS Reader #TEMS #garbinge #my writing

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cuubism · 2 months ago

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last year I saw this 1989 Dreamling art by @webonchin, became extremely obsessed with it, pondered and mulled over it for much time, and now ten whole months later I have a fic

my kingdom for a kiss upon your shoulder

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, 1989 Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Meeting, Musician Dream of the Endless, Stockbroker Hob Gadling, Love at First Sight, Getting Together, New York City, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Queer Themes, Disillusionment, Explicit Sexual Content, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Depression, tfw you meet someone who makes you want to change up your whole life Summary:

Despite Hob's success on Wall Street, life is starting to feel meaningless. Limitless sex, drugs, and money should be endlessly entertaining but instead he's bored, he feels empty, like something's missing.

Something, maybe, like the beautiful, tragic musician he meets at a party, who opens more than one new door in Hob's life--and reawakens the buried longing in his heart.

Hob lies on the couch of the crowded apartment he’s found himself in for the evening, head tipped back over the arm. Pounding music thumps distantly around him. Dim lights. Warm bodies moving in blurs. He ignores it all. Picks up his vodka soda from the coffee table and takes a swig. Half of it runs over the side of his mouth instead of into it.

He’s… bored. What’s wrong with him that he’s bored surrounded by as much drugs, sex, and general debauchery as he could possibly want?

But he is. All that climbing for so long and now… he doesn’t know where he is. Why he’s doing any of it. The climb, the growth, was fun for a while. Chasing hunger, chasing more, that was fun. But now he has all of it. Supposedly.

He sighs. Pours the rest of his drink inelegantly into his mouth. If he wants another one he’s going to have to get up. He doesn’t really feel like getting up. He feels like merging himself with the couch instead.

The party spins on around him, as it always does. Not everyone’s feeling as burnt out on sex, drugs, and debauchery as Hob is.

He could go track down some coke, he thinks hazily. Someone here’ll have some. Maybe it would kick his energy back up.

He just feels kind of tired at the thought.

It says something bad about the point he’s reached in life that even cocaine isn’t doing it for him anymore.

“This is very dull,” says a low voice, and a man slumps down beside him, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the couch. He tilts his head back, looking up at Hob. “Do you think so?”

“Yeah,” Hob says, and then does a double take as he catches a proper look at the man.

Christ but he’s gorgeous. Nothing like the men Hob would normally see at a thing like this—nothing like Hob himself—with their fashionable suits, slick hair, slicker smiles. This man is lithe and sprawling, like a wild predator, stark black and white lines, spiky hair, dark makeup, studs flowing down his ears like raindrops. Clever eyes. Long fingers clutching a cocktail that he doesn’t seem particularly interested in.

Hob is instantly fucked.

“I was promised good drugs and better sex and I’m bored on both counts,” the man continues. He takes a sip of his drink, and grimaces.

“That why you’ve come over here?” Hob asks. “Because I looked equally bored?”

“Exactly.” He offers the drink to Hob. “You should try this.”

Hob takes it. It’s… very blue. “What the hell is this?”

“There was a girl working the bar… very drunk. She said she would make me her ‘special potion.’”

That sounds… questionable. Hob takes a sip, and chokes. “Christ.”

“I witnessed her pour in vodka, Prosecco, and tequila. Blue Curaçao—for color, of course. And maraschino cherries.” He plucks one out of the glass by the stem—there are about seven of them total—and eats it.

“What the fuck.” The stuff’s revolting. Hob takes another sip. “That’s alcohol poisoning in a glass.”

“It’s been one of the better parts of the night,” the man says.

Hob returns the glass, and the man tosses more of the drink back, his throat working. Hob’s just drunk enough to not attempt to stop staring like a creep. He wants to ask him if he wants to get out of here, or even just to steal away into one of the many spare bedrooms—it wouldn’t be out of place at a party like this, hell, Hob could drag him into his lap on the fucking couch, everyone’s far too drunk to care—but propositioning this creature for a mere hookup feels like wearing an Italian suit to mud wrestle. What a waste of a perfectly-made thing.

How did something like this wind up at this party?

“Who’d you come in with?” he asks, as the man plucks another cherry from the glass and delicately bites it off the stem.

“Someone who gave me a rather mediocre blowjob after a show,” he says. “I suppose I thought I would find better here, but I was mistaken.”

“Fifty-fifty shot on that, I’d say,” Hob says. Based on personal experience. Sometimes mediocre is good enough. Sometimes sex, regardless of quality, is good enough. For a while it has been. He’s not so sure anymore.

“I dislike betting,” says the man. Then stretches up a limp hand to shake Hob’s. “If we are to commiserate, perhaps names are in order. I am Morpheus.”

Morpheus. What kind of name. Though he had said at a show. A performer of some kind? “Hob,” says Hob, shaking his hand despite the awkward angle.

“Greetings,” says Morpheus solemnly. “You are the first man I’ve met tonight who has not tried to impress me with inanities. I am indebted to you.”

Hob tips his head back against the arm of the couch again with a sigh. “Too tired for bullshit. What’ve people been saying to you, then?”

“I have been taught much,” Morpheus says seriously. “Thrice I have been ‘educated’ on the great promise of ‘mortgage-backed securities.’ The reactions to my disinterest ranged from offense to outright concern for my sanity.”

“I think they were just trying to get in your pants,” Hob tells him.

Morpheus frowns. “The finance lecture was not helping their case. In fact, with each passing minute, I became more aggressively repelled.”

Hob laughs. “You’re on Wall Street, baby,” he says. It comes out kind of slurred. “Only thing more important than the size of a man’s dick is the size of his portfolio.”

Morpheus hums in consideration. “Neither of those has a direct correlation to talent.”

“Try telling them that,” Hob says.

Morpheus sits up straighter against the couch, leaning his head on his arm to study Hob. “I suppose I should ask about yours.”

“You’re too pretty for me to be tacky like that,” Hob says honestly. Maybe he’s a bit more drunk than he thought.

“Am I?” Morpheus seems pleased.

“So pretty.”

“Hmm.” Morpheus rests his cheek on the couch cushion. The tips of his hair brush Hob’s hip. His eyes are so liquid in this light. Hob wonders if he’s hallucinating his existence.

He reaches out, mesmerized, to touch Morpheus’s hair. Morpheus doesn’t stop him. He lets Hob pet him, eyes falling shut. His hair is tacky on the ends with hair spray, but soft underneath.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Hob says, and Morpheus hums. “All those self-important stockbrokers trying to impress you with their convoluted financial instruments… they just want to hide that it’s all really a scam.”

“Is it now?” says Morpheus. “I was under the assumption it was legal.”

“Something can be a scam and technically legal. Oh, it’s all very clever. But it’s just building money on top of money with nothing real to support it. Kick out the base of the tower and it’ll all go into free fall.” He makes a whistling, falling sound, and Morpheus smirks.

“And I suppose you are better than all this.”

Hob chuckles. “Oh, no. I’m a money-grubbing little vermin, too. Just letting you in on the game. How it’s not so serious.”

“Hmm. I am a musician,” says Morpheus. As Hob figured, then. “I’m afraid it’s as serious as death.”

“Hence the all-black ensemble and the makeup,” Hob says.

“Indeed.”

Hob wants to hear Morpheus play. Or sing, or whatever it is he does. He bets he’d be exquisite. Divine. Hob can imagine those lips pressed to a microphone. Or those long fingers on guitar strings.

“Do you want something more interesting than alcohol?” says Morpheus.

“Why, you still bored?”

“Less and less so.” He pulls from his pocket a small bag of pills and hands it to Hob.

“You brought your own drugs to a party where you were promised drugs?”

“Promises cannot be counted on,” says Morpheus seriously.

“What is it?” Hob asks, then decides he doesn’t care, and takes a pill, chasing it with the watery last drops of his drink, which is a terrible idea, but then, he’s full of them.

“Ketamine,” says Morpheus. Oh, great, Hob thinks. Morpheus takes it back from him and takes a pill himself. “It occasionally makes me feel less like I am going to hurl myself from the balcony.”

He doesn’t seem to be joking. “Good for something, then,” Hob says. “Why do you want to jump off the balcony?” He still has his hand in Morpheus’s hair. He honestly can’t believe he hasn’t propositioned him yet. That’s not like him. These parties are usually only good for quick, casual sex. He even thinks Morpheus would probably agree, and yet.

“The state of things,” says Morpheus. He has such a deep, solemn voice. Hob wants to touch his mouth, or throat maybe. Okay, this is already not going so well. “And the state of my heart.”

Hob pets his hair again. Morpheus leans into the touch. “Writing songs about yearning and angst and stuff isn’t fixing it?” He can well enough guess what Morpheus’s music is probably like.

“No,” says Morpheus. He seems to really think about it. “I think it is making things worse. Perhaps I will try manipulating the financial markets instead. Is that giving you existential fulfillment?”

“There’s only so much money you can make before it starts feeling stupid,” Hob says. Maybe he should just throw all his cash out the window and go live in the woods or something. Carve figurines out of fallen trees. Probably do more good for the world, not that that’s ever been a focus of his. “Maybe it was always stupid.”

“No solution has been found for us yet, then,” says Morpheus. “Would you care to go outside? I find that if you are high enough, the city lights look like stars.”

“You’re not going to jump off the balcony, are you?” Hob asks, suspicious.

“This is not the right locale for my dramatic end.”

Somehow, Hob actually believes him. Morpheus wouldn’t truly kill himself unless it could have the right effect.

Hob levers himself up from the couch. Oh Jesus, now the room is spinning. The pounding music is starting to feel louder, starting to thud through him. Feels good, though. Everything being bright and hazy.

He helps Morpheus to his feet. Leads him, hand in hand, out to the balcony. They lean against the stone wall, looking down at the street, dizzyingly far below, cars poking along like lines of luminescent ants, distant horns crying. Then up, out at the collision of skyscrapers.

Morpheus was right. The lights are spinning and twinkling, just like stars. It reminds Hob of the first time he’d come to New York, when he was looking for adventure, and to get a little rich—or a lot rich—and everything had seemed like it was glowing and buzzing and flying.

The air is clearer up here than down on street level, and Morpheus tips his head up, breathing it in. His throat is so long, his shoulders and collarbone so angular. He looks like he’s been starving. But the stud in his ear at least looks from afar like a real ruby. Intentional, then, to be skin and bones.

“I think I am tired,” he admits, still looking up at the sky. “Do you know that… all I had ever wanted was for someone to like my music. And now I have that and it has not fixed anything.”

Hob takes his arm and pulls him close. He’s feeling very touchy-feely now, which could be the drugs but could also just be Morpheus. He’s so pretty and he looks so sad, and his sadness is beautiful and all the more terrible for that.

“I could kiss it better,” he offers. It’s still not a real proposition. Hob’d just kiss his hand if that’s what he wanted. Or the sharp bone of his sternum under those hanging necklaces. Or kneel at his feet and kiss his thigh—

Christ. Hob’ll be lucky if he survives the night, at this rate.

Morpheus looks at him, eyebrow raised. But Hob must look serious about it, because he says, “Okay.”

So Hob leans in and kisses his cheek. And Morpheus smiles, a bright, truly happy smile, just for a moment.

“Do you wish to dance?” he says. “I do not usually, but I feel I may fall over if I move from this wall without something to hold onto.”

Yeah, the floor is kind of moving. And Hob will certainly not turn down having Morpheus in his arms. “You wanna dance to this shit?”

They’re playing some godawful thumping grating song over the speakers now, and Hob doesn’t think either of them is up to the kind of bouncing thrashing dance that would call for.

“I will sing something different in your ear,” Morpheus says.

So Hob draws him in, wraps his arms around his waist. Morpheus plasters himself to Hob’s body, mouth to the shell of Hob’s ear. He starts humming a low, melancholic song. Hob shivers at the brush of his voice.

They sway together with very little coordination. Eventually Morpheus starts singing, though Hob’s brain isn’t capable at the moment of taking in many of the lyrics. It’s something about longing, and losing things in a terrible fire. Hob presumes it’s one of his songs. Morpheus’s voice is gorgeous, low and hypnotic, and Hob closes his eyes as it rumbles straight through him.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs eventually, filled with a sudden tragic pain about it. “Please don’t throw yourself off the balcony.”

Morpheus chuckles. “Another time, perhaps.”

“Never,” Hob says vehemently, and clutches his warm body close. He might cry about it. Fucking drugs. “We should go get food. You’re so fucking bony I think might you die of an overdose if we don’t sop it up. You had that wretched drink, too. Christ.”

“You are worried for me?” says Morpheus, sounding touched.

“Incredibly. Come on.” Hob finally pulls away from him, with chagrin, and takes his hand. “This party’s shit. I’ll take you to get pizza.”

“Pizza,” Morpheus repeats, with a tiny smile. It’s gorgeous on his face. “Very well.”

One dollar pizza is one of New York’s greatest inventions, in Hob’s opinion. They find some hole-in-the-wall place barely a block from the apartment building, and stand outside the door, eating incredibly greasy pizza off of paper plates, and it’s fucking heaven. It might be the best pizza Hob’s ever had in his life—granted he’s still very high.

Morpheus is scarfing his down like all pizza on earth is about to be chucked into space. Poor bony thing. Hob just wants to feed him up until he stops looking like a skeletal waif that’s about to drop dead at a cold breeze.

And wants to fuck him, too. Yeah, that’s still there, even with Morpheus licking grease off his fingertips. It’s actually getting worse because of that.

“Told you,” Hob says. “Needed some bread to soak up the fifteen shots in that drink.”

“I think I may throw up,” Morpheus says, with the careful articulation of someone who very well might. “But I am enjoying it nonetheless.”

“Let me know and I’ll find you a bin,” Hob says. He’s had worse nights than puking on the street corner.

“Now I owe you sexual favors in return for this generous meal,” says Morpheus, folding the empty paper plate with surprising precision, considering his enduring level of intoxication, and sliding it into a nearby trash bin.

It says something about Hob’s own level of intoxication that he barely responds to this statement. “Oh, yeah, the whole four dollars of it. What does that get me?”

Morpheus scrunches his nose in thought. “Two kisses,” he decides.

“We’ll save it for after you’ve decided if you’re going to throw up.”

Morpheus giggles. He’s so cute.

Hob tosses his own plate, and takes Morpheus by the arm. “Come on. You can come back with me. I don’t live that far.”

“Ah, now the proposition,” says Morpheus, but doesn’t sound unhappy about it.

“The ‘make sure my new friend doesn’t get hit by a cab effort’, more like, but sure.” He feels kind of responsible for Morpheus now. If Morpheus actually threw himself off a balcony Hob would never forgive himself.

“Friend,” repeats Morpheus, sounding pleased.

“See, isn’t this better?” Hob says.

“Better?”

“You got to eat pizza and didn’t even puke yet, isn’t that better than killing yourself?”

Morpheus huffs. “Quite a dichotomy. If you recall you too stated that you felt your efforts becoming meaningless.”

“Yeah, but I’m not gonna jump out a window about it.”

“Fortitude,” Morpheus says, and it sounds mocking but Hob doesn’t really mind. Maybe it is fortitude, he doesn’t know. Maybe to Morpheus fortitude is gullibility, continuing to play the game when it’s long lost its spark and its reward. Hob likes the game, though.

“What will you do about it, then?” Morpheus asks.

“Dunno.” It’s the first time Hob’s really thought about it. Up until now, it’s been about chasing. Always wanting more. But now— now he’s basically at the top. Where he wanted to be. And... there’s really nothing there at all. “Leave New York, maybe.”

The words surprise him, even as he says them. Midtown is so bright, even at four a.m. It’s something Hob once loved about the area. About the city. But now he’s staring into Morpheus’s darkness. Into the ink stain of his hair against the glowing storefront lights, the sway of his body, graceful even while swimming in dissociation. And everything feels different.

“To go where?” says Morpheus.

“Back to London, maybe.” He has enough money to go anywhere. And yet, it’s hard to feel a particular point to anywhere. Where’d his sense of adventure go? His ambition? Somewhere it all slipped, in the glut of the present.

“I grew up in London,” Morpheus says. “It is too personal there, now.”

So he’s chasing something too. Or running away.

“Tokyo, then,” Hob says, as if Morpheus coming with him is a key part of the decision. “Is’at the furthest city from New York? Gotta be close.”

“It’s Perth,” says Morpheus.

“You’ve looked it up?”

Morpheus nods solemnly. “And from London: Wellington.”

“It’s settled, then,” says Hob.

“I am coming with you?” says Morpheus.

“Course.” Hob’s not going across the world by himself. Not anymore. He bumps his shoulder with Morpheus’s, squeezes his arm where they’re leaning together. “You’re coming with me.”

“We should go further, then,” says Morpheus.

“Antarctica?”

“Mars.”

Hob finds himself giggling, mirth rising in him like champagne bubbles. Morpheus giggles, too. It’s truly a ridiculous sound in his deep voice.

“They don’t have cool jackets on Mars,” Hob says, poking at Morpheus’s studded blazer.

“Ah.” Morpheus frowns. “Maybe not, then.”

That only makes Hob laugh louder, leaning on Morpheus’s arm, and Morpheus sighs, irritated to be made fun of, but doesn’t push him away.

“Come on, I’m here,” Hob says, steering Morpheus into his apartment building as it comes up. They make their way across the lobby and to the elevator bank, only a little unsteady, and then slump against the wall once the elevator doors close.

“I think I am very sleepy,” Morpheus says, tipping his head back against the mirrored wall as they go up, up, up the insanely tall skyscraper Hob’s for some reason chosen to live in.

“You think you are?”

Morpheus squints at the infinite tunnel being created by the opposing mirrors on the walls. It’s dizzying, more so now, when they aren’t exactly sober. He shudders and closes his eyes. “I would have to be connected to my physical form to know for sure.”

Yeah, Hob’s feeling that too. The walls are kind of tipping in at him, which is particularly uncomfortable when they’re mirrored. “I’ll put you to bed, sweetie.” He still really, really wants to bed him, more specifically, but he might also be about to fall over. He’ll rue the missed opportunity in the morning, but it can’t be helped.

“Sweetie,” Morpheus echoes, with vague distaste, and tips his head against Hob’s shoulder.

The doors slide open, and they stumble out into the hall. Hob somehow manages to get his keys in the door and get them inside without dropping Morpheus, who’s now using him to support almost his entire weight, and then gets them into the bedroom.

What follows is a dreamlike whirlwind of undressing, where the floor keeps tipping under him, where he tries to hold Morpheus up as he slips out of his boots and his bloody complicated jacket, his skintight jeans and even tighter shirt, helps take each ring off his slim fingers to leave carefully on the nightstand, and the pendants too, and gives him a t-shirt to sleep in, and Morpheus says, “Wait— I must—” and flees to Hob’s adjoining bathroom to strip off his makeup with some makeup wipes scavenged from Hob’s cabinet, undoubtedly left behind by a prior hookup. The silly thing talks about killing himself but still puts effort into skincare. Hob just shakes his head, then regrets it as it makes the room spin.

He strips down to boxers and undershirt and climbs into bed, because he is actually about to fall over, and soon enough Morpheus stumbles back out and collapses into the sheets beside him. For a moment they just gaze at each other in the dark. Hob means to do something, to kiss him, maybe, claim one of the ones that was promised. But exhaustion claims him first.

#dreamling #my writing #80s au #cw drug use #cw alcohol

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